Snow-Walker Read online

  It moved around the lakeside to a place of rocks, clefts, deep rubble. This was where the scent was. Among these slippery, wet stones. In this cliff face.

  A blur in the rain, the creature slipped between the boulders. Then it crouched.

  Somewhere near, its prey breathed.

  The creature turned its head, and saw a small, dark cleft, a cave with a narrow entrance.

  In there.

  Twenty-Three

  Solitary and wretched…

  Jessa crouched absolutely still.

  The cave was a tiny, dark space, the entrance just a slit among rocks. Too narrow for the creature to get in, she was sure. But she knew it was out there. She had heard the slow crack and snap of branches, heard its footsteps, and once a strange snuffle, like a dog makes after meat.

  All at once something blurred past, out there in the rain; then, with a suddenness that snatched her breath, the entrance went dark.

  She slammed back against the rock wall, knife in hand.

  Slowly the creature put its arm into the cave.

  She saw a great, heavy limb, pale with wet fur. Its hand was huge, not human, but with five thick stubby fingers, each with a curved claw that slashed across the dark, gripping at nothing.

  Flat as she could be, she watched it, fascinated. The beast must be far stronger than she’d imagined. As the hand swung past her cheek she turned her head with a gasp, smelling it close, the wet, forest smell, the fur clotted with moss and rain and blood, the claws split and raw.

  It roared, restlessly groping for her. She hardly breathed; her stomach and shoulders ached with taut fear, and still the hand stretched closer, the muscles straining under the thick pelt.

  Then it pulled back.

  And was gone.

  She dared not move. For what seemed like hours she stayed there, waiting, letting her breath out slowly, shivering with aftershock. At last she peeled herself off the wall, and found the back of her jerkin soaked with sweat and running damp. Before her legs gave way she sat down, huddled in the far corner, her arms tight about her knees.

  Gods, she thought. What a mess.

  Was it still out there? There were no sounds now. Yes, there were, scraps of movement, rustles. Nervously she counted them off, a bird screech, rain splatter, the slither of soil.

  Any of them might be the beast.

  The cleft entrance showed dimness. It was getting dark. Skapti and the men would be home by now. There’d be panic about Wulfgar, lies about what had happened to her. And here she was, stuck in this hole!

  She stabbed both knives savagely into the mud before her and flung her arms back around her knees. She had to be calm. She had to think! There were two choices: Go out, and try to get through to the nearest farm—probably Skulisstead. Or stay the night here, without a coat or water or any way of making a fire.

  But that was only one choice really, and she knew it. The forest at night was far too dangerous to risk—wolves, boar, morasses, cliffs—far too easy to get lost in, and the spell beast might be sitting out there with its back against a tree just waiting for her. No, she’d have to stay, at least until daylight. She shook her head bitterly. Nothing to eat, nothing to drink except trickles of rain, and worst of all, the cold. The cold would be bad, but not enough to kill her. There was just room to stand, move her arms, walk a few steps. She’d be in a bad way, but it might have been worse, she told herself. A few weeks earlier, and she’d have frozen.

  Laying her head sideways on her knees, she began to think carefully. Vidar had struck Wulfgar down coldly and viciously. It had been planned, the whole thing, probably for a while now. Skapti had never trusted the priest, had he—and he’d been right. And it was easy to see Vidar’s next step. He had to finish Wulfgar, and then get rid of Kari.

  Only Kari and Brochael could stop him now.

  But even Kari might not know what the priest had done. If only she could have warned Wulfgar! But you did, she told herself sharply. And all it did was make things worse, make the priest notice you. “Stupid,” she said aloud, and instantly a leaf rustle close outside set her heart thudding.

  Nothing came near the cleft.

  After a while she forced herself back to her thoughts. Kari was in danger, and so was Wulfgar, and everyone would believe she was dead, even Vidar. Yes! Maybe even him. And that might be the one chance, the only chance, that would save her. If he thought she was dead he wouldn’t be searching for her. He wouldn’t be worried. If she could get back to the hold unseen; if she could only get back in time, then everyone would believe her. She grinned, there in the dark. Her safety depended on the thief ’s lies. And his cowardice. Now there was an irony.

  Sometime later she jerked awake, gripping the knives hard.

  Something had moved and splashed down at the lake. As she sat there she felt the stiffness of cold in her back and arms, the dragging ache. After a while she scrambled up wearily and paced up and down, shivering, in the tiny space. Thorsteeth, she was cold! Bitterly cold. And hungry. Strangely, hugely hungry.

  Carefully she crept to the opening. Sleet pattered against her face; she licked it from her lips gratefully. Then she reached out and tore a limp piece of moss from the rock, tugging it free and stepping back quickly into the dark.

  Head back, she squeezed the water out of it; it slid down her throat and tasted foul, but did something for her thirst. She squeezed the handful dry, then looked thoughtfully at the green fronds. Reindeer ate it. It couldn’t be poisonous, could it? And she was sore with hunger; it churned like a blackness inside her and around her, as if it was an enormous creature itself.

  Reluctantly she nibbled the moss. It tasted wet, coarse, and bitter. She flung it down, thinking bitterly of hot, spicy meats, steaming fish. There were plenty of fish out there in that lake; fungi she knew how to find. But she was stuck in this hell pit, this earth swallow… Skapti would have found a string of good names for it.

  She settled back on the earth floor, curled against the cold. For a long time she lay awake; then sleep came, or a kind of half sleep, and she drifted between her aching body and bitter, disjointed dreams about Kari, and Skapti, and endless forests, and Wulfgar, always falling, falling slowly into the moss. And once she thought she dreamed of a white snake, which crawled into the cave and twisted itself around her wrist, so that she woke in horror, flicking it off.

  After waking for the fourth or fifth time, she saw daylight outside, gray and blear. She was unbearably cold now; her breath made clouds about her, and the edges of the knives and her hands and face and clothes were frosted with a fur of tiny crystals.

  Painfully she staggered up. Now she had to take the risk.

  For a moment she massaged the blood back into her legs and fingers. Then, knives in hands, she glided through the narrow crack into the dawn.

  The rocks, glinting with frost, were bare. Nothing watched her, even from above, where thin pine saplings sprouted from the crevices. Below, the lake was still, its waters dull as the sky. Nothing moved among the trees; the wood was ominously silent.

  After a moment of waiting she noticed the creature’s prints beside her; they led into a tangle of bracken, then out, away into the wood. Had it gone, then?

  Finally Jessa crept quietly down to the lake. She was too thirsty to care now. She drank hurriedly, snatching the icy water up in her palms, always watching the forest.

  It had gone. Probably its hunger had been too urgent. And for the moment, she didn’t care where it was.

  She glanced about, working out her direction, tugging the wet, stray hairs from her face. She had to find a farm, and it might take all day. Picking out something that wriggled in her hair, she sucked cuts and briar tears on her filthy hands.

  All day. And by then, she might be too late.

  Twenty-Four

  Daring is the thing for a fighting man to be remembered by.

  Hakon staggered into the storehouse and dumped the logs onto the floor. They toppled and rolled; he kicked them to stillness
and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his good hand. Wearily he crouched, dragged the wood out, and began to arrange it crisscross.

  His back ached and his shoulders felt like knots of pain and he’d only been back since last night. They’d been saving all the filthy jobs up; Gretta, Skuli’s wife, was good at that. Even though it took him twice as long as anybody else … but then she had something to moan about. All day he’d been lugging wood, cutting peats, dragging food out for the pigs and even now, when the children were in bed and the wine jug going around, he still hadn’t finished.

  He threw the last log down and sat listening to the ragged singing in the house. Celebrating Skuli’s luck. Skuli, Vidar’s man.

  Then he turned quickly. Something had stirred in the dark corner where the horse harness hung, some slight movement, a chink of metal. He backed to the door.

  “Stay where you are, Hakon. And don’t shout.”

  Something rose from the straw, a shadowy wraith. As it came forward through a slant of moonlight, he saw her, a girl, splashed and bedraggled. Shadows flowed over her. His fingers clenched with fear.

  “Jessa? Gods, Jessa, how can it be you!”

  She grinned at him. “Thought I was a ghost, did you?”

  “You ought to be! Vidar said you were dead. He said he saw it happen!”

  “The creature tore me to pieces, I suppose.”

  “He’s even got your coat. It’s all slashed.”

  She shook her head and sat down wearily, leaning forward over her knees.

  He crouched beside her. “You mean it was all a lie?”

  “Of course it was, weak brain!” She looked up fiercely. “For Thorssake, Hakon, haven’t you got something I can eat? I’m dying of hunger!”

  He grinned at her happily. “I’ll bet you are. And look at you! Where have you been?”

  She was filthy, her hair tangled, torn from its braids; her face and clothes stained and soaked with rain.

  “Come into the house with me. They’ll be glad—”

  “No.”

  She watched him; he saw the sudden wariness.

  “No one is to know I’m here. No one. It’s vital. Is Skuli back?”

  “He’s still at the Jarlshold. He sent me back by myself.”

  “All the better.”

  “Jessa,” he said urgently, “what’s going on?”

  “Get me some food and I’ll explain.”

  He pulled a doubtful face. “I’m a thrall, remember. I only get what they give me.”

  “You’ll manage,” Jessa said, scratching her hair. “If you don’t, I may end up eating you.”

  She managed a wan smile, and he laughed and nodded and went out.

  Jessa waited, bone weary. She was so tired she could hardly keep awake, but the hunger was the worst. Where was he?

  For a moment of panic she thought he might be telling them all she was there, and her hand drifted to the knife hilt. If he did that she was finished. Both of them, probably. It was an unpleasant idea, and it wouldn’t go away. She dragged herself up, slid behind the door and stood there, aching all over.

  After a few moments the door swung open. Arms full, he looked around. “Where are you?”

  She stepped out. “What have you got?”

  Hakon looked surprised. Then he turned and put the things down.

  “So you didn’t trust me?” he said bitterly.

  “Trusting people isn’t easy anymore, Hakon, not after what I’ve seen. Cheese!” She snatched a chunk before he had given her the platter. On it were three slices of barley bread, some goat’s cheese, and a few strips of smoked fish. She ate quickly, glancing at the jug of water he put down. “Thanks. It’s better than a feast!”

  “And I’ve brought you some clothes. Until yours are dry.”

  He put down a threadbare shirt and some trousers.

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. You’re lucky. They’re clean.”

  She swallowed and gave him a brief smile. “Good. Turn your back.”

  While she dressed, she said, “Tell me what happened. First of all, is Wulfgar alive?”

  Hakon nodded. “As far as I know. He was last night. Skapti is with him all the time.”

  She laughed suddenly, a crow of delight, then sat down and went on eating. “Is he? The rogue. Well, go on.”

  He broke off a corner of the cheese and nibbled it. “I should have brought a lamp.”

  “Never mind that! Go on!”

  Hakon shrugged, turning to look at her. “Vidar told the people about how the creature attacked you and Wulfgar. He showed them your coat.”

  “And they believed him?”

  “Of course. So did I. Jessa, if it wasn’t the creature…”

  She shook her head sharply. “There was no creature. Vidar stabbed Wulfgar in the back. Deliberately. And now I’ve put you in as much danger as I am, because in all the world, Hakon, we’re the only ones who know it.”

  He stared at her, utterly astounded. “The priest is a traitor?”

  “More than a traitor. A murderer. And I think he plans to be the next Jarl.”

  Quickly she described to him what had happened, the struggle in the muffled, mossy gloom of the clearing, her escape up the rocks, the nightmare of the cave. As she told him how the creature’s arm had groped for her he looked at her strangely, but said nothing until she had finished. Then he nodded slowly.

  “Skapti and the men must have got there before the priest had time to do any more. But Jessa, Vidar stirred up the people at the hold. He told them it was all Kari Ragnarsson’s fault, that his sorcery had brought the creature. Then he had Kari and the big man—”

  “Brochael.”

  “Yes … he had them chained up.”

  In the dimness, she drew a quick breath. “And Kari let this happen?”

  “Could he have stopped them?”

  She laughed briefly. “Of course he could, if he wanted. I see how it was—he didn’t want to touch their minds.”

  “He touched Vidar’s!” Tossing down the straw he’d been bending, he told her about the sudden power that had pushed the priest back, his sprawled, screaming agony.

  “He can do that, yes. But he told me he wouldn’t.”

  “Then he lied. As for touching minds, he almost broke into mine.”

  She stared at him. “You?”

  “I tried to tell you at the hunt. He wouldn’t let me. Jessa, the night before, Kari came into the hall with those two spirit birds of his. Everyone but me was asleep. The creature came to the door. Kari … did something to the door. Its arm came through, Jessa; he touched it. He spoke to it.”

  She was listening intently. “That doesn’t mean—”

  “He touched it! He was wearing a witch’s band, a knot of snakeskin—”

  Suddenly she jumped up. “No. We’ve all been wrong. We need to trust Kari.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But I do! I think, last night, that I worked it out. He’s my friend, Hakon, and I’d almost forgotten that. We’re all under some spell, an invisible, choking net of distrust; we’re all tangled in it and we have to break out, to snap it to pieces! And the first step is to get Kari free. Come with me, Hakon.”

  He looked startled. “I can’t!”

  “Because you’re a thrall.”

  “Of course! Why else?”

  She threw herself down next to him. “Gods, Hakon, we can change that. Wulfgar can change it.”

  “Why should he?”

  “We’d be saving his life.”

  “And if we don’t? If he dies?”

  “Then it doesn’t matter, really. Our lives won’t be worth two brass coins anyway.” She gave him a sharp, sidelong look. “Although I can keep you out of it. No one knows that you know. But it’s your chance, Hakon, to get out of all this! If you really want it.”

  She knew that she had stung him; he took so long to answer.

  “Of course I do.”

  For a moment she watched him. Then s
he said, “Can you get me a horse?”

  “Now?”

  “Now. I’ve got to get back. I’ll wait here, but hurry.”

  He looked around at the frail timber walls. “What about the beast?”

  “That’s a good wall Skuli’s men have put up.”

  “You got over it!”

  She grinned. “Yes. But the creature won’t come here. The Jarlshold, not here. Besides”—she took out the two knives and laid them down—“I’ve got these. I’m getting quite fond of them.”

  He gathered the plate and jug and stood up. At the door he turned awkwardly. “We’ll need two horses,” he said.

  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.