“You lied to me,” Owen said. “You all treated me like a friend, and all the while you were lying to me.”
“You knew we were in trouble, because you saw us jump from the train.”
“I thought—I don’t know what I thought. Maybe you had family after you. Someone who wanted to take Sissel away and break your family up.”
“You took our money. You knew that fifty dollars was too much to pay, but you did it anyway. You are guilty, too.”
Owen shook his head. Stieg was smarter and would run circles around him in an argument.
“All I’m saying is, you could have told me!” he shouted. “Why tell me about the Nytte and then hold back on the thing that puts us all in danger?”
Owen saw that Hanne was at the door. Her eyes were wide, her expression distraught.
“We might have told you, in time,” Stieg said.
“Well, you didn’t.”
Hanne crossed and took the wanted poster from Knut’s hands.
“Now you know,” Hanne said. “Now you understand why we are running.”
Owen looked away, too angry, too upset. It was hard to be so close to her.
“What is it your uncle has that’s so important?” Owen said. “Will you tell me the truth about that, at least?”
“He is a Berserker, like me,” Hanne said. Her eyes were big with some plea that Owen could not, would not, grant. “He can teach me how to control the Nytte, so I will never…” She drew herself up. “Do. What I did. Again.”
Owen looked at her, standing there so straight. Goddamn, he felt tricked. Tricked and angry and left out.
He walked away from them, to the hooks where he’d hung up their saddles and bridles. He busied himself gathering up his tack.
“So you want to be done with us? All of us?” Stieg said. “Do I understand correctly?”
Devil take him, he was asking about Hanne. And she was right there. Owen counted to ten before he spoke.
“If you want me to take you to your uncle in Wolf Creek, we leave today. If you want to stay here, that’s your choice.” His voice sounded low and dead now, even to his own ears. “But you’ll need to pay me either way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Frau Gerlinger wept when she finally understood they meant to leave. She kept gesturing to things in the house, trying to tell Hanne about all the things they would do together, if only Hanne could persuade her siblings to stay. She showed Hanne a cake pan, a set of wooden skis. She even dragged out the accordion in its leather case, pleading, “Gehe nicht,” all the while.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Hanne repeated. Hanne’s own sadness made her feel numb, so it was easy to be firm in the face of Frau Gerlinger’s upset feelings.
Sissel began to cry, too. Frau Gerlinger clutched at the thin girl, clearly making the argument that Sissel, if none of the others, could stay with her.
“Sissel, do you want to stay here?” Hanne asked her. “They are very kind. And we could come for you, in the spring or summer.”
“No. I won’t stay alone!” Sissel said. “But … can’t we rest another day or two? My arm still hurts. I’m so tired of running.”
“There is a bounty on our brother’s head,” Hanne said. “If he stays here, it brings great risk on the Gerlingers. We cannot repay their kindness with such danger.”
Sissel sat on the bed, her eyes and nose streaming.
“You ruin everything!” she cried. “This is the nicest place we’ve ever been and we could have a life here—”
“You may if you like!” Hanne shouted. “You have lots of choices. Just say the word and you can stay and we will be rid of you!”
Frau Gerlinger bustled between them, trying to soothe their feelings, not knowing what they were saying, yet understanding them quite well.
“You just want him all to yourself,” Sissel hissed.
“What?” Hanne said, wheeling to face her sister.
“You knew I liked him, and so you set your cap for him just to spite me.”
“That’s silly,” Hanne said.
“Is it? You can’t stand for any boy to have an interest in me. What about those railroad boys at the station?”
Hanne scoffed before she could stop herself.
“You don’t see that I am growing up into a woman,” Sissel said.
“You’re right. I don’t,” Hanne said. “You don’t act like a woman. You act like a child. And none of that matters. He wants nothing to do with me.”
“I won’t be left behind,” Sissel said.
“Then pack. We leave as soon as we can.” Then Hanne turned and said over her shoulder, “Maybe you’ll win his heart between here and Wolf Creek.”
It was an unkind thing to say, but she felt unkind and more.
Sissel began to gather her things, pouting.
Frau Gerlinger sat on the bed to stare out the window for a moment. Hanne felt sorry for the woman. She went to the desk in the living room and used their pen and ink to write a note for Frau Gerlinger.
She blew on the scrap of paper until the ink dried. When Hanne pressed it into the older woman’s hand, Frau Gerlinger swept her into an embrace.
* * *
THEY WERE A grim party, setting out, though well fed and rested. Frau Gerlinger had packed them food for the trip, and in the end, refused their money. Sissel had kept her eyes looking over her shoulder at the farm as they rode away, but Hanne kept her eyes forward.
Owen allowed Daisy to walk for a few hours. He showed kindness to his dog, but to Hanne and her siblings, he remained cool and aloof.
The afternoon sky was brilliantly blue and cloudless but had no cheering effect on the travelers. The companionable chatter they had known before had given way to a morose silence. All day long there was only the muted clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the snowy path. They were climbing, the horses scrambling up the rocky, pitted switchbacks.
In the early afternoon it began snowing. Fat, lazy snowflakes drifted down, taking their time. The contrast of the snow in the air made the dark colors of green pine and stone gray stand out all the more.
Daisy tired, and Owen stopped them so he could place her again in the saddlebags.
Hanne tried not to look at him too much.
As they crested the mountain, they were met with an expansive view. Montana went on and on before them. Craggy mountains and valleys overlaid with snow. There was a large, flat, dark ribbon snaking through the underbrush at the bottom of the valley that lay before them.
“What’s that?” Stieg asked.
“The Missouri,” Owen told them. And then, “It’s a river. And we need to cross it.”
* * *
EVERY TIME OWEN looked at Hanne, he felt an insatiable restlessness. Like his body wanted to run a mile or lift something heavy. He knew now that she’d never be his, and he wanted the whole thing to be over.
Owen examined the flowing water. There were stretches along the Missouri that were wide and placid. This was not one of them. The banks were narrow here, and the water was flowing quick. Snow was falling hard. Each flake was whisked away as soon as it hit the river. Flats of snow-covered ice sat on the surface of the water near the riverbank. They were thin—the water was moving too quickly for much ice to form.
Owen considered the depth. He’d warrant the river was three feet high in the center. The horses would be wet up to the flank. The water would be freezing, but if they kept the horses moving, they’d warm up.
The problem was that it was entirely possible the Hemstads—rather, the Amundssons—would get wet, at least their feet. Wet feet with temperatures below zero could lead to frostbite quickly.
He started to lead the party north, even though it was counter to their course.
“We won’t cross here?” Stieg called.
“I’d rather find a more shallow spot,” Owen said. “I don’t want us to get wet.”
“We’re not afraid of a little cold water,” Stieg said. “In Norway we bathe in glacial
springs, in the winter and summer alike!”
“Nevertheless, I’d rather be safe than sorry—”
“It’s your decision,” Stieg said. “But we are behind schedule, due to our stay with the Gerlingers. I think we would be fine to cross here. Of course, the authority is yours.”
Owen sighed. Heading upriver would cost them a day or two.
“Let’s give it a try, then,” he decided. “I’ll lead the pack mule.”
“Very well,” Stieg said. He kicked his horse forward.
Stieg held his feet out to the side as the horse waded deeper and deeper into the water. The water rushed over the horse’s flanks, and the animal had to brace itself against the strong current.
“I’m fine!” Stieg called. “Come along!”
Sissel went next. At least her feet weren’t in danger of being wet. She was shorter than Owen, and the horse she rode was tall and sure-footed.
Knut followed next, his horse plodding heavily out into the water. A piece of ice came floating down the river and tapped against the horse’s legs. She whinnied, but went forward. Knut did not care to keep his feet high, and so they got wet. He’d regret that. Owen tried not to care.
Hanne went next. The horse she was riding, Joyful, was ill-tempered, though obedient enough.
Hanne looked small atop a horse. Owen wondered, for a moment, at how much power could be contained by such a slight form.
Joyful picked his way across the rocky river, and Hanne held her feet out of the water.
Now it was Owen’s turn. He led the pack mule, who was as uncomplaining a mule as Owen had ever met. Owen lifted his boots well out of the way of the splashing river, and checked to see that Daisy was secure in the saddlebag.
Suddenly there was a wicked crack, and his hand, holding the mule’s lead, was wrenched backward.
The mule brayed loudly with pain. It seemed that the mule had set down a leg into a hole and was stuck. He struggled and bucked. Owen pulled against the rope, but the mule had him off balance, and before he could reset his weight, the mule dragged him off his horse into the water.
Owen gasped with the icy shock of it. He could barely breathe. He pushed to his feet, the current wanting to take him downriver.
The mule had its ears laid against the side of its head and was thrashing in the water, trying to free its hoof. Owen saw blood in the river spray. He cussed again.
“Are you all right?” Hanne called from the far bank.
What did she care? Owen was furious with himself. How could he make such a stupid mistake?
Now he looked a dolt, icy and wet. They’d have to stop and build a fire!
The mule was screaming with pain, and Owen could see it had broken its leg. He drew his knife from its leather holder and began to saw at the lines of the saddlebags.
“Do you need help?” Stieg called from the shore.
Owen wished he didn’t, but he did.
“Yeah,” he called to Stieg, and Stieg wheeled his horse back into the snowy, icy waters.
Owen could not feel his feet now, and numbness was creeping up his legs.
He got the mule packs free and handed them to Stieg when he came close enough.
Owen waded back to Pal, who stood, such a good horse, waiting for him.
He slid his Winchester out of the scabbard on his saddle.
The mule fell to its knees. The river water coursed over its back. The animal’s eyes were rolling with fear. Its braying became a terrible, hacking whine. Owen put the barrels to the mule’s head and pulled the trigger. From the distant shore, Sissel cried out.
The mule fell, and the water flowed over its body.
Owen’s teeth were beginning to chatter. He staggered to Pal and found he couldn’t get his foot in the stirrup.
He set his jaw and looked to the shore. He would walk it.
Stieg was onshore already, dropping the mule’s wet saddlebags on the snow.
Hanne was watching Owen. When she saw that he meant to walk to shore, she came riding out toward him in the river.
“I’ll help you onto your horse,” she said, moving to swing her leg over and drop into the water.
“Don’t!” he yelled. His teeth clattered. “I don’t want you to!”
She stayed on her horse, taken aback.
Ten more steps and he was onshore.
Knut was already laying the foundations for a fire, Stieg would dry the wood with his magic, and Hanne would make him coffee to warm him. Owen hated them all, both because they had seen him slip up and because now they were going to help him.
He wished he’d never taken that drink, back in Helena. If he hadn’t, he’d likely have a job as a stable boy right now. He’d be mucking out stalls and spending his nights dreaming about starting his own business, instead of spending his nights dreaming about a girl who was intoxicating and lovely and dangerous. A girl who didn’t trust him as far as she could spit and who should not be trusted herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Rolf had endured hours of Ketil’s taunting. They were following a raven, now? Following a bird off into the wilderness? Was Rolf mad?
Rolf told him all about Odin and the ravens he sent as guides and messengers to his believers, but Ketil scoffed. For every poem Rolf recounted, Ketil offered up a bawdy improvisation. When Rolf recited, “Fog bound, fog blind, / The raven’s cry was their only light.”
Ketil answered, “Whore bound, whore blind, / The lady’s cry was my own delight.”
He laughed about that one for a good long time. Meanwhile the raven flew ahead, over the snowy meadows, leading them over a hill, then through a small stream, perching on rocks and barren tree limbs when they trailed too far behind. Did it not seem a marvel to Ketil that the raven stopped and waited for them? Apparently it did not.
So it was with immense satisfaction when, after they crossed the stream and climbed up another hill, the raven led them to what could only be a campsite.
The snow was trampled down. There were signs of horses in the brush. The raven was perched on an odd rounded shape against a cliff face. It was dark silver gray but also let light bounce off. As Rolf came closer he realized that was wrong—it was transmitting light. Its surface was odd, lumpy but different from a rock. It was not rock but ice! It was an ice shelter.
“Ketil, look!” Rolf had cried. “They were here! They were! Ásáheill!” he cried in Old Norse, giving thanks to all the Gods of Æsir. “And one of them is a Storm-Rend.”
The cave was a marvel.
The young Storm-Rend was of considerable talent. Stepping inside the structure, Rolf had to bend his head. The ground was bare of ice and the snow flattened, as if they’d laid down a cloth.
Ketil came to peer into the structure and sniff.
“You can’t say it’s not them,” Rolf cut him off. “No one but a Storm-Rend, and a very powerful one, could make a shelter like this one.”
Ketil shrugged, his eyes cold.
“Not that powerful,” he said. “He bled from the nose.” He pointed to a smear of blood, frozen bright red on the wall of the cave. “He keeps it up, he’ll go blind.”
* * *
THEY FOLLOWED the trail to the tidy farm. Unfortunately, it also seemed that the trail led away from the house. The marks of many hooves led off into the woods to the northwest of the house.
“Let me do the talking, will you?” Rolf said. “I’m sure I can get it out of them.”
“Ach, you’re a grandmother,” Ketil said. “I’m sick of doing things your way. Your way has drawn us across this cold, rocky country. We could have been home by now!”
The door to the log house was shut, with lazy curls of smoke rising from the chimney.
A dog lay on the ground by the door. It must have been old, because it didn’t catch sight nor scent of the two men watching the farm from the rise above.
“We don’t want to attract notice,” Rolf said. “Why not just let me handle things?”
As they drew closer, it was c
lear why their arrival had gone unnoticed by the farmers. Music was coming from the house. Accordion music.
It was a sad, haunting song. It was a classical German song, as best as one could be played on such a boisterous instrument.
“Oh, how touching,” Ketil said, putting his hand on his heart. “They’re playing their own funeral dirge.”
“Listen, Ketil, killing them makes it worse for us,” Rolf protested. “We were lucky we weren’t caught in Livingston.”
Ketil was dismounting. He pretended not to hear.
“It makes it harder for us to recruit the Nytteson, if we have the law on our trail!”
“The kid is already wanted!” Ketil snorted. “What difference does it make?”
“Ketil! These Nytteson are my responsibility. You’ve said so many times! Please don’t make my job harder—”
Ketil was already at the door. He knocked firmly. The door was thrown open by a woman whose face was full of joy. But her face fell when she saw it was Ketil.
“Who were you expecting, my lady?” Ketil asked her.
She drew up her shoulders, immediately sensing something was wrong with her visitor. Maybe she saw the dog, dead at the side of the door, its neck snapped.
The woman turned and warned her husband in German, but too late. Ketil pushed her back into the house. She fell hard on her rear end.
Rolf stepped in and shut the door behind him. He spoke in German, “Are there children here? A big one?” He indicated Knut’s height and girth with his hands.
“No, no,” she said. “I do not know of whom you speak.”
“What’s she saying?” Ketil asked in Norwegian.
“She says she knows nothing.”
Ketil walked into the kitchen. He picked up a dull knife from where it soaked in a pot of water on the counter.
The player of the accordion, the woman’s husband, was a small man. He’d frozen in his rocking chair, the accordion opened out and ready to make sound.
“We saw the tracks outside,” Rolf said in German. “We know they were here.”
Ketil stalked toward the little man, a smile on his face.
“I wonder how hard it will be to kill him with this small, dull knife,” Ketil said to Rolf. “I’m sure I can. Only it will be nasty.”
Berserker Series, Book 1 Page 20
