Catherine Fisher - Snow-Walker

“Yes.” Thorkil looked uneasy. “Yes, I know.”

They ate some dried meat from Brochael’s pack, but it was hard to swallow and there was nothing to drink but snow. Then they lay down, huddled together for warmth. Jessa felt Brochael pull his coat around Kari. Then she slept, suddenly and completely.

When she woke it was still dark, the sky in the east glimmering with wan light. She was unbearably stiff and cold. Carefully she moved away from the others and sat up. Brochael lay on his back against the rocks, one hand on his ax even in sleep. She could just see Kari in the depths of his coat. But Thorkil was gone.

She scrambled up, easing the pain from her back and arms. Then, quietly, so as not to wake the others, she pushed through the bushes and crouched down.

The landscape was bleak and silent. Far off some bird was calling, a lonely cry over the miles of tundra. The wind was cold, but she knew it was milder than last night; already the frost on the branches under her fingers was beginning to drip.

But where was Thorkil? She was worried about him. The pain yesterday, which seemed to fade so quickly—that wasn’t like him.

She slipped out from the bushes and stood up. Below, over a shallow slope of scree, was the shore of the lake, its black reeds poking up from the frozen lid. Perhaps he was down there.

She went down, the tiny stones trickling underfoot, and saw at the very edge that the ice was receding, thinning to a frill where bubbles of trapped air slid and wheezed. She crouched down and drank; the water was bitterly cold and stagnant.

Then a sound froze her. It was the slow clip-clop of hooves. It came from her left, somewhere nearby. As she looked around, she saw him, a horseman coming down the track, an armed man, with ring mail that glittered in the pale light. She kept perfectly still. If she moved now, he would see her.

The man drew rein. He looked across the dimness of the moor, at the flat glimmer of the ice. Where were the rest of them? she wondered. Probably not far.

His head turned; she held her breath, flattening against the wet stones, but he kept looking beyond her. Then he urged the horse on.

At the same moment, she saw Thorkil.

He was crouched behind a rock halfway up the slope. He hadn’t seen her, but he was watching the rider intently, and then he did something that astonished her. He stood up and called!

The rider’s head turned swiftly; the horse whinnied with fright. As the horseman struggled with it, Jessa leaped to her feet, and Thorkil looked down at her. He stared, as if she was a stranger. At the same time, the horseman dragged the horse’s head to stillness. He looked up, and she saw him stiffen.

He had seen her!

Fourteen

If aware that another is wicked, say so:

Make no truce or treaty with foes.

The horseman stared at Jessa. After a moment he urged the horse with his knees, and it picked its way toward her over the stones. The man’s eyes slid from her; he paused as if puzzled, and then came on again.

“Keep very still,” Kari’s voice said from somewhere behind her. “He can’t see you now, but if you move, it will be more difficult.”

She waited as the horseman rode nearer. Now she could see his face, the blue snake mark in his skin; he looked wary, almost afraid. His eyes took in the moor and the lake; they moved across her without a flicker. It was uncanny, unbearably tense. She moved her foot; a stone clicked.

Again the man stopped, his gaze exploring the lakeshore. She was so close she could have reached out and touched the horse. It turned and looked at her, nuzzling at her shoulder.

Suddenly, as if his nerve had snapped, the rider whirled his mount around and urged it hurriedly back up the track, slithering and scrambling over the loose ground. He rode up to the top of the slope and over it, without looking back. The noise of hooves on stones died away to silence.

A warm hand gripped her. “It’s all right. He’s gone.”

Brochael was there, holding his ax, looking at her angrily. “Why did you stand up? If he’d seen any one of us, one shout would have brought them all over here. Are you mad?”

“I thought he would see Thorkil!”

“Thorkil was well hidden,” Brochael snorted, watching him come down the slope. “Think next time!”

Furious, she pulled away from him. She glared at Thorkil angrily. “Why did you stand up?” she snapped.

He glared back. “I was calling you. I hadn’t seen the rider.”

“But—”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I climbed up there to get a look around. You can see the line of the old road across the hills. It looks as if it heads south.”

While he and Brochael discussed the route, she turned away, puzzled. She saw Kari watching her. He sat on a rock, with one of the great birds at his feet, the other behind him, picking at something red on the snow. For a moment he looked so like Gudrun that she shivered.

“How did you do it?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” His eyes met hers calmly. “It wasn’t easy—for a moment he saw you. I had to make him believe that he was wrong. That there was nothing there.”

“Like the door in the hall?”

“Yes.”

She turned and looked out at the coming sun lighting the clouds and the white mountains. “Is it the runes, the magic the old woman has? Is that the same?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know any runes. This is in me, I haven’t learned it.” He looked over at the lake. “I’ve never seen so much frozen water like that. It has a strange beauty....”

“Has it?” Jessa asked. “It tastes foul.”

They ate some meat and smoked fish and drank the brackish water. Then Brochael outlined his plans.

“We’ll head directly south, keeping near the line of the road, but staying in the forests as far as possible. We’ll be harder to follow there; we might even risk a fire at night.”

“What if they have dogs?” Jessa asked.

“They don’t. We would have seen them by now. It will be rough country, but if we move quickly we could be at Morthrafell in two days, where the river called Skolka cuts through the mountains down to Skolkafjord and the sea.” He glanced at Kari. “We can wait at the hall of the Wulfings, as arranged.”

“Wait for who?” Thorkil asked.

Ignoring him, Brochael pulled the pack onto his back and stood up. “Now, take care. They may still be about.”

It took them all morning to cross the open moor, going cautiously over the boggy, treacherous ground. Finally the land rose a little, and they came into the forest, scattering a herd of elk.

Here the snow was thin; ice glistened and hung from the dark branches. They moved easily through the scattered trees, and as the sun climbed, it became warmer. A few birds sang, far down in the aisles of the wood.

Jessa tried to speak to Thorkil but he was never near her. He kept near Kari, always talking and asking questions that Kari rarely answered. But when they stopped to eat at midday, Jessa saw her chance. Pulling Thorkil away, she shoved him hard against a tree trunk.

“What were you thinking of?” she snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“You know! You called out!”

“To you.”

“But you didn’t see me until after!”

He looked at her. His eyes were blue and clear; there was a hard look in them that was new. “You’re wrong, Jessa. I called you. Who else would I have called?”

She was silenced. She wanted to say “the horseman” but it would be wrong; it would be foolish. But that was what was in her mind.

He pushed past her and went back to the others. She stared after him. It was unthinkable that he should betray them. Why should he? He hated Gudrun.