Ronia, The Robber's Daughter

by Astrid Lindgren

  “The knife?” Ronia said. “You’ve got it yourself.”

  Birk shook his head. “No, you had it last. Hand it over!”

  “I have no knife,” said Ronia. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “What have you done with it then?”

  Ronia was getting angry. “What have you done with it? You were the one who had it last!”

  “That’s a lie,” Birk said.

  In resentful silence they hunted for the knife, everywhere, inside the cave and outside on the platform. And in the cave again and outside again. But it was not there.

  Birk looked coldly at Ronia. “I thought I told you that without the knife we can’t manage in the woods.”

  “Then you should have taken better care of it,” said Ronia. “In any case you’re a mean devil, blaming other people when you yourself have caused the trouble.”

  Birk turned pale with rage. “I see, so you’re back again, robber’s daughter! You’re your old self, I see. And I’m supposed to live with you!”

  “You needn’t worry, Borka robber,” said Ronia. “You can live with your knife! If you can find it.”

  She left him, tears of fury in her eyes. She would go off into the forest now, to avoid him. She never wanted to see him again, to speak one more word to him!

  Birk watched her leave. That annoyed him even more, and he shouted after her, “May the harpies take you! You’ll be quite at home with them!”

  He saw the moss lying there, making a mess. That had been Ronia’s stupid idea, and in his anger he kicked it away.

  Under the moss lay the knife. Birk stared at it for a long time before he picked it up. They had searched through the moss so carefully. How could the knife be there now, and whose fault was it that it was there?

  The moss was Ronia’s fault in any case; that much he knew. Anyway, she was unfair and stupid and unbearable. Otherwise he would have rushed after her and told her that the knife had been found, but she might as well stay in the woods until she was tired and became reasonable again.

  He whetted the knife until it was sharp. Then he sat down holding it and felt how well it lay in his hand. It was a fine knife, and it was no longer missing.

  What was missing was his anger. It had left him while he was working with the knife. So he ought to be quite content now—after all, he had his knife. But Ronia had gone. Was that why he felt this odd gnawing in his chest?

  You can live with your knife! That was what she had said. Now he was getting angry again. Where would she live? Not that it had anything to do with him; she could go and chase herself wherever she liked. But if she did not come back, and quickly, she had better watch out for herself. She would find the Bear’s Cave ruthlessly closed against her! He wished he could have let her know that. But he had no intention of running through the forest looking for her to tell her. She would be coming back soon enough, begging and pleading and wanting to come in, and then he would say, “You should have come before! Now it’s too late.”

  He said it aloud to hear how it sounded, and he shivered. What a thing to say to someone who was supposed to be his sister! But it had been her own choice. He had not driven her out.

  He ate a little salmon while he waited. Salmon was marvelous the first three or four times you ate it, but now, after the tenth time, the fragments swelled in his mouth and it was difficult to get them down.

  All the same, it was food. What did someone wandering in the woods eat? What was Ronia eating? There must be roots and green leaves, if she could find any, but that was not his business either. She could walk until she withered away, since that was obviously what she wanted. Since she still had not come back.

  The hours passed. The place was oddly empty without Ronia. He could not think of anything to do when she was not there. And the gnawing in his chest was getting worse and worse.

  He watched the dusk move in over the river, and it reminded him of that time, long ago, when he had fought against the Unearthly Ones for Ronia. He had never talked to her about it afterward, and she probably did not know that she was a person who could be lured away by their powers. How unfair she had been to him that time! She had bitten his cheek, too, and he still had a little scar from the bite. But he had liked her anyway—yes, even the first time he saw her he’d liked her. Of course, she did not know that; he had not told her that either. And now it was too late. From now on he was going to be living alone in the cave. With his knife… How could she say something so cruel? He would gladly fling the knife in the river if only he could have Ronia back again; he knew that now.

  There was often a mist over the river in the evening; that was nothing to worry about. But who could be certain, he thought, that on this particular evening it might not rise and spread right through the woods? Then the Unearthly Ones might come out of their murky depths again. Who would protect Ronia against their wiles this time? Of course, it was no longer his business, but no matter how things stood, this could not go on any longer. He must go into the forest, he must find Ronia.

  He ran until he was breathless. He looked for her everywhere on the paths and in the places where he thought she might be. He called her name until he was afraid of his own voice and afraid of attracting inquisitive, wicked harpies.

  May the harpies take you, he had called after her, he remembered now with shame. Perhaps that was just what they had done, too, since she was nowhere to be found. Or what if she had gone back to Matt’s Fort? Perhaps she was now kneeling before Matt, begging and pleading to be allowed to come home and be his child again. She would never beg and plead to be allowed back into the Bear’s Cave—no, it was Matt she longed for, he could see that now, although she had not wanted Birk to know. So now she was probably happy, now she had someone to blame, so that she could leave the Bear’s Cave and the person who was supposed to be her brother!

  It was no use searching any longer. He was giving up now. He would have to go home to his cave and the loneliness there, no matter how bitter it might be.

  The spring evening was as beautiful as a miracle, but Birk did not notice. He did not smell the evening scents or hear the birdsong; he did not see the grass and flowers on the ground; he could only feel the pain of his regret.

  Then, far away, he heard a horse neighing in deadly fear. He ran toward the sound and heard the screams grow more and more desperate as he approached. Then he saw the horse in a little glade among the pines. It was a mare, and she was bleeding heavily from an open wound in her flank. She was afraid of Birk—that was obvious—but she did not run away; she only neighed still more fearfully, as if asking for help and protection in her need.

  “Poor thing,” said Birk. “Who has been treating you so badly?”

  At the same moment he saw Ronia. She came rushing toward them between the pines, her face wet with tears.

  “Did you see the bear?” she shouted. “Oh, Birk, he took her foal, he killed it!”

  She was weeping desperately, but Birk could feel only the wildest joy. Ronia was alive. The bear had not killed her, and neither Matt nor any harpies had taken her from him. What joy!

  But Ronia was standing beside the mare, looking at the blood running from her. She seemed to hear Lovis’s voice in her ear and knew what to do.

  She called to Birk. “Hurry! Get the moss—otherwise she’ll lose all her blood!”

  “But what about you? You can’t stay here with a killer bear around.”

  “Run!” shouted Ronia. “I must stay with the mare, she needs comfort—and moss. But go quickly!”

  And Birk ran. While he was gone, Ronia stood holding the mare’s head between her hands. She murmured comforting words as best she could, and the mare stood still, as if listening. She was no longer neighing; perhaps she no longer had the energy. From time to time a violent shudder went through her body. It was a terrible wound that the bear had opened up. Poor mare, she had tried to protect her foal, but now he was dead. And perhaps she could feel the life dripping slowly and inevitably away from hersel
f too. It was twilight now. Night would soon fall, and this mare would never see another morning unless Birk got back before it was too late.

  But he came, his arms full of moss, and Ronia had never seen a more precious sight. She would tell him that sometime, but not now. Now they must hurry.

  They helped each other to press the moss into the wound and saw how quickly it was soaked with blood. Then they put on more moss and bound it fast with the leather ropes crisscrossing the mare’s flank. She stood still, letting them work, as if she understood what they were doing. But from behind the nearest pine a rumphob stuck his head out unexpectedly, and he did not understand.

  “Woffor are they doing that?” he said darkly.

  But Ronia and Birk were glad to see him, because now they knew that the bear had gone. Bears and wolves shunned anything to do with the shadow folk. No rumphobs or murktrolls, no harpies or gray dwarfs had to fear beasts of prey. The first smell of the shadow folk was enough to send a bear shuffling silently off into the depths of the forest.

  “That foal, see,” said the rumphob. “Not any more! Finish! Not running at all!”

  “We know that,” Ronia said sadly.

  They stayed with the mare all night. It was a night of vigil and a night of cold, but it did them no harm. They sat side by side under a thick pine and talked of many things, but never of their quarrel. It was as if they had forgotten it. Ronia tried to tell Birk how she had seen the bear killing the foal, but stopped. It was too hard.

  “Those are the kind of things that happen in Matt’s Wood and in every wood,” said Birk.

  In the middle of the night they changed the moss on the wound. Then they slept for a time and woke up just as day was dawning.

  “Look, it’s stopped bleeding,” said Ronia. “The moss is dry!”

  They began to walk home toward the cave, leading the mare as she could not be left alone. It was painful and difficult for her to walk, but she followed them willingly.

  “She can’t climb the rocks even when she’s well again,” said Birk. “Where shall we put her?”

  Below the cave, hidden among pines and birches, rose the spring that gave them water. They led the mare to it.

  “Drink and you’ll get new blood,” Ronia said.

  The mare drank deep and long. Afterward Birk tied her to a tree.

  “She can stay here until the wound has healed. And no bears will come here, I can promise you.”

  Ronia stroked the mare. “Don’t grieve so much,” she said. “You’ll have a new foal next year.”

  Then she saw that milk was dripping from the mare’s udder.

  “The little foal should have had that milk,” said Ronia, “but you can give it to us instead.”

  She got the wooden bowl from the cave—its moment had come now. And she milked the mare until the bowl was full. It was a relief for the mare to have her tight udder emptied, and Birk was glad of the milk.

  “We have a domestic animal!” he said. “And we must give her a name. What do you think she should be called?”

  Ronia did not have to think long. “I think she should be called Lia. Matt had a mare when he was little, and that was her name.”

  And they agreed that it was a good name for a mare. A mare which was not going to die. Lia would live; they could see that now.

  They cut grass and brought it to her, and she ate hungrily. Then they began to feel their own hunger; they must go back to the cave and get something to satisfy it. But Lia turned her head and watched them anxiously when they left her.

  “Don’t be frightened,” said Ronia. “We’ll be back soon. And thank you for the milk you gave us!”

  It was wonderful to be drinking milk again, fresh and cooled in the cold spring water, and they sat on the platform outside the cave and ate their bread and drank their milk and saw the sun rise for a new day.

  “It was a pity the knife was lost,” Ronia said.

  Then at last Birk took out the knife and placed it in her hand. “And it was a good thing that it came back again. It was only under the moss, waiting, while we were squabbling with each other.”

  Ronia sat quietly for a long time. Then she said, “Do you know what I’ve been thinking? I’ve been thinking how easily everything can be ruined, quite unnecessarily.”

  “From now on we are going to watch out for those unnecessary things,” said Birk. “But do you know what I’ve been thinking? I’ve been thinking you’re worth more than a thousand knives!”

  Ronia looked at him and laughed. “Now you certainly are as crazy as they come!” That was what Lovis sometimes said to Matt.

  Thirteen

  The days passed, spring turned to summer, the weather was warm. And the rain came. For days and nights it poured down over the forest, which drank itself fresh and green as never before. And when the rain moved on and the sun came back again, the forest steamed in the summer heat until Ronia had to ask Birk if he thought there was so much sweet scent in any other forest on earth. He said he didn’t think there was.

  Lia’s wound had long since healed. They had let her go, and now she was living with the wild horses again, but they were still allowed to milk her. In the evening her herd usually stopped near the cave, and every evening Ronia and Birk went out into the woods and called her. She answered with a neigh to show them where she was, because she wanted to be milked.

  The others in the herd soon stopped being frightened of the human children too. Sometimes they came close and looked on curiously while Lia was being milked, for they had never seen such a thing before. Villain and Savage came often, and so close that Lia laid back her ears and snapped at them. But that did not trouble them. They went on mischievously bumping each other, tossing and leaping mightily; they were young and wanted to play. And then in a moment they would set off at a gallop and disappear in the woods.

  But the very next evening they were there again. They could be talked to now, and at last they could even be patted. Ronia and Birk went on patting them busily, and they actually seemed to like it. All the same, there was always a gentle mischief in their eyes, as if they were thinking, You can’t fool us!

  But one evening Ronia said, “I’ve said I’m going to ride, and I am!”

  It was Birk’s turn to do the milking, and Villain and Savage were standing close by, looking on.

  “Did you hear what 1 said?”

  She was speaking to Villain, and suddenly she had clutched his mane and sprung onto his back. He threw her off, but not as easily as before. She was ready now and knew what to expect. He had to work hard to get rid of her, but he managed it at last, and she plumped into the brook with a shriek of rage. She got up again, relatively unscathed, and rubbed her sore elbows.

  “You are and will remain a villain,” she said, “but I’ll be back! You’ll see!”

  And she was. Every evening after milking they both tried, she

  and Birk, to teach Villain and Savage better manners. But no teaching worked with those wicked beasts, and when Ronia had been thrown off enough, she said, “Now there is not one bit of my body that doesn’t hurt.” She gave Villain a slap. “And it’s your fault, you dirty devil!”

  But Villain stood there calmly, looking very satisfied with himself.

  She saw Birk still struggling with Savage. Savage was as difficult as Villain, but Birk was strong and stayed on his back—yes, he actually stayed on until Savage grew tired and gave up.

  “Look, Ronia,” Birk shouted, “he’s standing still!”

  Savage whinnied uneasily, but he stood still, and Birk patted him and praised him immoderately until at last Ronia had to speak out.

  “In his heart he’s still a dirty devil—you know that!”

  It annoyed her that Birk had succeeded with Savage when she could not manage Villain. And it annoyed her still more that after that, in the evenings, Birk left her to milk alone while he rode around her in tight circles on Savage’s back as she knelt to milk. Just to show what a horseman he was.

&nbs
p; “Bruises or no,” Ronia said at last, “you wait till I’ve finished milking, and you’ll see some riding!”

  And he did. Villain did not know what had happened when he suddenly found Ronia on his back again. He did not like it and set off at full speed to throw her off, and he was both frightened and resentful when he realized that it did no good. No, this time he was not going to throw her, Ronia had decided. She kept a firm grip on his mane, she gripped with her knees, and she sat tight. Then he flew off straight into the woods, the fir and pine branches whining around her ears. He was bolting, and she shrieked in terror, “Help! Help!”

  But Villain had completely lost his head. He tore along as if he were ready to burst, and Ronia was expecting at any moment to tumble off and break her neck.

  Then Birk came chasing after her on Savage, and that horse was a runner like no other. Soon Savage had caught up with Villain and passed him. Then Birk pulled Savage up sharply. Villain, galloping at full speed after him, had to stop dead, and Ronia flew halfway over his head. But she clung on, she got back into her seat, and Villain stood there, disappointed, having run himself out. The foam dripped from him, and he was shuddering, but Ronia patted him and praised him to the skies for his running, which calmed him down.

  “You should really be getting it in the neck,” she said. “It’s a miracle that I’m still alive!”

  “It’s a bigger miracle that we’re riding,” said Birk. “Look, at last both these two wicked beasts know what they’re supposed to do and who decides!”

  They rode back to Lia at the calmest of trots, got their milk, and left Villain and Savage to their games. And then Ronia and Birk went home to their cave.

  “Birk,” she said, “have you noticed that Lia is giving less milk?”

  “Yes, she will have a new foal on the way now,” said Birk. “And soon she’ll dry up altogether.”

  “Then it will be spring water for us again,” Ronia said, “and we’ll soon be having to manage without bread too.”

  The flour Ronia had brought from home was finished. They had baked the last hard loaves on the heated stones of the hearth. There was still some bread left in the cave, but soon that would be gone. They would not starve; there were many little lakes in the forest, full of fish, and there were plenty of forest birds, too. They could always snare themselves a grouse if hunger threatened. Ronia picked herbs and the kind of green leaves that could be eaten, as Lovis had taught her to do. And by now the wild strawberries were ripe, lying red and plentiful about the fallen trees. Soon the blueberries would be ripe too.