Ronia, The Robber's Daughter

by Astrid Lindgren

  “I’m moving into the forest now,” said Ronia. “You must tell Lovis.”

  “Why don’t you tell her yourself?” asked Tapper.

  “Well, because she wouldn’t let me go! And I don’t want to be stopped.”

  “What do you think your father will say then?” asked Torm.

  “My father,” Ronia said thoughtfully. “Have I got a father?”

  She gave them her hand in farewell. “Give everyone my love! Don’t forget Noddle-Pete! And remember me sometimes when you’re dancing and singing your songs.”

  This was more than Tapper and Torm could bear. Tears sprang into their eyes, and Ronia cried a little too.

  “I think this is the end of dancing in Matt’s Fort,” said Tapper sorrowfully.

  Ronia picked up her bundle and threw it over her shoulder. “Tell Lovis that she must not grieve and worry too much. I’ll be in the woods if she wants to find me.”

  “And what are we to say to Matt?” asked Torm.

  “Nothing,” Ronia said with a sigh.

  Then she went. Tapper and Torm stood watching silently until she vanished around the bend of the path.

  Now it was night, and the moon was high in the sky. Ronia stopped at the lake to rest, sat down on a stone, and felt how still everything was in her forest. She listened but could hear nothing but silence. The woods in the spring night felt full of secrets, full of magic and other strange and ancient things. There were dangers there, too, but Ronia was not afraid.

  If only the wild harpies keep away, I’m as safe as in Matt’s Fort, she thought. The forest is my home as it has always been, and even more so now, when I have no other home.

  The lake lay there, very black, but across the water ran a narrow beam of moonlight. It was beautiful, and Ronia’s heart lightened as she saw it. How strange it was that you could be happy and sad at the same time! She was sad for Matt’s sake, and for Lovis, but happy about all the magic, lovely, silent treasures of the spring night about her. And it was here in the woods that she would be living from now on. With Birk. Now she remembered he was waiting for her in the Bear’s Cave—why was she sitting here, thinking?

  She got up and lifted her bundle. It was a long way to the cave, and there was no path for her to follow, but she knew exactly how to reach it. In the same way as the animals knew it, and as all the rumphobs and murktrolls and gray dwarfs of the forest knew it. So she walked calmly through the moonlit woods, between the pines and fir trees, over moss and blueberry twigs, past marshland scented with bog myrtle, and past black, bottomless pools. She climbed over mossy fallen trees and waded through rippling brooks; straight through the woods she walked, heading unerringly for the Bear’s Cave.

  She saw the murktrolls dancing in the moonlight on a rocky outcrop. They did it only on moonlit nights, Noddle-Pete had told her, and she stopped for a while to watch them without their noticing. It was a strange dance they were performing, swaying around very quietly and clumsily, and humming to themselves all the while. Noddle-Pete had told her this was their spring song and had tried to hum it to her in the manner of trolls, but it was not very much like what she now heard—such an ancient, sorrowful sound.

  When she thought of Noddle-Pete, she had to think of Matt and Lovis too, and the thought hurt her.

  But she forgot it when at last she reached the cave and saw the fire—yes, Birk had lit a fire on the rocky shelf outside the cave so they would not freeze in the cold spring night. It flickered and flared so she could see it at a distance, and she remembered what Matt used to say: “Where there is a home, there is a fire!”

  And where there is a fire, there can also be a home, Ronia thought. There was going to be a home in the Bear’s Cave!

  And there sat Birk, quite at peace beside the fire, eating grilled steak. He speared a piece of meat on a stick and handed it to her.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time,” he said. “Now eat—before you sing the Wolf Song!”

  Eleven

  Ronia tried to sing the wolf song for birk as soon as they were lying on their fir-branch beds. But when she remembered how Lovis had sung it for her and Matt when everything was still as it used to be in Matt’s Fort, she felt such a tug of yearning in her breast that she could not go on.

  And Birk was already falling asleep. All day while he waited for her he had worked to clean up the cave after the bear which had recently finished its winter sleep there. Then he had dragged up from the woods kindling for the fire and branches to sleep on. He had had a strenuous day and was soon asleep.

  Ronia lay awake. It was dark in the cave, and cold, but she was not freezing. Birk had lent her a goatskin to spread over the fir branches, and she had brought her squirrelskin coverlet with her from her bed at home. It was soft and warm to wrap herself in. There was no need for her to lie awake because of the cold, but still sleep would not come.

  For a long time she lay there, not feeling as happy as she wished, but through the cave opening she could see the light, cool sky of spring and she could hear the river rushing deep down in its gully, and that helped.

  It’s the same sky over Matt’s Fort, she thought. And the same river rushing by that I can hear at home.

  And then she slept.

  Both of them woke up when the sun rose over the ridge on the other side of the river. Flaming red, it appeared from the morning mist and flared like a torch over the forest near and far.

  “I’m blue with cold, ” said Birk, “but dawn is the coldest hour— then it gets warmer bit by bit. Isn’t it a comfort to know that? “

  “A fire would be still more comfort, ” said Ronia, whose teeth were chattering too. Birk poked life into the embers, and they sat beside their fire, eating their bread and drinking what was left of the goat’s milk that Ronia had brought.

  When the last mouthful was gone, Ronia said, “From now on we’ll be drinking spring water and nothing else. “

  “It won’t make us fat, ” said Birk, “but we won’t die of it either. “

  They looked at each other and laughed. Their life in the Bear’s Cave would be hard, they knew, but it did not affect their spirits. Ronia did not even remember that she had been unhappy in the night. Now they were well-fed and warm, the morning was bright, and they were as free as birds. It was as if they had not realized it until this moment. Everything that had been so heavy and hard in recent days was now behind them; they were going to forget it; they never wanted to think of it again.

  “Ronia,” said Birk, “do you realize that we are free?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter at the very thought.

  “Yes, and this is our kingdom,” said Ronia. “No one can take it away from us or drive us out.”

  They went on sitting by their fire as the sun rose. The river rushed below them, and all around them the whole forest had awakened. The treetops stirred quietly in the morning breeze, the cuckoos called, a woodpecker hammered at a tree trunk somewhere nearby, and on the other side of the river an elk family appeared at the edge of the woods. And the two of them sat there, feeling as if they ruled over everything—river and wood and all the living things in them.

  “Cover your ears—my spring yell is coming,” said Ronia.

  And she gave a yell that echoed among the mountains.

  “There’s one thing I hope more than anything else,” said Birk. “To be able to fetch my crossbow before you bring the wild harpies down on us with your yelling.”

  “Fetch… where from?” Ronia asked. “From Borka’s Keep?”

  “No, in the woods outside it,” said Birk. “I couldn’t bring everything with me at once, so I made myself a hiding place in a hollow tree, and I’ve got all kinds of bits and pieces there that I want to bring here.”

  “Matt didn’t want me to have a crossbow yet,” said Ronia. “But I can cut myself an ordinary bow if I can borrow your knife.”

  “Yes, if you take care of it. It’s the most precious thing we have, remember that. Without a knife we can’t manage in t
he woods.”

  “There are other things we can’t manage without,” said Ronia. “Buckets to carry the water in—have you thought of that?”

  Birk laughed. “I certainly have thought. But thoughts carry no water.”

  “That’s why it’s a good thing that I know where to get one,” said Ronia.

  “Where?”

  “In Lovis’s healing spring, in the woods below the Wolf’s Neck. She sent Bumper there yesterday for the healing water Noddle-Pete had to take for his stomach. But Bumper got a pair of wild harpies after him and came home without the buckets. He’ll have to get them today—Lovis will see to that, believe me! But if I hurry I may get there before him.”

  And they both hurried off. They ran, light-footed, all the long way across the woods and got the things they needed. It was some time before they were back at the cave, Ronia with buckets, Birk with his crossbow and other things from his hiding place. He lined them all up on the slab outside the cave to show Ronia what he had. An ax, a whetstone, a small cooking pot, fishing gear, snares for catching birds, arrows for his crossbow, a short spear—all necessary things for people who were going to live in the woods.

  “Yes, I see you know what we woodsmen have to do,” said Ronia. “Get our own food and defend ourselves against harpies and beasts of prey.”

  “I know that well enough,” said Birk. “Of course we will—”

  He got no further, for Ronia had grabbed at his arm and was whispering fearfully, “Quiet! There’s someone inside the cave.”

  They held their breath and listened. Yes, there was someone in their cave, someone who had taken care to steal in while they were away. Birk picked up his spear, and they stood waiting in silence. They could hear someone moving around inside, and it was uncanny not knowing who was there. In fact, there seemed to be more than one. Perhaps the whole cave was full of harpies, lying in wait, ready to come rushing out at any moment and dig their claws into them.

  Finally they could not bear to listen and wait any longer.

  “Come out, harpies!” shouted Birk. “If you want to meet the sharpest spear in these woods!”

  But no one came out. Instead they heard an angry hissing from inside the cave. “People here in Gray Dwarfs’ Woods! Gray dwarfs all, bite and strike!”

  That made Ronia blaze with anger. “Out with you, gray dwarfs,” she shouted. “Be off with you, at once! Otherwise I’ll come and pull your hair out!”

  And out of the cave swarmed the gray dwarfs, hissing and spitting at Ronia. But she spat back at them, and Birk showed them his spear. At that they were in a hurry to get down the mountainside. They crawled and clambered down the steep cliff, trying to reach the river. Some of them lost their grip and fell, squealing with rage, into the waterfalls, so that whole clumps of gray dwarfs went sailing down the river. But they managed to struggle ashore at last.

  “They’re good swimmers, those little beasts,” Ronia said.

  “And good bread eaters, too,” said Birk, when they went into the cave and saw that the gray dwarfs had eaten a whole loaf from their stores.

  They had had no time to do worse, but the fact that they had been there was enough.

  “This is not at all good,” said Ronia. “The whole forest will be hissing and spitting with their chatter, and soon every last harpy will know where we are.”

  But you were not allowed to be afraid in Matt’s Forest. Ronia had been hearing that since she was small. And it was stupid to live in dread of something that had not happened, both she and Birk thought, so they calmly arranged their food supplies and weapons and tools in the cave. Then they got water from a spring in the forest and laid a net in the river to catch fish. They dragged home flat stones from the river’s edge and made themselves a hearth on their platform, and they searched far and wide to find juniper wood for Ronia’s bow. As they walked, they saw the wild horses grazing in the usual glade and tried to approach Villain and Savage, speaking gently to them, but with no result. Neither Villain nor Savage understood kindness; they made off, running lightly, to graze somewhere else, where they could be left in peace.

  For the rest of the day Ronia sat outside the cave, cutting her bow and two arrows for it. She gave up a length of her leather rope as a bowstring. Then she practiced shooting, long and happily, until at last she had lost both her arrows. She hunted for them until dusk began to fall and she had to give up. But it did not bother her much.

  “1’11 cut some new ones tomorrow.”

  “And you take care of the knife,” said Birk.

  “Yes, I know it’s the most precious thing we have. The knife and the ax!”

  Suddenly they noticed that it was already night and that they were hungry. The day had flown past, and they had been busy all the time. They had walked and run and carried and dragged and gotten things organized and had no time to feel hungry. But now they treated themselves to a feast of bread and sheep’s cheese and mutton and washed it down with clear spring water, just as Ronia had predicted.

  The night was never dark at this time of year, but their tired bodies could feel that the day was over and that they wanted to sleep.

  In the darkness of the cave Ronia sang the Wolf’s Song for Birk, and this time it went better. All the same, it made her sad again, and she asked Birk, “Do you think they’re thinking about us in Matt’s Fort? Our parents, I mean!”

  “It would be odd if they didn’t.”

  Ronia swallowed before she could speak again. “Will they be sorry, do you think?”

  Birk thought a bit. “It will be different. Undis will be sorry, but she’ll be even more angry, I think. Borka will be angry too, but more sad at the same time.”

  “Lovis will be sorry—I know that,” said Ronia.

  “What about Matt?” asked Birk.

  Ronia was silent for a long time, then she said, “I should think he’s quite pleased. That I’ve gone, so that he can forget me.”

  And she tried to believe it, but in her heart she knew that it was not true.

  That night she dreamed that Matt was sitting alone in the middle of a dark, black wood, crying until there was a pool at his feet. And deep down in the pool she herself sat, small again, playing with pinecones and pebbles he had given her.

  Twelve

  Early next morning they went down to the river to see if they had caught any fish in the net. “Fish must be hauled in before the cuckoo calls,” Ronia said.

  She skipped merrily down the path ahead of Birk. It was a narrow little path, winding steeply down the mountainside through a grove of young birches. Ronia could smell the scent of the fresh young birch leaves, the scent of spring, and it made her happy, so she skipped.

  Behind her came Birk, not yet quite awake.

  “If there are any fish to haul in, yes. I suppose you think the net will be full?”

  “There are salmon in this river,” said Ronia. “It would be odd if not a single one had popped into our net.”

  “And it would be odd if you, my sister, didn’t skip headfirst into the river.”

  “This is my spring skipping,” Ronia said.

  Birk laughed. “Spring skipping, yes, this path was just made for it. Who do you think trod it down to begin with?”

  “Matt, perhaps,” said Ronia. “When he was staying in the Bear’s Cave. He likes salmon—he always has.”

  Then she stopped. She did not want to think about what Matt liked or didn’t like. She remembered what she had dreamed the night before, and she wanted to forget that too. But the thought kept on coming back like the most stubborn gadfly and would not leave her alone. Until she saw the salmon flapping and splashing in their net! It was a fine, big salmon which would give them food for many days, and as Birk took it out of the net, he said delightedly, “Well, you’re not going to die of hunger, sister mine—I promise you that.”

  “Until the winter,” said Ronia.

  But it was a long time until winter—what did she care about that now? She would have nothing more to
do with any plaguing thoughts.

  They returned to the cave with the salmon hanging from a stick and a fallen birch dragging behind them. It was attached to their belts by the leather rope, and they toiled painfully up the path with it, like a pair of draft horses towing timber. They needed the wood, from which they planned to make bowls and other useful items.

  Birk had trimmed the birch, but the ax had skidded as he did it, and now he was bleeding from a wound in one foot. There was a trail of blood behind him on the path, but that did not bother him.

  “It’s nothing to worry about. The wound has to bleed until it’s finished.”

  “Don’t be so cocky,” said Ronia. “A killer bear might come and follow your trail, wondering where there was more of that lovely blood.”

  Birk laughed. “Then I’d show it to him with a spear in my hand.”

  “Lovis,” Ronia said thoughtfully, “usually puts on dried moss when there is bleeding. I think I’d better get ourselves a supply. Who knows when you’re planning to cut yourself in the leg again?”

  And so she carried home a whole armload of moss from the forest and left it to dry in the sun. Birk gave her grilled salmon when she got home. And it was not the last time. For a long time they did nothing but eat salmon and work on their wooden bowls. Cutting into the wood was not difficult; they were successful with that, and they did not cut themselves. Soon they had five splendid blocks of wood just waiting to be hollowed out into bowls. That was the number they needed, they had decided.

  But by the third day Ronia was asking, “Birk, which do you think is worse—grilled salmon or blisters on your hands?”

  Birk said he could not answer because one was as bad as the other.

  “But I know one thing. We should have had some kind of chisel. With only a knife this is sheer slavery.”

  But they had no other tools, and they took turns hacking and scratching until at last they had something resembling a bowl.

  “I’ll never make any more of these in my life,” said Birk. “Now I’m just going to sharpen the knife one more time. Hand it over!”