The Dark Horse

by Marcus Sedgwick

  They waited. There was a commotion at the doorway, and then the deer-hide curtain was pulled back to allow someone to pass. Sif came first, her hands by her sides. Then Mouse realized she was carrying the front end of a stretcher-like bed. On the bed lay Gudrun. And then Mouse saw that the back end was being carried by Sigurd.

  She had no time to wonder at this strange union, for the bed was placed beside her, between her and Horn.

  Horn shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly it occurred to Mouse that Gudrun was playing games with him.

  “You. Lawspeaker,” said Gudrun. “You are responsible for this. You wounded me—now I humiliate you. Here is your daughter and the son of your enemy united in carrying me. And here is Mouse, the one you fear, the one you hate, performing the sacred spells. So I humiliate you!”

  Mouse looked at Gudrun. And with a shock she realized Gudrun had not said a word. She was lying on the bed, struggling to sit upright with the help of Sigurd and Sif.

  But Mouse had heard Gudrun’s thoughts clearly, and it put a smile onto her face. She felt a little courage creep into her.

  “Mouse,” said Gudrun quietly. This time for real, in her real, broken, wound-weakened voice.

  Mouse nodded.

  “Let’s begin,” said Gudrun.

  31

  When Gudrun asked me to carry her into the broch for the Spell-making, I jumped at the chance to do something important. Something different.

  Of course, she didn’t tell me who she’d asked to carry the other end until it was too late to back down without shame.

  And from the look on Sif’s face I guess Gudrun had pulled the same trick on her.

  I didn’t know what she was up to—Gudrun, I mean. Not then. Playing her own games, maybe. But thinking about it now, I see what she was doing.

  32

  Mouse gave the Spell-making, and all was well. She took her usual place at the edge of the circles of people.

  Then Horn signaled for Herda to give a song, which he did. At the end of the song Mouse turned to see if Ragnald had been impressed, but he had gone. He must have left during the singing. Horn sat glowering in the firelight. Herda hesitated, unsure of what to do, until Horn grabbed a handful of dirt from the floor and threw it angrily into the fire.

  The broch emptied rapidly.

  33

  And how strange things became, so quickly then.

  Sif and Sigurd carried Gudrun on her stretcher once more, this time back to her bed. Before they were halfway back, Gudrun was asleep, exhausted with the effort of the Spell-making.

  There was an uneasy silence between them. Both pretended to be quiet for Gudrun’s sake, to avoid having to engage in the usual hostilities.

  As they left Gudrun’s hut a figure stepped in front of them.

  “Good evening,” said Ragnald.

  Sigurd said nothing. Sif looked sideways at him and was silent, too.

  “That was brave work,” he went on.

  Hardly. But Sif swallowed the bait.

  “My father is Lawspeaker,” she said pointlessly.

  “Indeed,” said Ragnald, “and the Wisewoman chose you well. Both of you.”

  Sig was silent still. Sif gave him another sideways glance. It passed through Sigurd’s mind that he no longer felt grateful to Ragnald for saving his life. He wondered when the change had happened and why. He had begun to distrust the stranger.

  Ragnald spoke again.

  “It seems to me that you two are the finest of the tribe here. . . .”

  “My father—” began Sif, but Ragnald held up a hand.

  “Indeed,” he said. “What I mean to say is that you are the finest of the young people of the Storn. You are ambitious! You have strong wills!”

  He waited a moment for his words to ring in their ears.

  “I suppose,” he continued, “it won’t be long before you are the Lawspeaker here, Sif ?”

  “The Lawspeaker is always a man,” she said bitterly.

  “Always?” asked Ragnald. “Then who will take charge when your father . . . ?”

  “There will be a fight.”

  Ragnald nodded. “As there was between your fathers. Correct?”

  Sigurd grew uneasy. He didn’t like this line of questioning.

  “You’ve learned a lot about us already,” he said.

  Ragnald shrugged. “Perhaps you would walk with me and tell me more?”

  He glanced down to the beach, where the moon lit a silver path out to sea.

  Sig stood where he was, motionless.

  Sif spoke.

  “Of course,” she said. “As I am the Lawspeaker’s daughter, it is my duty to make guests welcome.”

  And Sigurd thought again that maybe he was being unfair to Ragnald. Hadn’t he saved his life? Then he spoke quickly, before Sif ’s words were cold.

  “As one who owes you his life, I am honored to walk with you, Ragnald.”

  “Ah,” he said. “You speak like kings! Let’s walk. . . .”

  So the three strolled down to the moonlit beach, the stones and sand crunching underfoot.

  34

  Mouse was looking for Sigurd. Freya had gone to bed, Olaf to the drinking in the great broch, but their son was nowhere to be found.

  She looked in at the door of Gudrun’s hut, but the Wisewoman was sleeping soundly; Sigurd and Sif were long gone.

  The desire to see Sigurd began to overwhelm her. She had been unsettled by Ragnald. She needed to see her brother.

  Though she was forbidden to do it, she walked quickly but quietly over to the small stone house where the female hounds were sent when they were having pups. She knew there was a mother in there now.

  “Shhh, Moss,” she said at the low doorway.

  The dog stirred and lifted its head as Mouse crawled inside. The feeling of protection and calm in the kennel cheered Mouse immediately.

  “Are these your pups?” Mouse asked the dog. She tickled one under the ear.

  “I need your help, Moss,” Mouse said. “Lie still.”

  Mouse lay down next to the dog, which continued to suckle its newborn, undisturbed.

  “What can you hear, Moss?” whispered Mouse. “What can you hear?”

  35

  Imagine you’re standing at the top of a hill. It’s a very steep hill, and beside you is a large rock. A boulder, huge and round and heavy. Now, put the sole of your foot against the rock as it stands on the brink of the hill. Push, push hard, and the boulder starts to roll down the hill. It moves slowly at first, as if unsure of what it will do, but then it speeds up, until it hurtles headlong into the future. Nothing can stop it now.

  Well, this is what happened to us. Everything that was about to happen was unstoppable and would change our lives forever.

  I walked beside Sif. I was wary of her, but I did not want to be outdone by her. A step behind and between us walked Ragnald.

  “So, my lord and lady of Storn,” he said. “You have told me of your fathers and how Horn became ruler, but tell me this: Is there not one of you who is not one of you?”

  “Yes,” said Sif. “Mouse! You mean Mouse!”

  “The little one?” asked Ragnald, but it was not really a question. He knew whom she meant. “Your sister, Sigurd?”

  “She’s not really his sister,” said Sif.

  “Be quiet, Sif,” I said angrily, but something bothered me.

  “How do you know about Mouse?” I asked.

  “I have had little to do since I have been here except to talk and to learn. And I have learned much, you see. If only I had my box, my special box, then I’d have something to do. Then I could keep your fathers busy, and all the rest of you, too. Oh, how you would dance to my tune!”

  “But there’s nothing in the box!” cried Sif. I had been about to say the same thing, and then I remembered that we weren’t supposed to have even heard of the thing, let alone know where it was.

  “Oh,” said Sif, realizing what she had done.

  “Oh,” said Ragna
ld. “Oh. Yes. I know you have the box.”

  Sif nodded dumbly. I watched silently.

  “And you are wrong,” Ragnald continued. “There is magic in the box.” He took a pendant from around his neck—it was shiny and gold and had a design of a horse’s head on it. He rubbed it between his fingers as he spoke. I remember moonlight flashing off its shiny surface and flickering across my eyes. I turned my face and saw the same pale light play across Sif’s face, too.

  “Tell me something, wise ones,” said Ragnald slowly. “Have you seen this marvelous box of mine? I know Horn says you haven’t, but perhaps he is mistaken?”

  I felt confused, as though there were something I had to do but couldn’t remember what. I looked to Sif for help, but she was staring straight at Ragnald.

  “If only I knew where my box was,” Ragnald went on steadily. “If only—then I could show you something unbelievable.”

  He stopped.

  Sif turned her head to me, as if in a dream. There was no expression on her face. I said nothing, I remember, because I felt nothing.

  “Yes,” said Sif softly. “I know where it is. Come with me and show us your magic.”

  And Ragnald said, “Good.”

  That was how it started. Ragnald had shoved the boulder from the top of the hill. Unstoppable.

  36

  The darkness and smell of the kennel would have made Mouse feel truly at rest at any other time. The bitch, Moss, breathed gently next to her; Mouse felt her own breathing settle into rhythm with that of the dog. On another occasion she would quickly have settled into comfortable sleep, happy to lie there all night. But not now, because something was eating at her. She wanted to know where Sigurd was. No, the feeling was stronger than that. She had to find him.

  Through Moss she heard all the minute sounds of the Storn that were beyond human hearing. She could hear the clank of beer mugs in the great broch. She listened harder and could hear someone snoring in his broch, and farther than that, Gudrun talking in her sleep in her hut.

  Mouse listened on, directing her thoughts around the village, and then she heard something that made her blood run cold. From somewhere very close to Horn’s broch she heard a voice she could not place.

  “A single word from either of you and I’ll slit your throats.”

  Mouse scrambled out of the kennel and ran.

  37

  We stood in the dark for a long time, just outside Horn’s broch. In all that time it never entered my head to think we were doing something strange, so strange that it had to be crazy.

  We could sense Horn inside, brooding. He must have left the great broch and come straight back. We wondered whether he would ever come out.

  Eventually, after a long wait during which neither Ragnald nor Sif nor I said anything, someone, I do not to this day know who, approached the broch in the shadows.

  The figure knocked on the lintel and went in. There were some words spoken, and then they left together, heading for the great broch.

  We crept inside.

  Only then did Ragnald speak.

  “Where’s the box?” he whispered at Sif.

  She hesitated. She seemed half asleep.

  “You want to see the magic, don’t you?” Ragnald whispered again. “Where is it?”

  “Oh,” said Sif. “Yes.”

  She rummaged under some furs that lay against a wall. She pulled the box out from the furs.

  “Here,” she said.

  It looked even more beautiful than I remembered.

  “What sort of magic will it do, Ragnald?” I asked. I swear I had completely forgotten that we knew it was empty. That was just one more of Ragnald’s games.

  “The powerful sort,” he said. He turned to Sif. “Give me the box.”

  She did as he told her.

  “Now sit with your backs to the pole,” he said, nodding at the tree trunk that ran to the center of the roof.

  And we did.

  “Now shut your eyes,” he said.

  And we did.

  And the next thing I felt was a cord pulled hard around my throat. I jerked my head forward, but he was too quick. We sat back to back, with the cord round our throats and the pole, so tight we could not squeak, let alone speak. In the time it took us to try to pull the cord away with our hands, he had our arms tied fast by the elbows.

  He took a long, double-edged knife from his bag.

  I remember—how could I forget? I will remember the words he said next till the day I die.

  “A single word from either of you and I’ll slit your throats.”

  38

  Mouse ran, not knowing what was wrong, what was happening, nor who was in danger. But she knew there was danger right in the very heart of the Storn.

  She headed for the great broch; she could see lights burning inside in spite of the late hour. Her eyes were wide, but in fear she saw nothing and ran straight into someone in the dark.

  She lost her footing and fell on the ground wildly.

  “Princess?” said a voice.

  “Who is it?” cried Mouse. “Who are you?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” said Mouse. “Who is it?”

  “Ragnald, my lady,” said the voice. “Shall I help you to your feet?”

  Mouse tried to stand and found herself pulled upright by a large, powerful hand.

  “You are in a hurry, Lady?”

  The tone of Ragnald’s voice slowed Mouse. She could see him now, set against the silver moonlit sky.

  “Yes,” she said. She paused. “No, I . . .”

  “Would you have a moment?” said Ragnald. “I have something to show you.”

  “No,” said Mouse. “I mean, there is something—”

  “It will take but a moment,” said Ragnald. “And there is no one else. It is just for you, this thing.”

  “For me?” asked Mouse, and for a moment she forgot about finding Sigurd. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” said Ragnald, and he pulled the box from under his arm.

  39

  Oh, what fools we were!

  I think something changed between us then.

  As Sif and I sat, struggling for air because of the cord around our throats, unable to speak, I think we realized that no matter how much we disliked each other, we were going to have to think quickly if we wanted to live.

  And then! What was he doing? The stranger . . . out in the darkness of the village, reunited with his magic.

  Sif made a noise; I could tell only the emotion, not the meaning.

  Fear. She was scared, and so was I.

  The air was harder to pull into our lungs; the cord bit like fire into our throats.

  Fire! A small chance, but it worked. With my left foot I was able to scrape a burning branch from Horn’s fire. It went out as it rolled onto the earth floor, but the tip was still smoldering hot. I pulled it over to where we sat tied against the roof tree.

  I could not pick it up, my hands were too tightly bound, but Sif, craning her head around, saw what I was trying to do. She picked the branch up with just her fingertips and managed to raise the other end of it, red-hot, into the air. The point wavered for a moment as she tried to steady the branch, but it was hard to hold. In desperation she let the smoldering point fall against the cord around our necks. It fell at a point midway between us, by the pole, and began to burn the cord, but instantly our skin began to burn, too.

  We both screamed silently against the tightness of the cord, but in a few seconds the rope had weakened, and our jerks of pain snapped us free. With one end of the cord broken, we were able to wriggle free of our bonds quickly.

  We both pressed our hands to the burns already seeping on our necks.

  “Come on,” I said, trying to get off my knees.

  “I can’t,” said Sif, choking against the pain.

  “We have to find him!” I cried.

  She nodded.

  “All right,” she gasped. “All . . . right.”

 
She staggered to her feet.

  We stumbled out into the darkness. The cold wind felt good against the screaming, burning pain.

  “What do we do? Where is he?” Sif cried

  I felt I might panic. I tried to think calmly, to decide what was the best thing to do. “You go to the great broch. Get as much help as you can!” I said.

  Immediately she ran toward the great broch.

  There she would find Olaf and Thorbjorn, and as fate had it, Horn, too.

  “I’ll start looking for him,” I called after her.

  I think I sounded braver than I felt.

  I looked around in the darkness.

  Where was Ragnald?

  We didn’t even know what he was doing. I just knew it was something terrible. It had to be, to attack us so brutally, so coldly.

  He had some purpose; I did not know what, but it was my belief it involved Mouse.

  I was right, though it was the others who found her first.

  40

  When Horn and Olaf and Thorbjorn and Sif burst into the grain barn, they did not understand what they saw there. They did not understand what they saw, but it looked like evil.

  By the dim light of a small candle they saw Mouse and the stranger, Ragnald.

  Mouse was on her knees, writhing like a sick dog. Her feet scrabbled in the grain and dust, but her arms were rigid. Each of her hands was placed palm down against the inside of one half of the box, which was being held by Ragnald. Mouse’s hands were held fast, as thought they were stuck to the inside of the box.

  Ragnald stood above her, holding the box, whispering unknown words. Mouse was sobbing, her eyes closed, her body trembling.

  “What is this?” Horn yelled as they broke in.