Snow-Walker

Twenty-Five

The hand is stilled that would openly have

granted your every desire.

When she woke from a brief, drowsy sleep, he was latching the door; he crouched quickly in the straw.

“Get ready. Two horses are waiting, saddled, out in the field. I led them out; no one heard. They’ve all gone to bed.”

Wearily she sat up and dragged her own shirt over his, and her stiff, muddy jerkin.

“I haven’t got a coat for you.”

“I’ll live. Have you got a comb?”

He pulled one, with broken wooden teeth, from the small pack under his arm. She dragged it through her hair, wincing, then plaiting the long brown braids quickly. “That’s better. Lead the way.”

Outside, the sky was deep blue-gray, with masses of cloud in the east. The farm buildings were dark blocks of shadow, silent but for a dog on a long chain that whimpered at Hakon.

“Quiet!” he snapped.

The dog subsided gloomily.

He drew Jessa out of the shadows. “This way.”

They ran, two flickers of speed, across the yard and out of the wooden gate, down a track to where two horses grazed under a tree. Sheep bleated and looked up, watching as they chewed. The soft tearing of their tongues in the grass was the only sound.

Jessa and Hakon scrambled up onto the horses—the same scraggy ponies as before, she thought—and turned their heads southwest, into the dark. They rode without speaking, through the pastures scattering dim huddles of sheep, down the fellside, picking a careful way past boulders, leaping the tumbling streams.

Behind them the sky darkened. Storm clouds spread over the stars and a wind sprang up, gusting the manes of the ponies.

“Rain again,” Jessa said, glancing back.

“Maybe snow.” Hakon let his empty hand swing beside him without noticing. She looked at it, curious.

As they galloped on he said, “They’ll come after us.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Mm. I turned the other ponies loose. It’ll take them a while to round them up.”

“Good. But I think we’ve got more to worry about ahead than behind.”

“You might have.”

She was silent, knowing he was right. A runaway thrall would be lucky to escape with his life. Guiltily she said, “Thanks for the clothes.”

He shrugged. “I hope the fleas don’t bite you too much.”

Jessa stopped scratching and glared at him. “I think they’re enjoying the change.”

Coming to the wider fells, they could gallop, the horses thundering over the black grass. In a few hours they had ridden close enough to the Jarlshold to see the smoke from its fires drifting against the dark sky.

Jessa pulled the weary pony to a halt. “Let them drink. I need to think now.”

A stream gushed down among dim banks of bracken; the water was icy, meltwater from the mountains, clear of any plant or fish, cascading in roars of white foam. As she lay full-length and drank, Jessa felt the cold of it burn her throat and chest; she splashed some on her face and scrubbed away dirt and stains with the end of her sleeve. She felt sharper now, more alert. Carefully Hakon lifted water in his good hand. Halfway to his lips he dropped it.

“Listen! Horses!”

Instantly they were both flat.

The sound of galloping came from the Jarlshold; a group of horsemen. Even from this distance Jessa saw them pass, shadows in the night. They crossed the stream farther down and galloped away toward the east. She thought they seemed heavily armed, with long ash spears slung from the saddles.

Jessa picked herself up. “I’ll bet I know where they’re going.”

“Where?” he asked, worried.

“To find my remains.” She gave a snort of laughter; he stared at her in disbelief.

“Jessa, it isn’t funny! Have you any idea of how we felt when we heard … all those people? The stunned silence, the women crying. They all like you.”

She was quiet a moment. Then she said, “I know. But not Kari?”

“Kari said you were alive.”

“So he knows that much. Let’s hope Vidar doesn’t believe him.” She glanced at the ponies. “Look, it’ll be harder now not to be seen. I think we should leave the horses here, among the trees. They’ll be all right. There’s water, plenty of grass—”

“There’s also a troll with claws like plowshares.”

“Then we won’t tether them. They can run. Don’t worry, Hakon, if it comes to the worst, I can pay for them. Though it won’t.”

He stood up abruptly. “It must be a fine thing to have money.”

“It is.” She looked at him coolly.

He gathered the ponies’ harnesses and led them among the dark trees. Watching him go, Jessa thought that she’d never known a thrall so touchy about himself. But then, she told herself, turning back to the water, you’ve never really known a thrall at all.

Skapti opened the door and had to stoop to enter; behind him Vidar’s man lingered uneasily. The dim cell was bitterly cold.

“Why haven’t they got a fire?” he snapped.

“Vidar’s orders.”

“Let Vidar rot in Hel. Light one now.”

The man shook his head, stubborn. “Not my job, skald. Get some house thrall.”

Skapti crouched down by Brochael. “I’ll try and get it seen to. How are you?”

Brochael lifted the chains on his wrist and let them drop. “I’ve been better,” he said, the anger still clotting his voice.

“And you, runemaster?”

“Dizzy.” Kari looked wan, even in this dimness. He sat knees up in the straw, his thin wrists manacled with long chains to the wall. “But Wulfgar. How is he?”

“Still unconscious. He knew me briefly this morning.” The skald shook his head. “I wish there was more I could do for you. But Vidar’s the one giving the orders.”

“Stay with Wulfgar. Look after him.” Kari’s voice was urgent. “Don’t leave him if you can help it. I have such a strange feeling about all this. Besides”—he smiled—“I have this great bear here to look after me.”

Brochael growled out a laugh. “You can look after yourself. As Vidar found.”

“I didn’t touch him.”

They stared at him, and he looked absently across at the tiny window where stars glimmered. “He pretended. He did that himself.”

“What’s he planning?” Skapti mused. “This injury to Wulfgar is just what he needed. If Wulfgar dies…”

“He’ll be Jarl. And we’ll be dead. But Jessa…”

“Jessa?” The skald glanced at Brochael. “Do you believe all this, about Jessa being alive?”

“If Kari says so.” Brochael grinned. “And about that girl, Skapti, I’d believe anything.”

Halfway across the marsh, balanced on two tussocks of grass, Hakon heard them. He glanced around wildly. There they were, waiting on the trunk of a dead, drowned tree, its smooth gray boughs like hands, grasping for the rising moon.

“Jessa!”

“What?” She turned irritably, dragging her foot from the black ooze.

“There!”

In the green gloom of the marsh, amid flickers of fume and mist, he saw her turn. Then she went on. “I see them. He’s sent them out to look for us.”

For a moment Hakon waited, hearing the plop and ripple of something in the black mire. Then he scrambled after her quickly.

Two hunched shadows, the ravens watched him go.