No one spoke, and when the sound of the horses’ hooves gently pushing into the snow faded away into the background, silence set in. Ivar wondered how Ósa had dealt with it, with the loneliness and quiet of having no one else around. That sense of isolation, mixed with the knowledge that the burden of salvation rested upon her shoulders, would be enough to drive anyone mad.
Time dragged by. The tracks led on and on, never ending and never arriving.
Until, after perhaps an hour, a new sound reached their ears.
Water.
Of course. They must have been nearing the Horn by now, the river that led down from the north and passed close to the lake. It wasn’t deep by any means, but it would have to be crossed, and if they had to cross it … then so did the Ør ahead of them.
“Stop,” Ivar whispered, but the two men before him seemed to have already caught on. Everyone reined in the horses and swung quietly to the ground, then tied them to a few low-hanging branches. The sound of the river grew louder as Ivar trailed the others through the trees. It didn’t take long for their footsteps to falter and stop altogether, as five large forms became visible in the distance. They stood on the bank of the river, seeming to be wrapped in some sort of conversation about which way to go. Now and then, one would point across the river, and another would point downriver, as if to follow it.
Ivar and the others hung back, peering out from behind the trees. Móri’s mouth was open in horror, but there was also an unmistakably determined knit to his brows. Lines of surprise pulled at Sigvard’s and Eldór’s faces, though they visibly worked to remain calm.
“The wind is from the north,” Sigvard whispered. “Móri and I will trail downriver and try to get ahead of them.”
“Eldór and I will stay in sight of them and wait for your arrows. That will be our sign to attack. Móri, would you rather I go in your stead?”
“No,” Sigvard replied for him. “Bows are safer than knives. He can keep his distance.”
Ivar nodded and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Just think,” he said, as lightheartedly as he could manage, “you’ll have stories of your own arrows to tell Ósa when she gets back.”
Móri smiled a little, and nodded.
“Let’s be off,” Sigvard said. “It should not take us long to get around them, with the sound of the river masking our movements. If we haven’t fired in half an hour, the plan is off.”
Everyone nodded, and after a final pat on the back from Ivar to his cousin, they moved away through the trees.
When the sound of their departing footsteps vanished, only the rushing of the river remained. The Ør were still conversing amongst themselves, and every few seconds, Ivar’s gaze moved to Eldór’s face. He’d known him since childhood – or rather, he’d been aware of him. Despite being the father of the one person he’d spent more time with than anyone else, he knew so little about him. They rarely spoke, Eldór almost never acknowledged his presence, and right now, when it was just the two of them with nothing to do except wait, a million questions he’d always wanted to ask him flooded to mind.
He contented himself with studying the man’s face when he wasn’t looking, searching for similarities to Ósa. He had her nose, straight and balanced, but that was all. Everything else she must have got from her mother.
Minutes ticked by. Ivar’s attention gradually moved back to the present and his current situation. They both stared at the Ør, waiting, watching, until—
Seeming to have come to some sort of agreement, they turned right and began walking downriver. Eldór tensed beside him.
“They’ll run into our men,” Ivar whispered, hand moving instinctively to a knife.
Eldór nodded. “Follow them.”
They moved from behind the trees, but slipped from trunk to trunk and shadow to shadow as they trailed the monsters. If Sigvard and Móri weren’t already in position, the Ør would be headed straight for them. They couldn’t afford to lose the element of surprise. It was their only advantage.
Slowly and quietly, Ivar and Eldór narrowed the distance between themselves and the monsters, working to keep to the right of them and out of the direct breeze. Ahead, the Ør spoke now and then, and though their voices were muffled, the sound made Ivar cringe. It wasn’t a growl, but it wasn’t speech either. It was a strange mixture of harsh sounds and grunts, and at one point, one of them seemed to laugh. The stilted, guttural noise made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
There were about fifteen metres between them when an arrow shot out of the trees in front of the Ør and sank into the neck of the forerunner. He crumpled to the ground with a garbled cry. A second or two later, another arrow followed, but missed. Bad. That was bad. It left four Ør still standing, and that was too many to take down.
“We have to go now,” Eldór hissed, taking a deep breath and holding up his long knife.
“Go for their heads and necks,” Ivar said quickly. “The armour on their chest is too thick.”
The man nodded, and together they ran forward. The Ør, still shouting in their twisted, broken language and staring in the direction from where the arrows had flown, didn’t notice their advance until the last moment. Ivar picked the one to the left and charged with as much speed as he could gather in the snow. Just before he pummelled into the monster, it let out that now-familiar scream and drew a knife. Ivar ignored the advice he’d given to Eldór and tried to slash through the Ór’s wrist so it would drop the knife, but the leather gauntlet was too tough. It raised its long arm, those ghastly pale eyes locked on his own.
Ivar ran a few steps backwards, slipping on the rocks that lined the riverbank, trying to put as much distance between himself and the beast as possible. It ran towards him and closed the distance quickly. As Ivar’s own knife clashed with the Ør’s, he tried to clear his mind of all other thoughts, including what was becoming of his companions. Thinking of them in this moment could only lead to his own death, and that could not happen. He would fight with every bit of strength he had. Turning his mind instead to images of the destroyed village, of bodies and blood littering the streets, he pressed forward with a renewed strength.
A scream, so blood-curdling and shrill that Ivar couldn’t tell if it came from one of the Ør or one of his companions rang out. He wanted to look, to see who had done it, but distractions were deadly and his opponent was losing patience. His attacks were heavier, fuelled by frustration and agitation. As the seconds wore on, Ivar fought back less and less, out of breath, just trying to evade blows and duck a swinging arm. When he was beginning to fear he might collapse, or that the next blow would bring him down, an arrow whispered through the air and landed in the Ør’s neck. Ivar took the brief opportunity to glance at who had shot it.
Móri. But the boy was turned towards him, bow still held aloft without another arrow strung, and one of the monsters was rushing towards him. Ivar’s own opponent yanked the arrow from his neck – it hadn’t gone in far enough to cause true damage. Any moment he’d be after him again. Móri had only seconds left, if he didn’t turn around.
“Móri!” Ivar shouted, and started to run towards him as fast as his legs could move. His cousin turned and saw the approaching Ør, but in the seconds it took for him to reach back and grab another arrow, it was too late. Ivar took quick aim and hurled his knife cleanly through the air and into the side of the monster’s head, but not before the tip of its knife slashed down Móri’s front, chest to belly. When Ivar’s knife sank in, the beast fell forward, trapping Móri underneath.
All sound seemed to melt away, leaving only the silent beat of Ivar’s heart beneath his furs. He fell to his knees and tried to pull the Ør away from his cousin’s body, but it wouldn’t move.
“Ivar! Get your knife!” He didn’t know who shouted the words, but he stood slowly, unsteady and shaking. Warmth spread from his fingertips to his heart, then through the rest of his body.
Móri. They’d killed Móri. Móri was gone.
H
is teeth clenched together and his breath came quicker and quicker until a scream of rage rose from his throat, and he yanked his knife from the skull of the Ør. Holding it with both hands, he turned back to the fight, where two of the monsters remained standing. Sigvard bled from a shallow wound to his cheek and Eldór was limping, but those seemed to be the only injuries. With another shout that boiled up from the rage in his core, Ivar ran into the fight, a new strength behind every sweep of his arms.
It didn’t take long. With the three men against the two Ør, and Ivar’s renewed fury, they brought the beasts down within minutes. When the final one had collapsed, injured but not dead, Ivar kneeled beside it. Blood ran from its face and neck, those white eyes starkly clean against the mess. It watched him, face contorted with pain and anger, and hissed something at him in that ugly language he would never understand.
It walked like him. It spoke. It had skin and eyes and a mouth and probably a heart. But this thing wasn’t human. And this thing’s companion had killed Móri.
“Step aside,” Sigvard said breathlessly. “I’ll finish it.” He strung his bow and held it up, but Ivar raised a hand.
“No. I’ll do it.”
He took the bow from his father and strung the arrow, then pointed it at the monster’s head. It hissed again, and said something incomprehensible.
“For Móri,” Ivar whispered, before he let the arrow fly.
Chapter 20
I took Ri’s lead and we sank further into the cover of the trees. The footsteps pounded on, bouncing off the tree trunks, but they weren’t coming towards us. When I was satisfied that we couldn’t be seen, I peered out from behind my tree and watched. Waited.
Then they came. There were four of them, walking on the same path I’d been traversing in a gangly, awkward manner, their arms swinging around as if to balance them. Thick, leathery legs carried them forward, and set into their foreheads was one large, round eye. A single eye. I’d never seen that before. Never even heard of that. But it was their size I couldn’t comprehend. Despite having heard time and time again about how tall they were, seeing it with my own eyes left me at a loss for words. Even if I stacked three of myself on top of each other, I still wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye. In my own mind, even knowing they were so strong and deadly, I’d always painted a rather comical picture of them, lumbering around mindlessly. But these were not comical. Nothing about them was. They were large, brutal creatures, ones who could pop my head right off its neck as if they were plucking a flower. There was nothing humorous in that.
The very thought made me raise a hand to my neck, as if to ensure my head was still attached.
They thundered on, leaving my line of sight. A few moments later, I heard a tussle in the distance, then a roaring growl, and then silence.
Sweat had gathered on my palms despite the cold, and my head swam from my shallow breathing. Jōt. I’d just seen the jōt. Darkness clouded the edges of my vision and I kneeled in the snow to collect myself. All of the childhood stories and whispers of the giants that roamed the mountains couldn’t have prepared me for the sight of them.
I waited another few minutes before leading Ri back through the trees. This time, I stayed off the path and walked parallel to it from afar. Their footsteps were so large, three or four times the size of mine. As I walked, contemplating their size, their origin, where they lived, I dared to entertain perhaps one of my more foolish ideas. As if, after travelling all the way from the coast to mountains, alone, with almost no defined plan, anything could be more foolish.
But after seeing that bear run, dreading the approaching jōt, part of me wondered if I kept close to them – though still far enough away to not be seen – would all other life in the mountains let me be. The danger of this plan backfiring was far from lost on me, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The mountains feared the jōt. I feared the jōt. But that fear, if I kept a safe distance, might work in my favour.
My hands shook, though not from the cold. An all-consuming terror had found its way into my veins and surged throughout my body. I fought to think rationally, to keep my head free from panic, but with every footfall into the snow beneath me, my dam of resolve cracked a little more.
Up ahead, I could hear their footsteps again, travelling onwards to the Goddess knows where. Their camp, probably, wherever that might be. Once they reached it, I’d have to make off on my own again, but for this brief time, hints of safety began to peek through the fear. Ri didn’t feel the same way. Her ears kept twitching forward and backwards, listening, anxious.
A new sound wafted through the forest, just barely reaching my ears. I struggled to understand it at first, tilting my head to take in as much of the sound as possible. A full minute later, I realized it was notes. Song.
Gregor’s words replayed in my mind, about the man who’d ventured into the mountains and heard singing that came from nowhere.
The notes stopped and started again, ebbing and flowing like the tide. I continued through the trees, listening as hard as I could over the sound of our footsteps. All other noises in the forest had vanished. No birds sang, no small animals chattered, but whether that was from the jōt passing through or the voices on the breeze, I couldn’t tell.
When we crested a forested hill, I could see them below. They were still carrying on, nearing the mountains themselves, but they had a new addition. Hanging on a large stick that was carried by two of the giants hung the bear. That must have been the growl I’d heard.
The bear was so big. It would take a handful of grown men to lift it. These aren’t men, I reminded myself, taking in their enormity again even from such a great distance. Far from it.
When they’d rounded an outcropping of rock, hiding all but the tops of their leathery heads, I dared to descend the hill. I still walked beside Ri rather than ride her. Being on my feet left me more nimble. More ready for what might come.
The notes grew louder, then faded away. Then grew louder again. I peered through trees, over rocks and into shadows, but all I found was snow. White, still snow. Perhaps the snow itself is singing, I thought to myself. Such a lighthearted thought felt out of place here, but it cheered me a little. The only other time I’d felt cheered since leaving home was when I found Uxi outside the cave.
Which reminded me that I hadn’t seen him again.
I prayed to the Goddess that he was returning home, somewhere high over the plain making for my village. Let whatever had guided me to that cave in the storm guide him to Ivar. I tried to imagine what Ivar would do, say, feel when he received it. Would it send him relief or would he still worry? Worry that perhaps I’d been killed since sending it. Worry that Uxi had been lost in the storm and the words were just echoes of my ghost.
I’m still here, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut, as if I could send the thought on the wind, across the plain, through the trees, and to Ivar’s ears. If only.
When I opened my eyes, I stopped.
Set into a large indentation in a cliff face – not quite a cave, for it had no roof – was exactly what I’d imagined. Broken bones made up the floor, and at the centre was a large fire, larger than any bonfire I’d ever seen. Beside it, one giant was working to skin the bear, though it looked small in its hands. Others were erecting a spit over the fire, and others sat by doing nothing.
And between me and them, there wasn’t a single tree. If one of them turned their head even the tiniest bit, surely they would see us, standing here in the open like we were waiting to be caught and skinned. I began to back away slowly, willing my feet not to crunch into the snow. Ri’s head hung low, her ears back – well aware of the danger mere metres ahead.
The singing had stopped.
Ever so slowly, I encouraged Ri to walk backwards, until we’d gone around the corner and out of sight. Then I moved us both well into the trees, far enough away that they’d have to truly be looking to find us. After tying her securely to the low-hanging branch of a tree, I slipped through
the trees towards the jōt camp again. I didn’t need to get too close, but I’d heard so many stories, so many rumours passed from one generation to the next, that I owed it to my people to see for myself. Any knowledge I could bring back – assuming I made it back – would be new and useful.
Ahead, the outcropping where their camp was set up loomed, but I had an idea. Crossing the pathway, I moved quietly to the opposite side, where the ground sloped upwards to form the wall of the jōt’s den. It was a sheer cliff face, and with Gregor’s words about that man slipping into the camp playing over and over again in my mind, I made sure to stay well away from the edge. Snowy shrubs clung to the corner when the rock ended in a sheer drop, giving me just enough cover to peer down if I kept low to the ground.
They had almost finished skinning the bear, and the spit was being removed from the fire to roast it. I couldn’t help but be at least a little surprised at the sight of them. Somehow, I’d always imagined them as base, crude, lacking any manner of skill or refinement. Yet they knew how to make fires, how to use spits, how to skin an animal and preserve the meat. They were civilized in their own strange way.
On the edge of the camp, another giant, smaller than the others, used a large, rough stone to sharpen a long stick to a point. Shivering, I returned my eyes to the fire – and met the gaze of the giant skinning the bear.
She sat perfectly still, her head turned up and her eye locked on mine. She made no movement to come for me, showed no visible signs of having seen me, but I could feel her eye staring into mine so clearly. Her nose twitched a bit, and I realized with a little burst of hope that she perhaps had sensed me instead. I was surrounded by shrubs and high enough that she would have to strain to see me.
Then, slowly and deliberately, she laid aside her work and stood, eye still locked on me. One giant, heavy arm lifted into the air, a finger extended.
A Shiver of Snow and Sky Page 13
