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.
Twenty-Six
It was declared then to men and received by every ear,
that for all this time a survivor had been living…
He slipped between the boats to the last in the row. She sat behind it, her feet dangling over the black water. She threw the last crust in soundlessly. “Well?”
“The hall door is barred. No guard. But there’ll be one outside the prison, if we go there.”
She nodded. “That will be up to Kari.”
Hakon stared at her through the darkness. “What can he do? He doesn’t even know we’re here.”
She gave him a sly, amused glance. “Doesn’t he? What about those?”
The ravens were perched on a nearby roof, outlined against the moon. They looked like great wooden gargoyles, until one karked, and scratched under its wing.
“Odin’s birds,” Hakon muttered, remembering them falling on the beast in the wood.
“Thought and Memory. The ravens that told him everything that had happened in the world. I think these two do something like that for Kari.”
She stood up briskly. “Ready?”
“I just hope you’re right about Kari.”
“I’m right,” she said simply. “Anyway, you’ve forgotten the spell creature. Only Kari can deal with that.” She dragged the damp hair from her face, pulled on her gloves, and jammed the knives firmly in her belt. “Right. Now, I know another way into the hall. There are too many doors and passageways in that place—Gudrun’s maze, they called it.”
Then she paused and turned. “For the last time, Hakon, you don’t have to come.”
He laughed. “Jessa, I’ve run away from Skuli, I’ve stolen his food and his horses, and I can’t do anything else to make life worse!”
“So?”
“So I’m coming. If a one-handed fighter is any use.”
She nodded, looking up. “I’m glad.”
The moon was a cold ball now, wobbling among mists. As it rose, the forests of spruce and fir on the far side of the fjord scarred it with their black tops. Slowly it drifted free of them, into mist and torn cl
oud.
“A wolf chases it,” Hakon said, standing. “One day it will be caught and swallowed.”
She nodded. “Meanwhile it makes shadows like Gudrun’s monster.”
For a moment they watched the darkness gather; it rose from the water and out of the trees. The water lapping the wharf was cold and restless, glinting black and silver. An almost invisible snow began to fall, clinging to their cheeks and foreheads, melting instantly. Stars glimmered in the east, until a cloud ate them slowly.
Jessa tugged the dirty hood over her face. “Recognize me?”
“Your own mother wouldn’t.”
She turned to the birds. “Tell him we’re coming.”
Head to one side, one of them watched her. Then it flapped away and the other followed. Hakon touched the amulet under his shirt furtively, hoping she wouldn’t notice. All this witchery unnerved him, he knew that. Jessa probably knew it too.
They came out from among the moored boats, ran along the wharf and slipped between the houses. The night was empty. From shadow to shadow they slid, behind the smithy where the day’s last red sparks glowered under ashes, past henhouses, yards, deserted stalls. Only once did a little girl open her door and glimpse them, caught in the slot of light; then the door was slammed quickly, the bar jammed into place.
They felt alone, locked out, outsiders. With the coming of darkness the Jarlshold had become a place of bolts and shutters, all living things drawn safe inside. Fear of the shadow maker drifted like the snow, invisible until it touched your skin. Whatever it was that stalked the hold at night, no one even wanted to catch sight of it.
They ran quickly, peering around corners. Snow blinded them; Hakon saw pale shapes among its slither; he spun at imaginary footsteps and the bang of a shed door in the wind.
Suddenly the hall loomed up out of the darkness. Grabbing his arm, Jessa said, “Quiet now,” and led him around to the back of the building, their footsteps crunching the thin blown layer of snow. Gaping dragon mouths dripped icicles above them. Briefly the moon lit a dust of snow on dark ledges.
“Where now?”
“Down here,” she whispered.
At the bottom of some steps, almost overgrown with bare, tangled stems of ivy, was a small door, green with age.
“I pointed this out to Wulfgar last time I was here. A weak point.” He saw her grin in the dark. “I’m glad he didn’t listen.”
A sound behind made them crouch, alert. The moon drifted in white veils over the cold roofs.
“Nothing.” She turned back, fumbling for the latch. It lifted easily, with a tiny creak, but the wood was so swollen that the door had to be forced open. They both dragged at it, wincing at the noise. Finally a narrow crack showed in the wall.
“Go on,” Jessa whispered.
He slid in first, the sword tight in his left hand. She took one look back into the night and squeezed in after him.
The passageway was icy cold and dim. Voices came from the hall, somewhere above. Someone must be still awake. Far down by the stairway a torch guttered on the stone wall.
“Down here,” she murmured.
The steps down to the underground rooms were dank and earthy. In the bitter cold the damp on the walls had the faintest skin of ice; it cracked under a finger touch. At the bottom, around a corner, was a long passage with a row of doors, all half open.
Silently they slipped from opening to opening, room to empty room. Each smelled of decay, mold, used air. Hakon grasped his sword, rubbing dust from his eyes with the back of his empty hand. Wulfgar didn’t seem to keep many prisoners.
At the bend in the passage Jessa held him back. He peered over her shoulder soundlessly.
Far down there was a man sitting on a stool, his legs stretched out, and a lamp on the floor by his feet. He was leaning back against the wall, whistling tunelessly between his teeth. His hands moved; in the dimness they could see he was whittling wood with a small knife.
“They’re in there,” Jessa breathed. There was an anger in her look and Hakon thought for a moment he had made some sound, but Jessa was thinking about Kari, his empty years of imprisonment down here, and how Gudrun seemed to have drawn him back here again.
“Now what?” he murmured.
“We wait.”
“And what if someone comes?”
She glared at him. “Silence them. But he’s armed and the passage is too long to take him by surprise unless…”
Even as she said it, the whistling stopped.
Turning back, they saw the man on his feet; he faced the prison door doubtfully. “What’s going on in there?”
“Get ready,” Jessa breathed.
He rattled the lock and chain. There was no window to see through and no answer from inside.
The keeper glanced down the long passage nervously. Then he drew out the key and unlocked the door, pulling the chain clear, but even as he pushed the door wide, someone came and shoved him hard from behind, pitching him into the dirty straw of the cell on his face. A rusty sword jabbed the back of his neck.
“Stay there! Don’t move!”
Jessa pulled off her hood and grinned at the prisoners.
“Girl,” Brochael said, already up on his knees, “you’re a beautiful sight for someone dead three days. Around his neck, look, there in the pouch.”
She had the keys out quickly and unlocked the big man’s chains first, and he stood up and stamped and flung his arms about. “Thorsteeth. Another night in here would have finished me.”
Unlocking Kari’s wrists, she muttered, “How is Wulfgar?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “Everything about Wulfgar is dark to me. Jessa, what happened out there?”
She helped him up; the chain had left red welts on his white skin. As she gripped his wrists, her fingers touched the snakeskin knot; for a moment a jolt, a crackle like lightning jerked her fingers wide. She stared at him, astonished. Then she said, “Vidar tried to murder him. Vidar! There was no creature.”
“What!”
Appalled, Brochael caught her arm.
“It’s true. I saw it.”
“Gods!” For a moment he was silent, taking it in; then he grabbed Kari’s shoulder. “Can you walk?”
“Yes…”
“Right, now listen to me. If we stay here we’re finished. There’s no safety if Vidar thinks we know. Have you got horses, Jessa?”
“Two.”
“We’ll steal more.” He glanced over at the thrall chaining the keeper firmly to the wall. “Is he yours?”
“No, he’s a friend. Hakon.”
Hakon came over; Brochael nodded at him. “All the better. Come on, now. Be silent.”
“No. Wait.”
They all looked at Kari; he looked at Jessa. Then he said, “If we leave Wulfgar here, Vidar will kill him secretly. Then Vidar will be Jarl and no one will be able to stop him. You have to tell them, Jessa, all the men of the hold. You have to tell them what you saw.”
“What if they don’t believe me?”
His pale eyes widened. “Jessa, you’re alive! That shows he’s been lying. We have to do it; we’ve no choice.”
Reluctantly she nodded.
Brochael swore, but Kari silenced him with a look.
“Trust me. They’ll be in the hall.”
Twenty-Seven
He was my closest counselor,
he was keeper of my thoughts.
Not many of them had been sleeping; there was too much anxiety for that, too much fear of what might be prowling outside. But when they saw Kari, all the men in the hall sat still and stared with astonishment. Some of them, already wrapped in blankets for the night, rolled over to see why the silence had fallen.
Behind him, the others waited, Brochael with the prison keeper’s sword, Jessa under her dark hood.
For a moment Vidar seemed lost for words. Then he yelled, “Take him back!”
No one seemed ready to obey. Kari looked tense, dangerous. He said, “This time no one touches
me, Vidar, or the pain will be real, I promise you.”
He walked forward into the firelight, a slight figure in dark clothes, his hair glinting. At his back Brochael seemed huge.
One of the ravens churred quietly in the roof; men glanced up, uneasy.
“What do you want?” Vidar fumed. “How did you get out?”
Kari ignored him. Turning to the men, he said, “Some of you know me—those that are Wulfgar’s men. Here’s someone else you know.”
Jessa tugged off her hood. “So I’m dead, am I, Vidar?” she murmured.
She enjoyed that moment immensely. The flicker of astonishment that opened his face to her told her all she wanted to know. The thief had lied, even to him.
The men were standing now, silent. Some of them picked up weapons.
She raised her voice. “Listen to me, holders. There was no creature on that hunt—we never even saw it. This man,” and she pointed to him with a sudden fury that made her finger shake, “this man stabbed Wulfgar Osricsson in the back. I saw him.”
The hall rang with noise. Among it Vidar stood still, his face set.
“Liar!” he said.
“It’s true. He would have killed me too if he could—or rather that sniveling little wretch over there would have.”
Heads turned toward the thief. Jessa had spotted him at once, hunched up over a bowl of soup by the fire. Now he was gawping at her, then at Vidar. The priest flashed him a look of pure hatred, then whirled back. Facing the men, he raised his hands, palms out.
“You know I would never move against Wulfgar!”
“Not even to be Jarl!” Brochael sneered. “You men!” he roared. “You, Mord Signi, and Guthlac, and the rest of you. You know Jessa. Who would you rather believe? She even saw the knife go in!”
“They’re trying to snare you in rune magic, in some sort of spell!” Vidar hadn’t given up, but the scar stood out against his flushed skin. “Don’t you see, the Snow-walker is moving your minds! He can do that. How do you know that’s Jessa! I saw her dead in the moss—I brought you her coat, slashed to pieces! This is some fetch, some tangle of evil he’s conjured....”