by Terry Graves
She had leaned over him to kiss Kai on the forehead, and it had been as if all heat had left, as his body was suddenly being whisked away from him. Her kiss hurt like the sting of a thousand ice needles. And still, he had felt a warmth underneath and experienced pleasure in the cold of death, as if it meant he was back home at last, cuddling under the blankets of his bed. Somehow he was getting accustomed to it, and the feeling was fading. Perhaps he was dying, Kai had thought then, and that was the reason he felt so contented. And so, he had discovered with wonder that if that was dying, he didn’t mind it so much either.
“Now come with me,” the Queen had said. She was smiling and Kai could read in that smile whatever he pleased. Then a dog had howled in the distance and her face had changed. She looked concerned, perhaps afraid to be seen. The smile was all but gone and Kai had started to wake up from his reverie. “Come with me,” she had insisted, but Kai had shaken his head. “Come!” she demanded, and Kai had refused again, this time more vigorously. A second dog had joined the first and the light of a torch had been lit behind one of the windows of the nearby huts. “I need you,” she had almost implored, her voice just the gentlest whisper, kneeling, with her dress all over the ground fading seamlessly into the snow.
“Kiss me again,” Kai had said, and was surprised at hearing his own voice and at longing for such a thing. The Snow Queen’s countenance had become somber and Kai felt guilty. What right did he have to make that petition? It was as if she was going to say something, but the howling had increased and Kai had heard a voice shouting somewhere and a bolt unfastening.
The Snow Queen had picked up one of the snowflakes that were falling around them and closed her hand into a fist. When she opened it again the snowflake was gone and it had turned into a solid piece with a translucent bee inside, like those insects that could sometimes be seen trapped in chunks of amber. The Snow Queen put it into Kai’s palm, but she did not touch his skin.
“If you need me,” she had said, but she corrected herself: “when you need me, let it free and I will come once again. But you will have to pay the price.”
And then the Snow Queen had vanished and, with her, the supernatural cold that had engulfed Kai was gone as well.
“Oi, you two!” cried Alarr. “You just passed the mountain path!”
Kai came back to reality. He looked around and saw the forest, and Gerda, and the path that opened on one side and which was indeed behind them already. But he could still feel the cold in his heart, just a twinge, an echo from the past, a remembrance of the Snow Queen’s kiss. The brush of her pendant against his chest, where the snowflake bee waited, was his only proof that it had not been a dream. Because it would be very stupid to fall in love with a dream, and if it weren’t for this, Kai would have thought the same as the others. He looked at Gerda again under a new light, her delicate features, the fire behind her eyes that he found so appealing. She was human, real, while the Snow Queen seemed a fabrication of his mind, pure imagination, illusions and mirages.
Perhaps he was the one being childish after all.
They followed the mountain path for a couple of hours, until it became steep and narrow and they stopped in a bend to eat something. They sat against a series of big rocks covered in patches of lichen and shared the bread and the cheese, and left the cured meat for later. Alarr had brought some mead which he poured into the ox horn he always carried in his belt, and they all drank and felt the comforting liquid warming their bellies.
From where they were they could not see the view below, just trees growing out of the hillside, wild nature untouched by the hand of man. When they finished their meal, Gerda got up and threw a meaningful look at Alarr. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Yeah, uh… me too,” Alarr added awkwardly, and quickened his pace to follow her. “I have to stretch my legs.”
“There is still a good walk until we reach the top,” said Kai. They had both been walking for the whole morning, so there was no way Alarr was telling the truth. Gerda could be a master of deception, but he was no good with lies. “We’d better hurry if we want to be back home before dusk.”
“Yes, yes, whatever,” said Gerda with a hand gesture, lowering her eyelids with boredom. They both left the path and penetrated further into the forest. Kai observed them until they made a turn and disappeared behind the bushes and the low fog.
“So what do you think they’re up to?” he asked Runa.
“Do you need me to make you a drawing, Kai the Sagacious One?”
It was intended as a pun, but an innocent one. Still, Kai felt betrayed.
“Are they… together?” he said bleakly.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. But they seem perfect for each other, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
Runa peered at him with her big gray eyes, probably looking through him as a seer would look at the future through the entrails of a fish. But she had good reason not to make any further comment. They both stood in silence, Runa carving a piece of wood and Kai lost in his thoughts about Gerda. He didn’t understand why she had talked about marriage with him only to leave with Alarr a bit later. This was not typical of her. Perhaps it was some sort of warning, he decided, a way for her to let him know that she was not going to wait for him forever.
He felt bad for considering this. Alarr was his friend too and Kai only wanted the best for him. Just not Gerda’s.
They waited for what felt like an eternity, just with the rumor of the forest to accompany them, the wind in the trees, the caws of the ravens, Runa’s scratching noises and Kai’s thoughts about Alarr and Gerda, which were becoming drearier and drearier. When he was about to get up and go look for them in the forest, Runa gave a low hiss.
“Don’t move.”
At first, Kai misunderstood her. He assumed the girl was trying to dissuade him from following the couple. He opened his mouth to mumble an excuse about the time, about the sun setting, about the darkness and the unevenness of the path because, even now, in the daylight, there were parts of it that were barely seen.
He was about to explain all this to her when he saw the wolf.
It was on the trail, no more than five or six paces away, gazing at them with yellow, amber-veined eyes. It seemed famished, sick and desperate. Its fur was thin and full of bald patches. Kai had seen wolves before, shadows against the night sky, prowling on the outskirts of Veraheim. But he had never seen one so close.
Carefully, with slow, calculated movements, Runa left the figurine she had been carving and took an arrow from her quiver. While she tensed the bow’s string, her hands trembled in a way Kai had never seen before. Runa’s teeth were chattering.
It is the damn wolf, he thought, and his fangs. She must be reliving that horrid day.
Kai had a knife in his boot, so he took it out and got ready to spring. If Runa’s arrow missed the target he would jump on it and pray for his weapon to find the beast’s neck before the creature’s jaws could find his.
The string of the bow was tense. The wolf snarled and Kai could see how the muscles of its legs tensed in preparation for a sudden attack. It would come any moment now. His hand grabbed the handle of his knife.
Runa’s arrow left her bow, flew past the wolf, just a couple of inches away from its head, and got stuck in an old tree stump. The girl had never failed at such close range, but fear had taken its toll on her arm this time.
The wolf, perhaps encouraged by the missed shot, jumped over her, but found Kai’s knife instead.
The blade dived into its flesh, but that did not stop the animal. He felt its weight over his body, heavier than he had expected, and they both fell to the ground, fighting. The wolf snapped its mouth frantically and its fangs looked for the blandness of his neck. Kai raised his arm to protect himself and the jaws of the beast closed against it. The leather of his gloves was thick but he still felt a stinging pain and saw his blood tinting his clothes.
He screamed and struggled against the wolf, but his
strength was growing weaker. His vision turned blurry and he felt lightheaded, as if he was about to faint. There was too much blood, gallons of it spreading out all over him.
That was it, he concluded. A starving wolf was all that it took, after all.
But then, Kai realized that not all the blood was his, and he saw Runa astride the beast’s back, stabbing it time after time, even way after it died.
“Kai! Are you alright?” Her voice sounded desperate and he managed to murmur something in the hope of calming her down. But the pain was still with him, and he was not sure that he was not going to faint after all.
“Take it off me,” he pleaded.
“I’m trying, but it is stuck. Even after death, the damn thing won’t yield.”
Runa pushed her knife inside the wolf’s maw and pulled it down like a lever, and Kai found some energy to help her. They managed to open the mouth, then shoved the animal aside. Kai took off his glove and saw the marks of the teeth on his skin, which was still dripping blood. It was not nearly as bad as he’d thought, but it still hurt badly. He pushed his arm against the snow to clean it until it started to feel numb.
“Sorry for missing the shot,” said Runa, abashed.
“Nonsense. You saved my life.” He wanted to say something else, about facing one’s fears and conquering them and how proud he was of her. But there was a shout and he saw Alarr and Gerda running back; no doubt because they had heard all the screaming and the struggle of the fight.
“Are you hurt?”
They explained what had happened and how Runa had made the kill. Gerda examined Kai’s wound and confirmed that it was not deep and that it would heal if he took proper care of it. He felt better and a bit embarrassed with all the attention he was getting.
“I should have been here,” said Alarr, shaking his head. “I should have.”
“There was no way for you to know,” Kai replied. But deep down, he thought he should. His friend carried a bunch of flowers with white petals in his hands, small and delicate. He thought about the intimacy Alarr and Gerda had shared during the last months and felt jealous again. “So what’s with the flowers?”
“He got them for me.”
Gerda’s reply sounded a bit too harsh to him, a bit too reproachful.
“We have to go back,” said Runa. “There’s never only one.” Kai approached the wolf and caressed the fur of its back. It was not a large specimen and seemed old and lusterless. He tried to imagine a whole pack of them following their trail. Runa misinterpreted his gesture. “Leave it. The pelt is in very poor condition. Not worth skinning it.”
His wound did not bleed anymore, so he put on his glove again. They collected their things, fastened their mantles, and walked away.
EIGHT
They covered their tracks to mislead the wolves and looked constantly over their shoulders on the way back, aware of the noises that came from the bushes and the distant howls that the late afternoon gale carried across many miles.
When they finally reached Veraheim with the last rays of dusk, the king’s men had already arrived.
Runa was tired and scared, with her nerves on edge, and found the warriors in the market square in their shiny byrnies and their helmets. No one had chain mail like those in Veraheim, nor a helmet with a faceplate and those rich silver inlaid patterns. Horses so large and with such glossy coats were unknown to her. They looked like creatures from legends, like Blóðughófi or Falhófnir.
One of them, a dappled gray stallion, was particularly impressive. Runa had always liked horses. She had never ridden one, but she admired their calmness and the nobility they seemed to project. She felt an impulse to get closer to the stallion and stroke it, but looked up and noticed that it was carrying a couple of corpses on its back, heaped and tightly secured with a rope. One of them still had a spearhead coming out of his shoulder.
Some of the warriors were also wounded, filthy and exhausted. Their faces and clothes were covered in dirt and mud, but still, many peasants had gathered around them to observe them with amazement and respect. There was something heroic in their stance, something that men such as Sveinn, who was dealing with the leader of the war band at that moment, would never be able to fake. The warrior was tall and wide, and had a long blonde beard sprinkled with gray hairs, and eyes as sharp as those of a bird of prey. Sveinn and his men looked like common brutes next to him.
Runa also noticed a woman on one of the horses, dressed in full gear like any other warrior, covered in a thick cloak and a hood. She had a kind of presence, a glow; Runa could not describe it better. She had a horrid pallor in her skin, a hand pressing her chest, as if she was about to leave this world. The woman looked back at her, and her eyes burned with life, but her expression was inscrutable and made her feel uncomfortable.
“Look at the banner,” said Alarr, unable to contain his excitement. The war flag depicted a black dragon with its mouth wide opened, presiding over a crimson background. “These are men from Hafgrim’s hird!”
“We should go,” muttered Gerda. “I don’t like this.”
One of the warriors peered at Runa. His face contorted when he saw the scars and looked away. She covered her face with her cloak. Perhaps it was better to excuse herself and walk back home, where no one would bother her. She needed rest and solitude, and the image of the wolf she had killed came back into her mind. It would probably haunt her for many nights to come.
“No way we’re leaving now. That man may be Hafgrim himself. A true Viking hero, right there, with Óðin’s blood in his veins. This is the most exciting thing that has happened in Veraheim ever. I want to stay.”
Gerda threw him a furious look. “We have things to do.”
“Not now.” Alarr looked away, darting his eyes.
The girl sighed. She still carried the white flowers Alarr had gotten for her on the mountain and they were starting to wither. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to throw them away, but she held them tightly against her chest and paced away from the square. Alarr folded his arms, his brows knitted. An awkward silence followed. If that was love, Runa wanted nothing to do with it.
Not that it mattered, really. Not that it mattered at all.
“I’ll go check on her,” said Kai, and also left. His right hand was pressed against his wounded forearm.
“I should get going as well,” said Runa. There was something about those men that made her feel uncomfortable. They looked at the freefolk with disdain, when not with straight animosity, as if they were thinking about ravaging the town. One of the children got too close to one of them, trying to touch the axe that hung from his belt, and the warrior pushed him back with violence. I don’t like this, Runa thought. Heroes or not.
Behind the warriors, she saw the prisoners for the first time. At first glance she dismissed them as thralls, but they were tied down together and Runa noticed the defeat in their eyes and the dried blood on their clothes. Their faces were marked with stripes of ochre paint, washed down by rain and sweat. And she understood. Those were Valdyr’s men. With their food stash almost depleted at the end of the winter, they had made a desperate attack on the king’s warriors. And they had lost.
Dozens of brigands used those forests as their hideout; but there was one in particular that Runa knew all too well. Her sight got caught in those eyes of an impossible green and, under the paint and the mud, she recognized her.
The little girl had been her age when Runa met her for the first time, and she had grown since then and turned into a beautiful woman with long blonde hair. It was not fair, she thought, but that was how it was. The same little girl who, under her dad’s command, had cut Runa’s father’s throat with trembling hands. So poorly that the man had not died, and she had had to cut him again.
And again. And again.
When she saw her she felt again the hound’s paws against her back, the jaws tearing off the flesh. The brigand girl’s father, the one who had murdered Runa’s mother and set the dogs on her yea
rs ago, was not there. She still remembered that face clearly, the crooked teeth with the gray gums, the wide forehead with the hairline receding at the temples.
He was not there; she forced herself to repeat it twice. But the girl was. The green in her eyes was what Runa’s nightmares were all about.
“Now listen to me!” shouted Sveinn, and he raised his arms so there was silence. His sentences ended up in an unintelligible murmur. He had probably been drinking. “These are our brothers and guests and we will treat them as such. They have come from far away to help us deal with the giant and, for that, we are extremely grateful. You will open your homes and your barns to them, you will lend them your beds and offer them mead and attend the wounded so they will not find nothing amiss.”
Whispers and comments followed, but Hafgrim stepped forward. “Do not fear, good people of Veraheim. I will personally see that my men behave according to the law. We will only take what we need and, as soon as we have finished with our job here, we will return to where we came from. And as a token of goodwill, we brought you a present. Look!” He made a gesture and the warriors moved away so the prisoners were revealed at the center of the square. There were exclamations and some insults. “You may do with them what you consider fit.”
“Hang them!” shouted a woman. “Hang them all!”
“Cut off their heads!” screamed another.
Runa only half-heard all this, as she had her eyes fixed on the brigand girl.
“Is she…?” Alarr’s reedy voice came from behind her. She nodded. He had heard the story many times, as had the others. Not from her, because she wouldn’t speak of those things. But there were some who had been with her that day and survived the attack. “That’s a good thing, Runa. It seems like justice will be served at last.”
“I…” she started. “I don’t know.”
Things were developing fast. Four men followed Hafgrim and Sveinn into the great hall, two more were to attend the horses, and a couple of small groups dispersed across the narrow streets. But the others remained, amused, while the crowd booed the prisoners. They brought big stumps from a nearby woodshed, forced them to kneel and placed them under their necks.
