by Joyce Holt
What had happened to Jorunn? Why hadn't she come back?
Bjørn had sat in Gyda's shadow for four days that winter, and she never spoke him a single word. So he said, time and again, with an idiotic smile on his face.
"Hei, loveliest in all the mountain dwellings," Oddleif murmured, the refrain from the ballad of Magnill.
The talk at the high table rumbled on. The alliance along the west coast was crumbling. The messenger from Hordaland was pleading with Roald and Hadd to send their support before their whole world sank into the tyranny of nations.
"Enough, enough!" Roald boomed from his great chair. He waved his hand. "Let us think on the matter while we eat. You, Skaldling, something solemn."
Oddleif couldn't dodge the name Bjørn had given him no matter how often he explained he'd had no real training. He rose with his lute and strummed a long, slow tune about the making of the world. Fire and frost and the springing forth of the great Ash Tree that held all creation in her branches. He didn't sing, but memory supplied the words to all who listened. The last note drew out long, and rang from the rafters in the hall.
Oddleif bent his bow to a livelier tune, and watched the faces of his listeners brighten. Throughout the feast he wove hope and honor, the gladness of life, the proud ache of a body after a day's toil ended.
"Before you leave," Roald said, knowing Oddleif's pattern of coming and going, "name your reward. You've had many a day to think it over."
If I was older and had a cow, he'd told Jorunn all those long months ago. "If it please you, my lord," Oddleif said, and drew a breath. "A heifer from your herd?"
Roald jutted his chin, gave one nod. "Well-earned," he said, and motioned to the steward. "Select three fine heifers for the lad. Have them ready tomorrow morning."
"Three?" Oddleif blurted.
"Cattle are like us, my boy. We thrive best in company. Now, one more song in parting? You know which one I mean."
Oddleif's hazel eyes glinted. Ja, he knew which one. His bow drew from the strings the fossegrim's tune, setting hearts skirling with delight, smoke spirals twining like serpents in the air, shadows dancing on the walls.
Three cattle! he marveled as he played. Many a lesser bonde started out with no more than that. Here at last in his grasp lay the key to saving the one he loved – and her sister.
51 – Bear Claws, Ogre Maws
"Flatter than flat," muttered the blind cook, deep in the warren of the trolls. "How odd." She ran her sooty fingers over the round of flatbread, hot out of the oven, that still showed the pocking of footprints. "I must get myself a white-skin slave to dance upon all my rounds. No bubbles where the vermin trod. Imagine that!"
When at last the lumbering troll left her kitchen, bearing a stack of flatbread rounds – each twice as large as a wagon wheel – Jorunn and Gyda emerged from hiding. Jorunn took the over-sized wooden spoon as a hefty staff for fending wolverines and bats and that fanged imp Dimplekin. What a horrid, bloodthirsty little creature. How did Valka escape such poison of the soul, growing up in this world so barren of mercy?
"How did I?" she whispered. Like a troll, her father Knut had been, greedy and heavy-handed. But her mother had always offered that gleam of hope, of better things.
Who had shone the light for Valka?
A wolverine trailed them down the last few turns. It kept a leery eye on the staff Jorunn waved in its direction. "Out of the bear's claws into the ogres' maws," it jeered.
Gyda jumped and clutched Jorunn's arm.
The creature cackled. "Oh ja, they be getting you for sure. There be great flock of 'em in front courtyard. If I lucky, they throw me your bones."
"If you're lucky," Jorunn said, drawing one twig from her crown, "I won't throw this at you."
The wolverine lurched to a stop and bared its teeth.
"How do you know which schemes will work like that?" Gyda whispered.
"It's all in the old stories." Jorunn peered out the main entryway. The wolverine was right about the flock gathered there. The beast snickered as it watched them hesitate.
Gyda stepped to her elbow, looked past, and moaned. "How did you get past that horde on your way in?"
Jorunn gave an empty laugh. "Believe it or not, Dimplekin led me in a secret way. But I could never find it now."
"So—?"
Jorunn stood silent, her thoughts whirring. Trolls could be clever if they took long enough to hatch their plots. But they weren't quick-witted. "Crouch down behind that chest," she said at last. "And leave room for me."
She braced herself, ready to run, then drew a deep breath and yelled, mimicking Dimplekin's voice. "Mormor say sweet-yums ready. I eat it all!" She darted to Gyda's side.
All the trolls but one came lumbering in. The wolverine had to scurry out of the way. Jorunn could swear the low-slung beast winked at her before it turned to follow the hungry crowd.
They tiptoed to the entrance again. The one remaining troll stood with legs braced as it peered down the slope, a small tree trunk for a club propped on its shoulder. "A guard," Jorunn whispered. One troll was still one too many.
She took the crown of twigs off and studied it. She extracted the longest sprig, repaired the damage, and blew three breaths across the circlet. "Oh rowan who wards against evil, help us escape." She stepped across the threshold and hurled the wreath as far as she could.
It rolled down the path, past the surprised guard who raised his club to the ready and gave chase.
"Come!" Jorunn darted down the path. At the first outliers of the forest, she turned aside and wound a way between the massive trunks, Gyda close behind. In a small clearing they paused to catch their breath. While Gyda leaned on the spoon-staff and rubbed at a stitch in her side, Jorunn spied through the key, murmuring several names at a time before turning and calling again. She couldn't find Svana or Oddleif in her haste, but did stumble across Ragnvald creeping through snowy woods at twilight, waving his men to move forward.
That was no help.
"Eirikr? Harald?"
An owl swept soundlessly past and landed in a branch nearby. "Who knew you two would brew such a to-do?"
Gyda backed off and raised the staff in warning. "Impertinent creature! Leave us be!"
Jorunn stashed the key in her pouch and pressed the last wand of rowan to her heart. "You are all the guide we have left," she told it. "Please help us find the way home." She closed her eyes and held it out at arm's length.
Gyda's breath sounded ragged in the silence of the deep woods.
Jorunn slowly turned from side to side. "This way," she murmured. "Follow me."
They made good progress at first. Had she come this way before? One stretch of this gloomy forest looked much like any other. She guided Gyda around a patch of gray-green toadstools. "If they didn't smell so foul," she muttered, "I'd bring you a few, Valka, in thanks."
Gyda complained about the rough terrain. After all, on her earlier passage through this countryside, she hadn't had to walk. Klump's father had so kindly transported her. Upside down. Swinging her with every stride. Snagging her hair in the underbrush. "You don't have a comb with you, by any chance?" Gyda asked.
Jorunn snorted. If she had thought to look, perhaps she could have followed Gyda in by watching for strands of golden hair.
Then they met the bear.
It was catching frogs in a mucky pond. Jorunn's jaw dropped. How many frogs did it take to grow a bear this size? A thousand a day, she guessed. Perhaps that's why it reared up when it saw them. She could see its eyes brighten. "Mmm—" it hummed, and licked its lips. The tongue was as long as a man's belt. "Dinner!" it growled.
At that moment they heard the distant crashing of ponderous footsteps along their back trail.
Jorunn grabbed the staff back and pushed Gyda into a run. They pelted off at a slant from the path, following the least tangled route between the trees.
The bear was slow to start but the sound of its footfalls pelted louder, faster, nearer. Jorunn caught sig
ht of a steep upward incline and veered toward it.
"Nei! Nei!" Gyda gasped. "Too hard – to climb—"
Jorunn grasped her hand and hauled her along.
"Why—?"
"We'll never outrun them," Jorunn panted.
"What then?"
"Go where monster bears and ogres cannot follow." Jorunn pointed up the jagged slope. Ledges and crevices hatched the mountain's face that rose into the swirling, sky-veiling mist.
The color drained from Gyda's face.
Øy, my white-skin lady, Jorunn laughed to herself. "Here, take hold of the waterskin strap. Watch my hands and my feet, do what I do – and do not look down." Hauling her companion along, she picked a way up the steepest slope and edged out onto a narrow ledge.
The bear came lumbering into view, snorting with each rollicking stride. When it saw its prey creeping like spiders up the cliff, it roared in anger. "I catch you yet!" It scrambled up the scree, fast as a galloping horse.
Jorunn boosted Gyda up another ledge, then spun to face the monstrous beast. It swiped a great paw, and she swung her oversized spoon to ward the blow. Claws like daggers scored the staff.
Now the other front paw hurtled toward her. Again, she parried. The shock jolted her shoulders and left her staff with a cross-hatching of splintering scars.
The bear scrabbled a step higher, but Jorunn took that moment to aim and lunge, jabbing the beast in the nose. It squalled and slipped backward.
She whirled and scrambled up out of reach.
Three trolls burst upon the scene. Two carried hazel stump clubs, but the third had a stone-bladed spear.
"That's the one that grabbed me from my pony's back!" cried Gyda, squinting as she cocked her head sideways. "I'd recognize those ugly knees anywhere."
"Klump's father," Jorunn said.
"Whose?"
"Øy, trouble. Big trouble." To free up both hands, Jorunn stuck the rowan sprig into her hair and looped the waterskin strap around the spoon handle, letting the staff dangle. She took the lead again. "Come along. Step by step. Watch where I put my hands, and grab hold with all your might."
The troll with the spear used his weapon as a pickax to haul himself up the jagged cliff. The other two started an argument with the bear over who would catch any tidbits that fell from on high.
"Look at me," Jorunn ordered as Gyda wavered, moaning at the drop below them. "A little further. I don't think he can follow us up there." She gestured with a jerk of her head.
Gyda's moan strangled into a whimper.
Jorunn showed her no sympathy. "Keep moving! You freeze up, and I may as well just push you over the edge."
The pursuing troll climbed higher than the two womenfolk, seeking out wider ledges for his broad feet, and soon rocks came tumbling down from above. Gyda yelped and stumbled and one foot slipped off the ledge.
Jorunn grabbed Gyda's arm and wedged her other hand into a crack to anchor the two of them. Gyda screamed as she swung down, scraping along the granite, and Jorunn winced. The hand in the crack was the one that Dimplekin had chomped.
Gyda scrambled for a foothold and clung to the face of the cliff, weeping.
"There's a ledge below you," Jorunn called. "I'm going to lower you. Get ready."
"Nei, nei, nei—"
"There you go. Feel it?"
Gyda let out a long sigh. "Ja. I'm there." She looked up. Her gaze flicked past Jorunn – then her eyes went wide. "Watch out!"
The spear butt came sweeping down from above.
52 – Down the Chimney
If it hadn't splintered an outcropping on the way, the spear butt would have smashed Jorunn's skull. Even so, it knocked her a glancing blow. She lost her grip and skidded down the face of the cliff, clawing for holds.
Her hands caught the ledge upon which Gyda stood. She hung there panting until Gyda screamed. Just below, the bear huffed and growled, swiping long claws towards her feet while the two club-wielding trolls tried to knock the beast's legs out from under it.
Jorunn found handholds, then footholds and crept up the cliff to join Gyda. They huddled side by side with their backs to the rock wall, gasping for breath. But then came a thudding not far overhead, and they craned their heads to see Klump's father plunging his spear into a crack below him, bracing himself to slide down towards their level.
"Go on," Jorunn said. For now she was behind Gyda.
Her mistress sidestepped along the narrow ledge. It widened a little, and she scampered further with Jorunn close behind.
The bear and trolls squabbled below but kept pace.
Jorunn patted at her hair, then caught her breath and stared about. "Woe! I've lost the rowan wand!"
They had no time to look for it. The pursuing troll had reached their ledge and with help of the spear was keeping his balance. The ridge of rock was barely wide enough for his toes to grip.
Jorunn rummaged among all the tales she'd ever heard told, all the lore learned at her mother's knee. She had no bronze bell to jar a troll's nerves or magic harp to thrum it to stone. She had no enchanted sword.
"Hurry!" squealed Gyda. She sidled along the rocky shelf.
Jorunn caught a glimpse of red in Gyda's hair. "Wait!" She caught up and plucked a rowan berry from Gyda's braid, all that was left of the rowan sprigs.
The stink of the troll washed over her. She turned to face him. The ogre grinned, the scaly hide of his face crinkling like the furrows of an aged oak. His fingernails like claws found a good hold. He freed his spear from a crevice, arching his arm and readying for a throw.
Jorunn tossed the rowan berry, and it rolled between his feet. The ogre glanced down, then threw his ugly head back and roared with laughter.
But what he didn't see was the seed sprouting, shooting tendrils of roots into cracks, growing, thickening before Jorunn's sight. The rowan sapling burrowed into the fractured rock of the ledge.
Gyda grabbed Jorunn's arm, pulling her back.
The troll leered as he gazed back at his prey and bunched his arm again. But before he could cast the flint-tipped spear, the young rowan wrenched apart the ledge stones, ripping them from under his feet.
The ogre toppled, flailing as he fell, and he howled and snarled, crashing from outcropping to stony knob to the boulders below.
Gyda yanked again. "Beneath your feet – the whole ledge is going!"
They picked their way further until once again they clung from the face of the cliff. A din rose from the mountain's foot, of injured troll and bad-tempered bear.
Gyda whimpered. "There's nowhere else to go! A great crack in the mountainside, it splits here and there's no ledge or anything on the other side."
Jorunn couldn't see around the trembling young woman. "How wide is the crevice?"
"What does it matter?"
"Wide as an ox, or wide as an otter?"
"Our fat-bellied pig keeper could fit inside, but what good does that do us?"
Jorunn gritted her teeth and tried to keep her patience. "Further down, does it widen or grow narrow?"
Gyda panted and scrabbled for a better hand hold as she craned her neck to look. "It narrows, or maybe twists. I can't tell."
"Can you work your way into the crevice?"
A tone of disdain colored Gyda's voice. "That will do no good, I tell you! Don't you understand? It's like a well! And we have neither rope nor bucket."
Jorunn's spirits lifted. "Wonderful! It's our way down. Climb inside, if you can."
Gyda felt around. At last she snapped, "I can't. No one could."
Jorunn managed to climb higher. "Hold tight. I might knock rocks loose." Step by step she worked past Gyda, just above her head.
"Ouch! That's my hand!"
"Begging pardon." Jorunn clawed her way around the corner of rockery and into the crevice. She looked over her shoulder at the opposite side of the crack. It was almost too wide, but they would have to make it work. "Watch what I do," she called. "You'll have to do it, too." She took a deep breath, let
go of her handhold, and let herself fall back.
Gyda gasped, but Jorunn caught herself with hands flung backward. Feet against one side and shoulders wedged against the other, she scooted downward one step at a time until just below Gyda's level, the spoon shaft knocking bruises to her ribs.
"I can't do that!"
"I'm braced here now." Jorunn propped herself as firmly as she could. "Come around like I did. Step on my feet if you have to. Get inside."
Gyda whimpered again. Slowly she eased around the corner of rock. She let go with one hand and reached out behind her. "It's too far! I can't feel it!"
"You have to let go and fall back."
"Nei!" she wailed.
"I'm here to catch you. You must trust me."
"If I slip, I'll knock you loose, and we'll both fall to our deaths."
"Trust me. And don't slip."
Gyda's breath came loud and noisy, but at last she gulped and pushed back. With a shriek she slammed her back against the opposite wall, skidding down but not ramming into Jorunn beneath her. Almost, but not quite.
"Vel," Jorunn said, her voice muffled through Gyda's skirts. "If ever we do this again, we had better trade our gowns for men's attire."
"I'm not doing this again," Gyda snapped. "I don't want to be doing it now."
Jorunn gritted her teeth. "Down now, bit by bit. Don't rush it."
As they descended, the howling and roaring of trolls and bear went on and on. Stones rattled and boulders thumped. Jorunn wondered if the battling creatures had even noticed their prey had vanished.
The crevice narrowed too tight to continue their crabwalk. Jorunn turned sideways and scraped her knees and elbows as she used them to brake her downward slide.
She sighed in relief when she landed on her feet where debris clogged the bottom of the crack. Her arms and legs shook from the strain.
Gyda shrieked, slid a stretch, and ended up wedged behind Jorunn.
"Welcome down, Mistress," Jorunn said, her mouth twisting wryly.
Gyda's arms wrapped around her from behind and squeezed her in a great hug. "You brought no flying horse, but you'll do as hero for this tale. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to sit and catch my breath." She hunkered down in the cleft, and examined her bleeding palms and fingers.
