She Wolf

by Dan Smith

  Wolf.

  Ylva pressed her face even closer to the shutter and turned her head, trying to see. Lamplight leaked out into the storm, creating a fuzzy arc of weak orange in which snow glittered and danced. And as she stared, two more shapes floated by in the storm.

  ‘They can’t get in,’ she said. ‘They can’t—’

  Another shape appeared, passing from right to left across her field of vision, but this one didn’t disappear into the shadow beyond the reach of the lamplight. This one stopped.

  A blurry shape hanging in the white-out. A shape that grew larger as the animal crept forward. It was as if the great wolf Fenrir had broken his chains at Ragnarök – the end of everything; the destruction of the nine worlds – and had come to devour his first victims. It moved with its head down, its jaws open, blazing amber eyes glaring up at the window. It was the same creature Ylva had seen looking down at her from the plateau after she had fallen. There was no mistaking it. This animal was bigger than any dog she had ever known; bigger even than the wolf she had seen battling with the bear. It moved slowly, powerful muscles rippling beneath its dark coat. The fur was lighter around its eyes and mouth as if it were wearing its war mask.

  The enormous wolf raised the tip of its nose to bare its teeth.

  ‘Leave us alone.’ Ylva gripped the axe tight in her fist.

  The beast stared at her.

  ‘Leave us alone!’

  The wolf planted its feet and shuffled its hindquarters as if it were preparing to strike. The only barrier between Ylva and the wolf was a thin shutter of rotten wood. Perhaps it would take just one strong leap for it to break into the workshop, and the world would be full of splintered wood, and teeth and claws.

  ‘Leave us alone!’ Ylva raised the axe and stepped back to stand beside Bron. She held her weapon ready to fight, and waited for the sound of breaking wood, but it didn’t come. Instead, the wolf put back its head and howled.

  It was loud; as if the beast was with them inside the workshop. High-pitched and terrifying, it was the most primal sound Ylva could imagine. The call of a hunter in the wild; a creature with the most perfect instinct for the kill. An animal that would never give up.

  When it stopped, Ylva spoke into the eerie silence. ‘What do they want? Why are they doing this?’ She backed away and turned on the spot, wondering where was the safest place in the room. Only by the workbench would she be able to see the door and both windows, so she went to the bench and sat on the floor. With the axe in one hand, she picked up Freki with the other, holding him to her chest. ‘Don’t be scared,’ she said to him. ‘Don’t be scared. They’ll give up and go away. You’ll see.’

  The wolf howled again in the emptiness of Seatun, and the others joined its call, yipping and snarling at the night. Inside, Freki tilted his head to one side. He stiffened his front legs and pushed away from Ylva, turning his ears towards the sound. He listened for a moment, then did something that neither Ylva nor Bron expected; he turned his nose to the ceiling and did his best to howl.

  Freki’s first attempt came out like a whine, but he repeated his effort until he managed something close to a high-pitched howl. When he had done it, he looked proud of himself and pushed his muzzle into Ylva’s neck.

  Outside, the wolves fell quiet. Ylva looked at Bron and strained to hear any sound. She listened as Cathryn had taught her to listen. At first, there was nothing except the wind, but the harder she listened, the more she heard. The squeak of the tools swinging above her head. The steady in and out of Bron’s breath. The wet sound as the pup licked its lips. A low growl. A shuffle and a sigh.

  A soft rasp against the back wall. Another at the door. More sounds from all around the workshop.

  Ylva opened her eyes and looked at Bron. ‘They’re everywhere,’ she said. ‘They’re trying to get in.’

  37

  Ragnarök

  Keeping the pup in her arms, Ylva got to her feet and moved to the centre of the workshop as she listened to the wolves circling the building. They didn’t howl any more. Instead they sniffed. And scraped. And Ylva imagined the huge black wolf burying its nose in the snow at the base of the wall, searching for her scent. Searching for a way in.

  ‘What do you want?’ she shouted.

  Bron stood beside her, an arrow in one hand, and his bow in the other. He turned on the spot, watching the walls.

  Thump!

  They both jumped as the door rattled in its frame.

  Thump!

  Ylva felt the impact shake the whole building. Dust fell from the roof beams and glittered in the lamplight.

  ‘Go away!’ Ylva shouted. ‘Leave us alone!’

  Bron nudged her to attract her attention. He put a finger to his mouth and shook his head, making it clear he wanted her to be quiet.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Ylva whispered.

  The boy clamped his jaw tight and looked at the pup in Ylva’s arms.

  Thump!

  This time the sound came from the back of the workshop.

  Thump!

  At the side wall now.

  ‘They’re throwing themselves against the wood,’ Ylva breathed. ‘Looking for a way in.’ And when the next thump was followed by a sharp crack, Ylva knew they had found one.

  She spun around, axe raised towards the wall close to the window where she had looked out at the beasts. There was another thump, and a ripping sound as one of the boards split. It splintered inwards, and another hard thump snapped it completely, throwing the broken piece of wood into the workshop. It skidded across the straw-scattered dirt floor and stopped close to where Ylva and Bron were standing.

  They looked down at the chunk of smashed wood, then up at the gap in the wall. It was no wider than Ylva’s hand, no longer than her arm, but they knew it was the start of something bigger.

  A black muzzle pressed through, sniffing the air inside the workshop.

  ‘Go away!’ Ylva shouted.

  The wolf turned its head sideways to look into the room. Ylva saw only one of its golden eyes.

  Bron lifted his bow and pulled back the string, but as he released his hold and let the arrow fly, the wolf withdrew. As if it had known what he was doing. The arrow sailed across the workshop and disappeared through the gap in the boards. It didn’t even touch the sides.

  Immediately, the wolf was back, teeth snapping at the splintered wood, tearing at it, trying to make it wider. Bron took another arrow, drew back his bowstring, and fired, but the wolf retreated once more.

  And then the others were throwing themselves at the wall again. Over and over, so the workshop was a nightmare of thumping and splitting and growling.

  Bron stood with his bow ready, but Ylva backed away from the gap in the wall. She held Freki tight to her chest and gripped the axe, glancing at Bron to see that he only had a few more arrows left in his quiver. Even if every shot hit its mark, he wouldn’t have enough to kill every wolf. And Ylva was beginning to doubt that arrows would even stop them. They were too big. Too fast. Too clever.

  ‘Don’t waste your arrows,’ she told him.

  Bron stopped with his bow drawn and ready, aiming at the gap in the wall. The planks around it groaned and cracked under the continued assault. Soon they would split and the wolves would be inside. He hesitated and looked at Ylva, then at the pup in her arms. His eyes widened as if something that was bothering him had suddenly become clear. ‘The pup.’ He lowered his bow and grabbed Freki by the scruff of the neck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ylva kept tight hold of the young wolf, but Bron pulled harder.

  ‘No!’ Ylva shouted. ‘I won’t let you have him!’ She kicked out, catching Bron in the shin, making him let go of the pup and stumble backwards.

  At that moment, the wall finally gave in. With a loud crack, the planks split and the huge black wolf tumbled into the workshop in a flurry of teeth and fur. It crashed into Bron, knocking him to the floor, and sent his bow spinning across the workshop.

  The wolf scra
mbled to its feet and whipped around to face them like Fenrir facing Thor at the end of the world, and in a fraction of a second, Ylva took everything in.

  The wolf, with its head down, its teeth bared, and its eyes blazing. More wolves surging forward to enter the workshop through the broken wall. Bron lying on the floor, with his bow out of reach. And herself, with her axe in her hand, ready to battle a pack of wolves.

  But she knew her axe would be no match for a whole pack of wild animals.

  Without thinking, she stuffed the axe into her belt, snatched the oil lamp from the nail beside her, and threw it at the wolf.

  The lamp spun end over end as it sailed across the workshop. It went over Bron’s head and came down directly in front of the black wolf, hitting the ground with a crash, breaking open, and spilling oil into the straw. There wasn’t much left in it, but some splattered on to the wolf’s front paws and burst into flames.

  The animal yelped in fear. It rose up as if it were going to walk on two legs, then jumped back, turning in a circle before hurrying out through the gap in the wall.

  But Ylva knew that once the wolf was in the deep snow, the flames would be gone, and the beast would come back. She had to stop it. She had to stop them all. She was hardly even thinking as she hurried to the other lamps, hurling them one by one at the gap in the wood. She threw them in a frenzy, as hard as she could, smashing them against the wall, splattering oil in all directions. Most of it splashed across the rotten wood, catching light and burning in streaks. Some fell to the straw where it sprouted in miniature bonfires. But some of it hit close to the half-barrel of oil that Ylva had used to fill the lamps and light the fire.

  Flames erupted around the barrel, devouring the fuel Ylva had spilt earlier. They snaked up the sides of the container, found their way inside, and the oil ignited in the blink of an eye. It flared up like a giant lamp; a blaze of orange and black rose from the open barrel. It reached up to the ceiling and spread outwards, the flames rolling over one another.

  The heat was intense. Ylva felt it smother her as she stumbled backwards, raising her hand against it. Freki panicked and squirmed in her arms, desperate to break free and escape the nightmare of heat and light. But Ylva held him tight.

  ‘Get up!’ she shouted at Bron.

  He was still on the floor, close to the barrel, but there was no time to get to his feet, so he pushed himself backwards in the dirt, snatching up his bow as he went. Fiery rain dripped from the ceiling, spattering over his furs. It ignited on his body, burning his arms, and within seconds, he was aflame and panicking.

  Ylva ran forwards and grabbed the back of his collar with one hand. She planted her feet firmly and dragged him away from the worst of the fire. She let go of Freki, and rolled Bron over and over to smother the flames on his furs. When the worst of it was out, he jumped to his feet in panic, swatting at himself as if he were still burning. Smoke rose from blackened patches on his furs.

  ‘We have to get out.’ Ylva pulled him further away from the searing inferno and shoved him towards the front of the workshop.

  Coming to his senses, Bron hurried to the door and threw off the drop-bar. Ylva went to the workbench and got down on her knees. She reached under and grabbed Freki by the scruff of his neck. She dragged him out, despite his protests, and hurried to meet Bron by the door.

  As soon as he opened it, a surge of cold air blasted into the room. There was a great whoosh! as the fire fed on the fresh oxygen, and the inferno rolled across the ceiling like an ocean of flames drowning the workshop.

  Ylva and Bron stumbled out into the snow and staggered towards the stable before they turned to watch the workshop burn. By now the entire building was engulfed. The heat was incredible. Orange light illuminated the blizzard, and the smell of oil and woodsmoke was thick in Ylva’s nostrils.

  ‘Look.’ She pointed deeper into the abandoned village, where the light from the fire reached far enough for them to see into the white flurry of the snowstorm. There, the dark shapes of the wolves slipped along the fronts of the decaying buildings. They ran in panic towards the village gates, and Ylva knew they would escape into the valley, terrified by the fire.

  38

  Hate

  Embers rose into the blizzard like flickering fireflies in distant summer. If they came close to the stable, Ylva and Bron stamped them out, but there wasn’t much else they could do but watch the workshop burn until eventually it collapsed in on itself. In those final moments, a plume of sparks and black smoke rose into the sky, and when the workshop was no more than a glowing pile of ash, Ylva and Bron stood side by side; exhausted, aching and hungry.

  ‘I hate him.’ Ylva held Freki close to her chest. ‘The three-fingered man, I mean. This is all his fault.’ She stared at the coals as they blushed in the breeze. ‘And now we have to go. He’ll have seen the flames from the other end of the valley. He’ll come looking for us and . . . Wait.’ She stopped as a thought leapt into her head so suddenly it was as if Thor had put it there himself. ‘I’ve done enough running. We should wait for him.’ She turned to Bron. ‘We’ll find a place to hide, and when he comes, we’ll ambush him. We’ll kill him. You with your arrows and me with my axe.’

  The boy circled his fist in front of his face and tapped his head.

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ Ylva said. ‘And I know you think I can’t fight, but I can. I’m strong. I can fight. I fought a bear to get here. Those wolves, too. And I just saved your life.’

  Bron shrugged. So what?

  ‘So I’m going to stay here and wait for the three-fingered man.’ She pulled the axe from her belt. ‘And when he gets here, I’m going to kill him, and all this will be over.’

  ‘You want to kill me, child? I don’t think so.’ The voice was unmistakeable. Deep and smooth like rolling thunder.

  The three-fingered man had found them.

  Bron was reacting before the Viking had even finished his sentence. He turned, dropped, and raised his bow in one fluid motion. Ylva hadn’t known it was possible to move with such speed. But he wasn’t fast enough. As Bron reached to take an arrow from his quiver, the flame-haired woman appeared like a ghost from the shadow of the stable. Firelight glimmered on the short iron sword in her fist as she took two great strides forward and brought the pommel down hard on the side of Bron’s head.

  Bron’s legs buckled and he collapsed like a sack of grain. He didn’t even make a sound.

  ‘You should give me your axe.’ The three-fingered man stepped from the shadow to stand behind the woman. He looked Ylva in the eye and held out his hand. ‘Unless you want her to hit you too.’

  39

  Bound

  The three-fingered man sat on a stool by the stable door. Ylva’s axe lay across his lap. He was blowing into a bone flute, trying to make something that sounded like music, but it was spoilt by his lack of fingers.

  Sitting on the stable floor, Ylva’s wrists were bound with rough hemp rope. Another length of rope ran from her wrists and was fastened around her neck. Her heart was still pounding, and emotions surged through her. Fear, hate, anger, frustration, all of them boiling together like poison in her veins. She dug the fingernails of her right hand hard into the skin on the back of her left hand, trying to clear her mind. She had to find a way out of this. The gods wanted revenge, so they would show her how; she had to be ready for their sign.

  ‘You like music?’ The deep, rumbling voice was familiar, but Ylva had never been this close to him. He had removed his helmet and she could see the pores on his bald head, and the shape of each rune tattooed into his skin. She could see the cracks in the black kohl that ringed his ice-blue eyes, every bristle on his chin, and every individual hair in the wolfskins he wore. She could smell the wild and filthy scent that came off him.

  ‘My name is Torstein Ulvemand.’ The stool creaked as he placed the flute on the floor beside him and rested both hands on the axe across his lap.

  Torstein Ulvemand. The three-fingered man had a name.
/>
  ‘Have you heard of me?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  A flash of disappointment crossed his face before he showed her a tight-lipped smile. ‘This is Astrid.’ He gestured at the flame-haired woman without taking his eyes off Ylva’s. ‘And you are . . . ?’

  ‘I don’t care to tell you. I don’t intend to make a friend of you.’

  ‘I see. Well, I know nothing about you except that you’ve been riding with a pair of murdering thieves and –’ he nodded at Freki, now leashed to one of the stable posts – ‘a wolf pup?’

  ‘Definitely a wolf pup.’ Astrid was settling their horses, stabling them beside the chestnut that had brought Bron to Seatun. Freki was at her feet, but didn’t seem bothered by her. He was curled in the straw, watching her with his chin on his paws. Ylva felt betrayed by his lack of hate for the slavers.

  She looked down at Bron beside her, bound in the same way she was. Instead of sitting, though, he was lying curled with his eyes closed. One side of his face was thick with congealed blood.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ the woman said. ‘I didn’t hit him that hard.’

  ‘He’ll live.’ The three-fingered man put his right hand to his mouth as if he was thinking. Where the two smallest fingers should have been, there were just two stumps. ‘That woman you left up in the cave is dead though. It’s a shame. She stole something valuable from me, and I wanted to make her pay for it.’

  ‘The boy will have to do.’ The flame-haired woman glanced over her shoulder as she took the bags from her horse. ‘It took us a long time to find that cave you were hiding in.’ She loosened the saddle and removed it as she spoke. ‘We had to split up and ride around in circles for a day at least. The snow covered your tracks almost as soon as you laid them, but we found it in the end.’ She looked over at Ylva as she took blankets from the horse’s back and draped them over the stall fence. ‘We found the woman, and enough good signs to know you were heading in this direction. We were going to camp down for the night but—’