Wolfspell

by Anna Ciddor

  Praise for Runestone, Book 1 in the Viking Magic series

  ‘I think it was the best book I have ever read. I couldn't stop reading it, so I read it in one night!!!’ Becky

  ‘Thanks, Anna Ciddor, I really love your book, I think it’s the best in the world. Good luck in the future, but I think you won't need it. Thanks for writing.’ Lachlan

  ‘I've read Runestone twice, it's sooooooooooooooooooo good. I can't wait till the next one comes out.’ Claudine

  ‘Oddo’s my favourite character because he's so adventurous.’ Robert

  ‘I think it’s a great book! I didn't know any of those things about the Vikings, and I found them very interesting.’ Hilary

  ‘Very entertaining and absorbing.’ Kevin Steinberger, Magpies

  ‘I found reading Runestone a delight, set as it is against the bare but yet accommodating landscape of Norway in approximately 870 AD. Runestone is a novel that not only allows us to see an aspect of Viking civilization but also whets our appetite for more: more about Thora, Oddo and Granny Hulda; more about changelings and runestone magic; more by Anna Ciddor.’ Bronwen Bennett, President, Dromkeen Society

  As a child, ANNA CIDDOR loved reading, drawing and writing, but she never dreamed of becoming an author and illustrator. It was only when she married and had children of her own that the idea first crossed her mind. In 1987 she decided to take a break from her teaching career and ‘have a go’ at writing a book. The teaching career has been on hold ever since! Anna is now a full-time writer and illustrator with 50 titles published. She lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children in a house full of books.

  Anna says,‘I’ve always been fascinated by the past. I dig around trying to unearth quirky details about the way people used to live. So although the Viking Magic stories are fantasy, they are based on real Viking lifestyle and beliefs.’

  To find out more about the Vikings and the background to the Viking Magic series, go to:

  www.viking-magic.com

  First published in 2003

  Copyright © text and illustrations, Anna Ciddor, 2003

  Cover illustration © Steve Hunt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Ciddor, Anna.

  Wolfspell : the second book about the adventures of Oddo and Thora.

  ISBN 1 74114 013 7

  eISBN 9 78195 253 402 7.

  1. Children - Norway - Juvenile fiction. I.Title.

  A823.3

  Designed by Jo Hunt

  Typeset by Midland Typesetters

  Teaching notes for Wolfspell are available on the Allen & Unwin website: www.allenandunwin.com

  Secret rune messages

  Runes are the letters of the Viking alphabet (the Futhark).

  Runes also have magic powers.

  If you unlock the secrets of the rune messages in this book you will find out how to make your own

  (the Futhark at the end of the book will probably come in handy).

  To all of you who read Runestone and sent me letters and emails begging me to hurry up and write the next book: here it is, and it’s dedicated to you!

  Contents

  1 The hungry month

  2 A proclamation

  3 Bows and arrows

  4 The hunt

  5 A plea for help

  6 The wounded wolf

  7 Oddo alone

  8 A mysterious disappearance

  9 Grimmr the Greedy

  10 Ulf pays a visit

  11 The Gula Thing

  12 Hallveig

  13 The duel

  14 The judgement

  15 Words of warning

  16 Into the forest

  17 Waterfall

  18 Stuck in a swamp

  19 Over the mountains

  20 Wolf pack

  21 A warm welcome

  22 Unpleasant surprise

  23 Wolfspell

  24 Disaster

  25 Oddo returns

  26 Willow-bark brew

  27 Thora and Hairydog

  28 Taxes for the King

  29 The ceremony begins

  30 Ring of fire

  31 Sunset

  1

  The hungry month

  The milk swished into the bucket as Oddo gave the udder a last impatient squeeze. Brushing against the cow’s warm, hairy flank, he reached under the feed trough. His fingers found the hazelnut shells he’d hidden there, and he grinned. Two perfect miniature bowls. Filling them from the bucket of milk, he carried them outside and looked around. There was nobody watching.

  Oddo laid the nutshells on the snow and slipped back to the barn. He crouched behind the door and peered round, hardly daring to breathe. Trying not to blink. This time he was going to see who took the milk. This time, he was going to wait and watch until they came.

  ‘Oddo!’ His mother’s voice rang out across the yard. ‘Oddo, I need that milk. Have you fallen asleep in there?’

  ‘Pig’s poop,’ growled Oddo.

  Grabbing the buckets, he stomped out the door. He tossed a glance at the nutshells, and jerked to a halt.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  In those two seconds his back had been turned, someone had sneaked up and drunk the milk! He bent to check the surface of the snow. There were tiny dimples in the whiteness – footprints no bigger than his little fingernail, just the right size for . . .

  ‘Lost something?’ His father’s voice boomed behind him and Oddo sprang back guiltily. ‘What are you poking round in the snow for?’

  Oddo opened his mouth but couldn’t think of an answer.

  ‘If I say anything about the Little Folk, he’ll bite my head off !’ he thought.

  His father, Bolverk, was pleased when Oddo used his magic powers to bring rain to the fields, or keep birds away from the seeds, but any mention of the Little Folk put him in a temper. ‘You’re just making excuses to get out of your chores,’ he snapped, when Oddo tried to explain that the Little Folk didn’t like him doing ploughing. Bolverk certainly would not approve of him giving them even one drop of the precious milk!

  February was hungry month. No vegetables in the garden. No berries or mushrooms in the woods. The wheat sack empty and the nuts all eaten.

  Even the wolves were hungry.

  As Oddo stumbled to his feet, Bolverk lunged for the door of the barn.

  ‘I told you to keep this shut. You know there are wolves lurking about!’

  Oddo scurried into the dairy with his buckets, tilted the wooden lid off the milk vat, and poured in his milk.

  ‘Salt fish for dinner again?’ he asked. ‘And cheese?’

  Sigrid nodded, not bothering to speak. She was panting with exertion as she churned the cream, and her warm breath made clouds of vapour in the cold air of the dairy.

  Oddo wondered what his friend Thora, and her family of spellworkers
, would be having for their dinner.

  In the house-over-the-hill, Thora was leaning over the hand mill, tipping in dried peas and crumbled bark from a pine tree. A cauldron of seaweed simmered on the firepit in the middle of the room, and a salty sea smell wove its way through the gloom. Thora gripped the handle of the mill and began to grind the flour.

  ‘What’s that you’re making, Thora, a new cure for my creaky old bones?’

  ‘No, Granny, just supper.’

  Granny Hulda was huddled in her usual corner, loom clattering and fingers squeaking as she wove spells into her magic cloth.

  ‘Is that a rat?’ she quavered, as something small and brown with a long tail scuttled across the floor. Edith leapt out of the way, but Erik dived to catch it. With a hoot of laughter he threw it towards his sister.

  ‘No!’ squealed Edith. But it was only a spattering of leaves and twigs that cascaded around her.

  ‘Tricked you!’ laughed Erik.

  Thora chuckled. Her brother was getting rather good at using his magic to make animals. That thing really had looked and moved like a rat!

  Thora was tipping the powdered pine bark and peas out of the hand mill when Sissa, the baby of the family, reached out to grab the side of the mixing trough.

  ‘No, Sissa!’ cried Thora.

  Too late! The baby’s chubby little fingers had already closed on the edge. Thora shrugged and sat back to watch. The mixing trough was made from the trunk of a tree that had been dead many years, but as soon as Sissa touched it, buds sprouted along the hollow trunk. In a few moments, leaves were unfurling all over it.

  Thora gave a sigh. ‘Now I’ll get leaves all through my dough,’ she scolded, picking at the tendrils. She added a sprinkle of water to her flour and began to mix.

  ‘Peuugh . . . what a stink!’ cried Astrid, striding into the room.‘Whose spell is that?!’ She pulled off her cloak and flapped at the fumes rising from the cauldron.

  ‘It’s not a spell. It’s supper!’ cried Harald gleefully.

  ‘Oh,’ said Astrid. ‘Thora’s cooking. I should have guessed.’

  ‘You’re lucky someone here can cook,’ muttered Thora, ‘even if it is only pine bark and seaweed. I’d like to see you try!’

  But of course she never would. The only useful thing Astrid could do was make spells. It was the same with the rest of her family. Thora looked around the room. Her mother, Finnhilda, was strumming the lute. Her father, as always, was carving a rune. Little Ketil was playing with his magic goatskin hood, making different bits of his body turn invisible . . . If it wasn’t for Thora, they’d probably be eating stones for dinner. But then, with their magic powers, all of them but Thora could eat stones for dinner, if they wanted. It was only Thora who couldn’t do spellwork.

  As she kneaded the dough, she heard sounds outside – a metallic chinking and the thud thud of a running animal. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. There was a scrape, a jangle and the startling bray of a horn.

  ‘I summons you in the name of the King!’ hollered a loud voice.

  They all looked at each other. Astrid was the first to move. She pulled her cloak on again and hurried down the long passage to the door. One by one, the others followed.

  2

  A proclamation

  The whole family headed for the door. As they pushed back the door hangings and stepped outside, little Ketil was holding tight to Thora’s hand.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered, gaping at the creature in front of them. It was taller than a cow, with a tossing, hairy head and swishing tail. The animal blew a loud, wuthering puff through its nose.

  Ketil twisted himself into Thora’s long kirtle.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s just a horse,’ said Thora. ‘You’ve heard of horses. They’re in all the sagas about the kings and things.’

  She was more interested in the carved sleigh hung with bells, and the fat man in the fur-trimmed cloak squashed inside.

  ‘I summons you in the name of the King!’ the fat man repeated. ‘Your chieftain, Vigmund the Jarl, sits upon the mound of his forefathers, ready to proclaim the decrees of King Harald the Fairhair, new King of all Norway! You must attend him now!’

  The man gave another blast on his horn and a shake of the reins. The horse leapt forward and the sleigh skidded round, sending out a spray of snow. A moment later, it was out of sight.

  Granny huffed.

  ‘What a bunch of bird twitter!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m not traipsing round in the snow to listen to that sparrow-voiced Vigmund telling me what to do! Who’s this Harald Whitehead anyway? Never heard of him!’ She stomped inside, her bones clacking angrily.

  Runolf frowned, and stroked his long, straggly beard.

  ‘Father,’ said Edith, tugging anxiously at Runolf’s sleeve, ‘we have to go. It’s the King’s orders!’

  ‘I want to see the King!’ cried Ketil.

  ‘The King won’t be there, silly,’ said Astrid scornfully. ‘It’ll just be that old Jarl Vigmund dressed up in his rusty helmet and chain mail, thinking he looks important.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think it behoves us to attend this gathering,’ Runolf pronounced. ‘Let us attire ourselves in suitable garb.’

  To Thora’s annoyance, Finnhilda instructed all her daughters to put on their blue witch cloaks trimmed with cat fur.

  ‘But it makes me sneeze!’ wailed Thora.

  Runolf and the older boys wound headbands embroidered with runes around their hair, and tied their runestone pouches to their belts. Then they set off for the mound, Runolf and Finnhilda leading, the eight children trailing behind.

  Through the haze of gently falling snowflakes Thora could see all the neighbouring farmers heading in the same direction. There was Oddo between his parents, grinning and waving. There was Farmer Ulf and family, and that surly-faced newcomer, Grimmr, who’d taken over the useless, rocky land on the far side of Bolverk’s.

  They gathered at the foot of the mound, staring up at the Jarl. He was rigged out just as Astrid had predicted, in his old battle gear, looking small and insignificant next to the King’s burly Sheriff.

  Ulf muttered a comment to his wife, then erupted with one of his loud, hearty laughs, his red-gold beard glinting in the twilight. But as the Jarl began to speak, everyone fell silent and leaned forward, straining to hear. The air was bitterly cold. Thora hugged her cloak tight and felt the cat fur tickle her nose. Hastily, she wrenched the hood off her head. It would be very embarrassing to start sneezing.

  ‘Hear ye!’ quavered the Jarl. ‘This messenger from King Harald has put an offer before me: that we acknowledge Harald as our King, or set ourselves in battle against him. On behalf of the folk of this realm, I have promised obedience to the King.’ His voice rose. ‘So let us raise a cheer to Harald the Fair of Hair, King of all Norway, who will defend our land from foreign invaders!’

  The King’s Sheriff blew his horn and stepped forward.

  ‘Subjects of the King!’ he roared. ‘Hear ye this proclamation. That from this day forth all land cultivated and uncultivated, all seas, rivers and lakes in the realm shall be the property of the King. That all who seek to dwell thereon or to fish in the waters thereof shall pay to the King a tax. That this tax shall be in silver, butter, meal, or such other goods as please the King. And that all who fail to pay this tribute shall forfeit their property, land and freedom to the King!’

  As he went on speaking, everyone began murmuring in angry voices.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ hissed Ketil. ‘What does he mean?’

  ‘I think we have to pay taxes to the King or we’ll be thrown out of our homes!’Thora replied.

  ‘Taxes, what are taxes?’ Ketil persisted. ‘What do we have to pay?’

  ‘Silver, butter, meal . . .’

  ‘Meal? What’s meal?’

  ‘Oh, you know, flour for making bread – ground-up barley or . . .’

  ‘Like our pine bark? Does the King want our pine bark?’

  Th
ora stared at him.

  ‘No, he won’t want our pine bark. And we don’t have any silver or butter either!’ she added. She screwed up her face in consternation. ‘How are we going to pay?’

  Bolverk’s voice boomed above the murmur of the crowd.

  ‘Vigmund the Jarl’s a jellyfish!’ he rumbled. ‘An egg yolk’s got more backbone than he has. Only a coward hands over his realm rather than offering battle!’

  Thora noticed her father making his way up the mound and hurried after him. Runolf bowed to the Jarl and the Sheriff.

  ‘Sires,’ he said.‘I am a poor spellworker, not a farmer. I own no cows, no fields of barley. But, if it please His Majesty, I can inscribe for him runestones of magic power that will win his heart’s desire, protect him from harm, bring him–’

  ‘Ha!’ snorted the Sheriff.‘Ignorant fellow, do you not know that the King is himself the greatest rune-master in the land? He has the knowledge to speak with birds, the power to quench a fire, and the strength of eight men. He has no need of your paltry scrapings.’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘At the close of the Gula Thing, I shall return to collect your tributes!’ he announced. ‘Take heed! The King has no patience with those who do not pay. If you value your home, your freedom and your property, be sure to have your payment ready!’

  3

  Bows and arrows

  All through the hungry month, Oddo listened to Bolverk and Sigrid anxiously discussing the problem of paying their taxes.

  ‘The close of the Gula Thing is too soon!’ wailed Sigrid. ‘That’s in spring! There won’t be any new crops to harvest by then.’

  ‘Even in autumn we’d have nothing to spare,’ said Bolverk. ‘Everything we grow, we eat – or trade at the market. No, it can’t come from the farm.’

  ‘Maybe . . . Could Oddo do something with his magic?’ asked Sigrid tentatively.

  ‘Hmm, can you make the grain grow any faster?’ asked Bolverk hopefully. Oddo shook his head. ‘Well, I don’t see how making raindrops or talking to the sheep could get the taxes paid . . .’