“All right. Here.” He drifted back into sight around a tree, his voice hanging in the silence. Hooves made no sound here, muffled on deep springy cushions of needles, centuries deep.
“We’re going to lose one another,” she muttered to Brochael, but before he answered, a call came from the depths of the wood, from man to man.
Brochael waved to Skapti, then turned his horse. “They’ve found something.”
The men were gathered by a small hollow. Jessa looked down at Wulfgar, who was standing, and saw a fragment of cloth in his hands: a green strip of cloak, slashed and wet. Another was trampled in the mud at his feet.
No one said anything for a moment.
Then Vidar murmured, “I suggest, Jarl, that we go back. There aren’t enough of us here, as you said yourself.”
“No.”
Wulfgar put the cloth in his belt and swung himself up. “Not without the body,” he said with cold fury.
Vidar hesitated. Then he nodded.
They pushed on, following broken branches, a ragged scar torn into the wood. The trees were much thicker, hard to force through. Branches, tangled and low, swept close to the ground, swishing back into the riders’ faces.
Finally Wulfgar stopped. He dismounted and crouched, peering into the utter blackness among the trees. After a while he said, “There’s some sort of cleft in there; a rock wall. We’ll have to go in on foot. Gunnar, tether the dogs and keep them back; they’re no use. Keep two men with you and guard the horses. Jessa, stay here.”
“Wulfgar, you’re not thinking!” Brochael jumped down. “Maybe it’s waiting in there!”
The Jarl gave him a cool look. “That’s never bothered you before.”
“We should be careful.”
“He was one of my men,” Wulfgar said levelly. “My war band. You know what that means.”
Brochael glared. “Of course I do! All I’m saying is take care! We don’t even know what it is!”
Behind him, Kari stirred. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not here.”
They all turned and looked at him on his shadowy horse. Some of the men touched amulets unobtrusively. Suddenly Jessa felt their unease. They didn’t know whether to believe him. Perhaps he felt it too, for the birds dropped from the trees as if to aid him, one clutching his shoulder with its great claws.
It flapped away as Wulfgar asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It was there, not long ago. But now it’s not.” He gave a slight shrug and slid down from his horse. “I’ll go in, if you want.”
“No, we will.” Wulfgar half turned, then glanced back. “You are sure?”
Jessa watched in surprise. It was unlike him to ask twice. Kari spread his fingers. “I can’t feel it.”
“Wulfgar.” Vidar pushed forward urgently. “You must be careful.” He glanced past the Jarl’s shoulder at Kari, a rapid glance, but Jessa saw it. “Remember Freyr’s warning! And what I said to you last night.”
It seemed to her then that Wulfgar was really unsure, as he gazed for a moment into the wood. Then he shook his head. “We’re going in. Will you come with me, old friend?”
The priest sighed and nodded. He drew a long sword, took off his heavy pale coat and tossed it over the horse.
“Stay at the back, Jessa,” Wulfgar warned.
Then he bent low, and they followed him in under the branches.
It didn’t take long.
Stumbling under a swinging branch, Jessa thumped into Brochael’s broad back; he turned, deliberately blocking her view.
“Don’t look, Jessa,” he said gently, holding her shoulder. “They’ve found him.”
“Alive?”
He shook his head.
She had known that, anyway. Behind him the men talked in low, shocked whispers.
“Go back to Kari,” the big man muttered. “We’ll deal with this.”
She turned and pushed through the spiny branches quickly. She felt cold and sick.
Kari hadn’t come. He sat on his own with the two ravens. The men guarding the horses had moved away; they watched him, whispering.
She sat beside him. Neither of them spoke; he pulled a dead leaf from his hair and rolled it in long, frail fingers.
“Did you hear Freyr’s warning?” he asked quietly.
Jessa dragged her mind back to the dark, smoky hall. “Yes. Just before you came, last night.”
“That some pale, evil creature was coming to the hold?”
She looked at him, suddenly wary. “Yes.”
“The thing that killed this man.”
She shrugged. “What else?”
He dropped the leaf. It fluttered down against a mossy rock and lay there, still.
Fourteen
He was more huge than any human being.
They rode back toward the hold in a silent cavalcade. No one felt inclined to talk; the only sounds in the empty land were the jingle of harness and the wind, humming in the high fells.
Wulfgar rode far out in front, as if he wanted to think, and everyone else followed in a straggling line. Brochael’s ax glinted on his saddle bow; they had had to use it to hack a deep, hasty grave in the frozen soil. It had taken them a long time, Jessa thought. She wondered if the creature had been watching them.
She wondered about it, this thing Gudrun had sent. Unseen, ferocious, spell-forged. The thought made her uneasy; she turned in her saddle and looked back up the fellside.
The wood was a black fringe, hiding its death and its secret. Deep in the tangle of branches it must be lurking, breathing, bloodied. Surely this was what Freyr had warned them about. What else could he have meant? She wondered why Kari had asked.
Then she narrowed her eyes into the snow glare. Two small shapes were moving down the hill toward them, obviously horsemen.
“Wulfgar!” she called, and everyone turned, staring where she pointed.
Brochael brought his horse back to her. “Now, who are these?” he muttered.
They waited, watching the two horses pick their way down the steep, boulder-strewn slope. Farm ponies, scrawny and unkempt. The first was ridden by a coarse-looking black-haired man, his leather jerkin hacked into rough holes at neck and arms, soiled and sweaty. Behind him was a boy about Jessa’s age, riding awkwardly, she thought, until as they came close she noticed he only used one hand, the other resting uselessly in his lap.
“Who are you?” Brochael asked bluntly.
The black-haired man scowled at him. “I should ask that. You’ve been on my land.” Then he saw Wulfgar riding back and his look changed at once; he slid from the horse hurriedly. “Lord Jarl. I didn’t see you.”
Wulfgar nodded tight lipped; he hated servility. “I’m sorry we’ve been on your land. Your name?”
“Skuli Skulisson of Kordamark.” The man saw the boy was still on the horse and glared. “Get down, fool.”
The boy dismounted and stood, watching them all quietly. He wore a thrall ring around his neck; he looked uneasy, glancing from face to face—a quick look at Jessa, and then his eyes widened; a flash of terror filled them, and she knew he had seen Kari.
“I was coming to the hold, lord,” Skuli said, rubbing the black stubble of his beard with the back of one hand. He too had seen Kari; his eyes kept darting to him nervously. He swallowed. “I have some news that will interest you. This creature—”
“You’ve seen it?” Wulfgar asked quickly.
“Not myself, lord, no, not me. But this boy has. Last night he says he saw it. Come and tell your story. Answer the Jarl.”
The thrall came forward. He seemed wary, but not afraid.
“What’s your name?” Wulfgar asked easily.
“Hakon, lord.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘lord.’ Where did you see the thing?”
Hakon stared, surprised. “In the pastures above Skulisstead, about four leagues east of here. It was last night, just at dusk. I was bringing the children home—the master’s boy and girl. I’d heard the rumors and I was
worried—”
“So you should have been!” his master snarled.
“Be quiet,” Wulfgar said sharply. “Let him finish.” He sat on a boulder and let his horse crop the sparse turf. “What did you see?”
Hakon glanced at the listening horsemen, at Jessa, Brochael, Skapti. Not at Kari. He looked tired, she thought, and there were bruises on his neck and face. Skuli must have made his anger felt.
“At first nothing. Then in the wood I knew it was there—sounds, rustles, following us. I got the children up a tree. Then it came out at me.” He shrugged, searching for words. “It was … whitish, the color of an ice bear, but bigger, upright. Bigger than a man. Heavier.”
“An animal?” Wulfgar said.
The boy hesitated. Then he said, “An animal, yes, I think … it’s hard to say. Snow drifted across it; it seemed blurred.”
“For how long?”
“Just seconds, lord. Not clearly. It had small, bright eyes.”
They were silent.
“And do you think it could reason, this creature?”
Kari’s question was quiet and unexpected. Hakon jerked his head up with a glint of fear. Then he glanced away, back at Wulfgar. “Yes. It was … it had something. Some sorcery.” Defiantly he looked up at the pale boy on the horse. “An evil sorcery.”
“It attacked you?” Wulfgar asked. “How did you escape?”
“Odin saved me.” He stammered into silence.
One or two of the men glanced at each other.
Skuli sneered. “I’m sorry, my lord. The fool thinks that the god cares for him. Warrior Odin, of all the gods!”
“He does.” Hakon looked straight at Wulfgar. “My lord, two great black birds fell from the sky. They fought off the beast, screaming at it, driving it back into the trees. Who else could have sent them?”
“Who else indeed?” By an iron effort of will Wulfgar did not look at Kari. Skapti grinned, and Brochael snorted with laughter.
“There may be some other explanation for the birds,” the Jarl said quietly. “But why didn’t you climb the tree with the children? It was dangerous to stay below.”
Hakon was silent.
“He couldn’t,” Skuli said bluntly. “We call him Hakon Empty-hand. He can only use the one. The other’s useless.”
Jessa saw the thrall straighten. Both hands hung by his sides. He looked at no one.
After a moment Wulfgar stood up, giving the farmer a cold glare. Then he said, “Thank you—both. This creature has been in my hold and killed one of my men. If it can be killed, I intend to kill it. I’ll need all the men I can get. Come back to the hold with us and have something to eat.” He glanced up, but the ravens were nowhere to be seen. “You may even see something that will surprise you.”
On the way back Jessa maneuvered her horse next to Kari’s. “Slow down. I’ve got something to tell you.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Jessa, you’ve had something to tell me since I got here. It doesn’t take sorcery or runemasters to know that.”
She laughed and took off a glove, flexing her fingers. “The weather’s getting warmer. Have you noticed?”
“It’s warmer than Thrasirshall.”
“Anywhere is.” She looked at him. “It’s about Vidar Freyrspriest.”
The ice-pale eyes glanced at her quickly. “What about him?”
Briefly she told him about the thief at Hollfara, and the man who had opened the door of the house in the Jarlshold.
“It was him, I know it was, but when they sent for him another wretch came, a man called Snorri. Vidar backed him up. It was all lies, and all planned. That’s what worries me. It means Vidar knows the rat-thief and probably what he does. More than that, he knows where he is.”
“In the hold?”
“Or just outside. He’s hiding him. Maybe even takes a share of the money. And what sort of adviser does that make him for Wulfgar? What sort of man of honor? Not only that, Skapti doesn’t like him.”
“Doesn’t he?” He smiled wanly. “Then it must be serious. Did Wulfgar believe you, about the thief?”
She shrugged, looking out over the landscape. “I pretended I was mistaken. I didn’t want to put the priest on his guard. He’s a clever man—he watches people. Have you noticed?”
His smile went. “I’d noticed.” He pushed the hair from his eyes and glanced at her. “And I’ll tell you something else about him. This man Skuli—”
“A real charmer!”
“Yes, well, Vidar knows him. They gave each other one look, just one, but I felt the knowledge of it tingle in my fingers. They know each other. Your Vidar keeps bad company.” He shrugged. “Maybe you should watch him.”
“I’d hoped you’d say that. We could follow him....”
Kari laughed then, something he rarely did, so that Brochael looked back, curious.
“Jessa,” he marveled, “do you think that I could slip about the hold unnoticed? The witch’s son, the sorcerer, the master of ravens? None of them trust me, you saw that. They can’t take their eyes off me. The Snow-walker’s son.” He shrugged bitterly, a little proudly. “Besides, I don’t need to follow him.”
She dragged hair from her face. “I know you don’t.”
“Then tonight, we’ll see what we can see. If your thief is in the hold, we’ll know. I’ll show him to you.”
“Thanks.” She nodded quickly. But the echo of Gudrun was in his voice, and though she hated herself for it, just for a moment, she feared him.
Fifteen
He could not away from me;
nor would I from him.
Crouched between two pines on the ridge of the forest the creature watched them go.
Even from here it could see the different shapes of them, her voice whispering each description in its ear. The dark one; the tall one; the big, bearded one; the one with long hair; the one with the scarred face. And the small, silvery one. My son, her voice murmured.
The creature lurched down to a pool in a hollow, smashing the thin linkings of ice with its claws. Peat brown water lapped at the soil.
Her face looked up at it as it drank, narrow and pale; silvery hair braided about it, her eyes colorless and bright as glass. My enemies, she said. Especially the last one, Kari. He and I are the same, and yet opposites. Once I cursed him that no one would trust him, not even his dearest friends, and he hasn’t forgotten that. She smiled, a sad, bitter smile. That’s the sorrow of power, and its delight.
The rune beast lapped at the brackish water, barely understanding. Water dripped from its raised face, soaking its pelt and the clots of old blood. It felt as if it had been drinking her, taking her coldness into itself. She reached out as if to touch it, and the pool rippled, wave-blown. There are plans working here, she whispered, and not only mine.
Confused, the rune beast tried to summon questions; the patterns of sound slid through its mind and were lost, and she laughed. The creature swung its slow head at the sound.
And each one thinks he plans for himself and is unseen. But I see.
Her reflection dissolved and shimmered; only her voice, like a cold echo of its own hunger, tickled the creature’s ear so that it scrabbled and scratched. Leave thinking to me. I am your thoughts. You’ve done well already. Now take as many as you can. Feast yourself. Take the dark one if you want, the Jarl, the arrogant one. But leave my son alone.
The beast swayed dizzily.
I’d see him betrayed by his friends first. I want him to feel that. Then he’ll act. He won’t be able to help it.
When she had gone from its mind, it crouched, its small pale eyes gazing deep into the trees, breathing the wet, earthy scents of the forest, the far-off taint of blood and men and horses. Weariness surged in its brain, a dark unthinking pain that masked even the hunger.
The rune thing stumbled far down into the forest, over roots and rocks, fumbling through the tangle of branches; down black aisles of stark trees to the fresh mound of turned earth. Trampling over that, i
t climbed into a deep split between two rocks and curled there, heaving its huge bulk around in search of comfort. It was growing daily; its body would hardly fit here now; its skin was scratched and smeared and sodden with the forest’s damp. Deep among mosses and lichen and unfurling bracken, eyes closed, it waited for sleep.
When a small bird landed on a stone and picked at its fur, the creature did not move. Deep in dreams, the voice whispered to it all the long afternoon.
Sixteen
Fatal bonds were fettered for him.
“I’ve called you here to discuss what to do,” Wulfgar said.
They sat in his room, Jessa and Kari by the fire, Brochael on the bench, Skapti and Vidar opposite. Wulfgar turned from the window and leaned his back against it.
“Then come and sit down,” Skapti muttered. “We can’t talk with you prowling.”
Wulfgar came over, but without his usual amusement. He sat on a chair and leaned back grimly.
“First, what do we know about it? Gudrun sent it.” He glanced at Kari. “That’s certain.”
The boy nodded.
“Second. It kills. Apparently to eat.” For a moment he was silent as they all thought of Halldor; then he pulled his thoughts back and snapped, “It’s big, has no weapons but its hands, may or may not be intelligent. And it’s coming here. Why?”
Some eyes and most thoughts slid to Kari.
“Because there is something here that draws it,” he said simply. “I don’t know yet what it is.”
“A person?” Vidar asked smoothly.
“Maybe.”
“And what will it do when it comes back to the hold? Perhaps tonight? Or tomorrow?”
They were silent. Flames crackled in the room; someone yelled at a dog outside.
Kari said, “Didn’t Freyr tell you?” He looked strangely at the priest through his silver fringe of hair, and Vidar shrugged uneasily.
“The god spoke of death.”
“Whose?”
Vidar glanced at Wulfgar and didn’t answer.
Snow-Walker Page 18
