Hard Earth
Cathryn and Bron were not in the hut when she woke.
Ylva was curled on the dirt floor beside Mother’s cold dead body. It took a second to remember where she was and what had happened, and then it crashed over her like a flood of icy water. She sat up and grabbed the bow, startling Geri awake. Blankets lay around her, as if someone had tried to make her comfortable. She panicked, getting to her feet and putting her hand to her throat, but her scarf was still fastened tight.
Light leaked in through the shutters, and there were fresh logs over the embers in the fire pit. A faint and regular scraping came from outside.
Ylva went to open the door, cold air stinging her nostrils. The morning was still half-dark, as if the world was in need of a clean. Leaden clouds hung low, and mist whispered through the trees. On the track, the surface snow had crystallized and become a layer of crusted jewels.
Two horses were tethered beside the hut, one chestnut, one golden. Both had their heads down as they ate grain from a wooden trough. The sound of their satisfied crunching was soothing – it reminded Ylva of cold mornings in the village at home, feeding the animals and preparing the horses.
As she approached, with Geri at her heels as always, the sweet-smelling golden horse looked up with a lazy turn of its head. Its shaggy hide was beautiful, rippling with shades of autumn, its mane and tail like silver. One fetlock was a single white sock. But what caught Ylva’s attention was the symbol painted on to its flank; a white circle, with two tails curled inwards at the bottom.
The chestnut horse was painted with the same symbol.
Sometimes the villagers at home used the design on their animals, or wore a similar-shaped charm on a necklace to ward off dangerous magic. Whoever Cathryn was, wherever she came from, she didn’t just know about Ylva’s gods – she also used familiar symbols.
‘You’re beautiful.’ Ylva ran the flat of her palm down the animal’s muscular neck. Soothed by the creature’s calm nature, she wanted to stay longer, but the faint and regular scraping she’d heard before continued, so she went to investigate. Her boots crunched the frozen crust of snow as she headed behind the hut where there was a patch of clear land before the trees grew thick and wild up the mountain slope.
Cathryn and Bron were there, both of them with shovels in their hands, digging in the black soil.
When they noticed Ylva, they stopped.
Cathryn jabbed the tip of the shovel into the ground and leant on the handle. ‘We put the man in the ground already. Deep, so the animals won’t find him.’ She looked at the other grave. ‘This one is for your mother and—’
‘I should do it.’ Ylva considered the pile of dark soil. ‘It’s my duty.’
‘Huh,’ Cathryn said. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ She pulled the tip of the shovel from the dirt and held it out. ‘You can finish while we get breakfast.’
Ylva came forward to take the shovel, but didn’t start digging until Cathryn and Bron had left.
Geri sat in silence beside the grave while Ylva dug the hard earth. He stared up at the mountain and didn’t make a sound, but it was comforting to know he was there. No one understood Ylva the way Geri did.
When the grave was deep enough, Ylva climbed out and brushed the dirt from her breeches.
‘There’s warm ale,’ Cathryn said as Ylva went back inside the hut. ‘And hot stew.’ She was standing by the fire, stirring the blackened pot. Bron was sitting at the table, shovelling stew into his mouth with a wooden spoon.
‘You’re sweating from all that digging,’ Cathryn said. ‘Why don’t you take off your scarf?’
Ylva put a hand to her neck and bunched the wool in her fist. ‘No.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Cathryn ladled steaming stew into a clay bowl and placed it on a flat wooden plate along with a large chunk of cheese. She tore hard bread from a broken loaf to put beside it and held the meal out for Ylva. ‘The bread is stale but there’s enough there for two people. It’ll fill you up.’
When Ylva didn’t take it, Cathryn sighed and her face fell into a sad expression. ‘Child, I know there are things you want to do, but there’s nothing to be gained by doing them on an empty stomach. Sooner or later, everyone must eat.’ She extended the plate again. ‘Please.’
Mother would have said the same thing but in a different way. If Ylva was going to head into the wilderness on the trail of the three-fingered man, it made sense to do it on a stomach full of hot food. And a meal like this didn’t come along every day.
‘Survival always comes first, isn’t that what your mother told you?’ It was as if Cathryn had read her mind. ‘Eat now, and then we’ll see she gets a proper burial. You have my word on that.’
When Ylva still didn’t come forward, Cathryn sighed and put the plate on the edge of the table. She filled her own bowl and sat down to eat.
‘You slept hard,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘You were shivering like a wet dog but Bron put blankets over you to keep you warm.’
The boy scowled and concentrated on his food.
‘The stew is good,’ Cathryn said. ‘If you don’t take it, I think Bron will eat what I put out for you. He’s as skinny as a sapling but he eats like a wolf in winter.’
Despite everything, Ylva’s stomach grumbled and the smell of the food made her mouth water. She wanted to not need anything from anyone, for it to be just her and Geri against the world, but the stew smelt a lot better than the soup did last night, and she was sure it wasn’t just because she was hungry – it was because Cathryn was a much better cook than the owner of the hut had been.
Take it. Geri nudged against her leg. You need to be strong.
Ylva’s stomach rumbled again and she finally caved in. She pulled the plate towards her before snatching it up and taking it to the other table.
She wanted the food to be tasteless. The bottom had fallen out of her world, and it was wrong that anything should not be affected by the horror of what had happened. But the food was delicious, and that made her feel small and unimportant, and even more determined to retain Mother’s memory.
The world might forget, but she never would.