The Dark Horse

by Marcus Sedgwick

  Magic. What use was Gudrun’s magic? Mouse swung away with the crow, which began to head north, along the coast.

  This was real power.

  9

  Confusion:

  “No, not with words.”

  “Why haven’t you spoken till now?”

  “I have, but not with words.”

  “Then how are we supposed to understand you?”

  “The hounds understand me.”

  “But we’re not hounds! How do you speak to them without words?”

  “I know what they’re thinking. I just need to be near them.”

  “And is it only dogs?”

  “No, not only dogs . . . the wolves . . .”

  “You understood them?”

  “Why did you hurt them?”

  “Did you understand them? How did you come to be with them? What were you before then? How can you speak?”

  I watched all this from the back of the crowd. I felt the pain they were subjecting Mouse to, trying to force answers from her. But Mouse had fallen silent.

  She would speak no more, would answer no more questions. Whether because she did not want to or because she did not know the answers, I do not know. But the faraway look had come into her face again, and she was silent. As silent as she had been before.

  All I sensed in her then was pain, and I wished everyone would leave her alone. As soon as they were busy arguing amongst themselves, I went up to her.

  “Mouse?” I said quietly.

  She didn’t say anything, but she looked at me. Her eyes were filled with tears that did not fall.

  “Come with me,” I said.

  And I took her away from the fuss and the noise, and we walked on the low hills behind the village. The sun was setting.

  We sat and watched it sink.

  I looked at Mouse and suddenly felt very sorry for her. She was all alone in the land.

  She leaned her head on my shoulder.

  “Sigurd?” she said.

  Somehow I knew what she meant, though she hadn’t spoken the words.

  “Yes,” I said, “I will be your brother.”

  10

  “He’s gone? He can’t have just gone!”

  “It’s true, Mouse,” said Freya. Mouse could see she was trying not to cry anymore. It was true.

  Olaf stomped around in the background. Frost, the hound, lay exhausted in the corner. They’d walked all day north along the coast but hadn’t found Sigurd. No one had seen him since the affair with the box in the great broch.

  “I’ll go south,” said Olaf, “tomorrow.”

  “No,” said Mouse. “Let me look for him. I just need to find a bird to—”

  “No,” said Olaf sharply.

  “But I could search much quicker than—”

  “Not that way,” said Olaf. “This family is in enough disgrace as it is. If you go parading your . . . self in front of everyone, it’ll only get worse.”

  Freya put her hand on Olaf ’s shoulder.

  “But Sigurd . . . ,” she began.

  “Sigurd’s nearly a man now. He can look after himself. And if he can’t, well, perhaps it’s for the best if he doesn’t come back!”

  “That’s not fair!” cried Mouse, but Olaf stormed out of the broch.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” said Freya, “he doesn’t mean it. He loves Sigurd.”

  Mouse paused.

  They were too alike, Olaf and Sigurd, father and son, that was the trouble, said Freya. Both stubborn and proud.

  “I know Olaf loves him,” Mouse said after a while. “ I know, but Sigurd doesn’t. That’s why he’s gone, isn’t it?”

  11

  In those first months after she came, we began to learn about Mouse.

  I look back now after many years. Horn’s plan to saddle my family with a useless, dumb foundling backfired. We didn’t fully realize it, but we had in our midst a creature with unheard-of powers. She—Mouse, I mean—was not yet fully in control of her abilities. It appeared that she was learning all the time what she could do.

  She sensed things through animals. I have thought about this often, and this is the best way I can explain it. She could use animals, nearby animals, as a channel through which she could feel and see. I still don’t know whether she actually saw what the animal saw, or whether she just knew what it was seeing. It doesn’t really matter either way. It was an immense power, and unknown, and so? And so, and so, and so, it scared people.

  We could have made so much more use of Mouse. Had her help us. But Horn sensed that people were wary of her, and he fueled their fear.

  Once upon a time.

  This story will show you what I mean.

  Once upon a time the fishermen were returning from the sea, and it had been a bad catch. This was about the time that things started to get difficult for the Storn. When food really started to be hard to come by. When the trading ships were still coming but their stories were full of gloom.

  And it was before we started to think about the Dark Horse.

  So the fishermen were returning, and it had been a bad catch.

  There was a solemn mood amongst those of us milling about on the grass before the great broch. Solemn, but how could we know then how much worse it was going to get?

  Mouse was watching. She was next to me.

  “Why did they go north?” she said. “The fish are over there.”

  She pointed to the south of our bay.

  “They’re only just out to sea,” she said.

  I looked at her without saying anything, but she had been overheard.

  “Hey, Horn,” shouted Grinling. “This girl says the fish are that way!”

  Horn looked up from where he was talking with one or two men.

  “Then let her useless father go and catch them all!” he bawled.

  Father had just beached a boat. He heard what Horn said. For a moment he hesitated, looking at Mouse, looking at Horn, who stared back steadily, aware of everyone watching him.

  Something clicked in Father. He was stubborn sometimes. He looked just once more at Mouse, who sat next to me smiling, and then single-handed he dragged the boat back down to the shore.

  I hesitated for a while, then ran to help him.

  “Go away, Sigurd,” he said as I put my hand on the boat.

  “You can’t do it by yourself,” I protested.

  He paused. “No need for both of us to make fools of ourselves.”

  I could tell, though, from the tone of his voice, that he had changed his mind. I climbed aboard, and within seconds we had a sail up that carried us just a couple of hundred yards toward the south of the bay.

  Father was quiet.

  “Are we really going to try?” I asked.

  He held up his hand.

  “Cast the nets, Siggy,” he said. And a smile grew over his bearded face.

  He had sensed the darkness of a huge shoal of fish right under the boat.

  When we returned, boat laden with fish, Father and I expected a heroes’ welcome, but as we walked up to the broch the eyes of the villagers were filled with dread, not wonder.

  “It’s not natural,” someone muttered.

  Father took Mouse by the hand.

  “Come, daughter,” he said. “It’s time we were abed.”

  I think that was the first time Olaf called Mouse that.

  At the time I couldn’t understand why people were so scared of Mouse, or rather, of what she could do. After all, wasn’t what Gudrun did just the same thing? She was supposed to make magic at the Spell-making—magic to keep us safe, bring us food, and so on and so on. Perhaps it was just that Gudrun’s magic was a little less dramatic than Mouse’s.

  Mouse’s magic was harder to believe and easier to fear.

  12

  Sigurd hadn’t meant to run away, but now he had. He’d spent the night shivering in the lee of the goat shed, too humiliated to return to his own broch. Olaf and Freya had not been concerned enough to look for him, believi
ng he would return once he’d calmed down. But as the first light stole into the village, he still hurt too badly to want to see anyone. Knowing people would soon be awake, he left.

  He started by heading south down the coast. His father and mother would be snoring in their end of the broch. He didn’t know where Mouse was, and he was glad of that. He didn’t want to have to face her. He’d let her down, too, and he cared most about her.

  So he walked in the cool dawn. It was a still, clear morning at the end of Lamb-month; the short summer would soon be upon them. It was going to be a warm day.

  He didn’t actually mean to run away, but before he’d turned a mile or two under his boots, it came to him that he didn’t want to go back. There was nothing for him with the Storn. He didn’t want to watch as Horn tormented his father more and more every day.

  They’d fought once, years before, when the last Lawspeaker died, and Olaf, Sigurd’s father, had lost. That was about six years ago, a summer or two before they found Mouse. And though Horn had won the fight, and though he was Lawspeaker, he was not well liked. He had gathered a group of loyal men around him to secure his position. Olaf said his rule was harsh and stupid; that he was thoughtless and wasteful. There were those who agreed with him, though not openly.

  Horn never let Olaf forget that fight, and now that times were difficult, Olaf had become the daily object of his mockery.

  Sigurd knew there were other places. Places to the south, large settlements, towns even. He knew this because of the occasional ships that would make their way up the coast in the good weather, bartering with the likes of Horn for whatever good there was to be had. The merchants would sit for a while, telling tales of life in faraway places. Places that sounded so strange it was hard to believe they were real.

  Sigurd didn’t know if all these stories were true, but he was curious. The villagers of Storn would sit and be still for an hour or so and lap it all up, their eyes widening here and narrowing there as the traders told stories of unimaginable things. Sometimes, very rarely these days, a ship would return past Storn, having ventured into the Northlands. The merchants would say little about these trips but muttered into their beer about fearsome tribesmen with strange ways of living. Strange gods, bizarre religion, and berserkers—battle-crazed warriors who could never be defeated or even hurt.

  And horses, there was often mention of horses, and fearsome warriors who rode them.

  The Dark Horse.

  The merchants would leave, pitching their takings into the hulls of their ships, and the villagers would marvel at their travels and adventures for an hour or so. All except Sigurd, who would yearn a little while longer than the rest.

  So Sigurd left his family, and he left his sister, who was not really his sister at all, but who meant something more.

  After a while Sigurd recognized where he was. It was about here that he and Mouse had found the box.

  He stopped and sat on a rock. For a moment the thought of Mouse hurt him. It was better this way, he decided. She was too timid, too fragile, to go with him, as she would have wanted to. He would miss her, he told himself, half wondering at himself that he was leaving at all.

  Was he really leaving?

  He would at least have liked to know what was in that box before he left. Now Horn would be showing off whatever treasures it held. And gloating at Olaf more than ever. Sigurd got up off his rock and walked on, and then he heard something behind him.

  He turned and screamed.

  He fell to the sand.

  13

  Herda, a gentle, tall man known as the Song-giver, sang. Nearly the whole clan was gathered for the Song-giving, an event that took place whenever the Storn needed entertaining, which was most evenings.

  Usually Mouse listened to these songs, captivated. Even after four years with the Storn she still found music a thing to wonder at. But now her mind was on other matters.

  She sat quietly, thinking about Sigurd. Though Olaf and Freya were with her, she felt alone without her brother.

  “Horn will love this,” Olaf whispered grimly to his wife.

  Freya knew what he meant. Sigurd’s disappearance. Only then did Freya notice something.

  Horn.

  He was the one other person missing from the great broch. For a moment she wondered why he was not there.

  “He ought to have done something,” she said to her husband. “If it were anyone else’s boy, he’d have done something.”

  “I’ll go south tomorrow,” Olaf said.

  He said that yesterday, thought Mouse, overhearing. She knew it was difficult. Anything Olaf did would just be more for Horn to use against them, but surely Siggy was more important. . . .

  Never mind what Olaf said. He wasn’t really her father anyway. He couldn’t stop her. Tomorrow she’d find a bird, an eagle would be best; theirs was the best sight, the longest flight.

  She would find Sigurd.

  Herda finished his lovely, sad laments and sat down.

  Mouse looked down at the fire pit. She feared Olaf was right. Horn was going to use Sigurd’s absence to shame Olaf more. Now she noticed his absence, too, but before she had time to wonder at this, he arrived.

  He swept through the doorway and down to the fire, where Gudrun and Longshank waited for him.

  Then Mouse saw what he was carrying. The box!

  She’d forgotten about it; she’d been thinking of only one thing, one person.

  What game was Horn playing?

  He’d had the box for a day; by now he must have played with, eaten, or otherwise destroyed whatever it contained.

  Why bring it here?

  Horn placed the box on a stone by the fireside and retreated.

  “You!”

  He pointed at Mouse. The throng was hushed.

  Horn said nothing more, but Mouse knew he wanted her to go to him, by the fire.

  There was nothing to do; the Lawspeaker had spoken. So she went. Freya plucked at her woollen skirt as Mouse got up. Mouse caught her eye.

  Freya gave her a weak smile, which meant, “Be careful.”

  Mouse nodded slightly and went. She decided to be careful; she didn’t like the feel of this at all. And it also meant going near the fire pit. That in itself made her nervous.

  “Lawspeaker?” she said. That was the most formal way of addressing Horn.

  “You will open the box.”

  Mouse was not ready for this. Surely Horn had opened it by now, he must have. Unless . . . supposing he had. He had opened it, but there was something bad in it and he wanted her to take the blame. The blame for finding it.

  “What?” she said without thinking.

  Before she knew what had happened, Horn grabbed her by the folds of her cloak and pulled her face toward his.

  “Don’t try and make a fool of me, girl,” he said.

  “N-n-no,” she stammered, “I just thought you would have.”

  “I said, don’t make a fool of me!” Horn roared. He shoved Mouse away from him so hard that she fell sprawling in the ash by the fire. As she fell her heavy cloak dragged the box from the stone onto the earth floor. She saw Gudrun and Longshank sitting nearby but had no hope for support from them. They were just as much afraid of Horn as she was.

  Mouse felt the heat of the fire on her cheeks, but they were burning anyway. From the corner of her eye she saw Olaf stand in anger, but she also saw Freya and Thorbjorn pull him back down.

  Horn towered over her.

  “Don’t make a fool of me. You are trying to play a trick on me! You know I cannot open the box. You will open it.”

  “No,” said Mouse. “No. I didn’t know. . . . Why haven’t you opened it? I thought you—”

  Horn raised his fist. Mouse quivered.

  “I cannot open the box,” he growled. Then he glared at Gudrun. “The Wisewoman cannot open the box.”

  So that was what she had been doing in his broch that morning. . . .

  “None of our men can open the box. You found it
. You brought it here. Or perhaps it is some game of yours. To make a fool of me!”

  No, no, no, thought Mouse.

  “So open it!” Horn shouted.

  The box lay on the floor between them, in the dust, but it still shone. The firelight made its bloodred wood glow across the space between them. It challenged her.

  “Open it!”

  Mouse crawled toward the box. She pulled it near and inspected it properly for the first time. No hinges, no catches. No keyhole, no lock of any sort. Just a faint hint of a join where the lid met the tray of the box itself.

  She put her trembling fingers to the top, terrified of what would happen if she failed.

  The lid of the box swung smoothly open.

  It was empty.

  The box was very beautiful inside. It was lined with thin copper sheet, but nevertheless it was utterly empty.

  “No!” yelled Horn, raging with frustration, but Mouse knew nothing of this.

  She cowered in the dust, shaking, trying not to faint. Something was in the box, just not something you could see. Whatever it was tried to take hold of her, and she could feel its power. It was a thing more powerful than even the fire that raged beside her.

  “No!” yelled Horn yet again.

  Mouse could feel the box start to pull at her mind. Terrified of its force, she tried to get away but couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t move, and she felt dizzy; the great hall was spinning around her as if she were drunk. She had to get away but could do nothing.

  All in a moment Horn cursed Mouse and drew Cold Lightning, his sword, from its scabbard. He raised the sword above his head. There was a cry from the Storn, some screams. Olaf jumped to his feet and began to push through the gathering.