Spears of Moonlight
Their horses crashed through the understorey. They thundered between spears of bone-pale moonlight that cut through the canopy, moving from dark to light and then dark again. The trust between Cathryn and her horse was strong. She spoke to it in urgent whispers, squeezing its flanks with her boot heels, encouraging it to run blindly into the night.
Ylva hated being so close to the woman, it made her skin itch and tighten as if spiders had burrowed into it, but she bit her bottom lip and forced herself to dig her hands deep into Cathryn’s furs, hanging on to keep herself from falling.
Bron had broken ahead of them. As Cathryn’s horse veered sideways, skidding on exposed rocks and tree roots, Ylva caught a glimpse of the boy disappearing into the murky gloom. Behind, the terrifying sound began again; a mixture of growling and yipping and screaming. Like hungry wolves fighting over a carcass.
‘Be fearless.’ She spoke to Geri, who was lost in the darkness behind her. ‘Be fearless.’ But she knew she was speaking to herself.
Ylva kept her face low behind Cathryn’s wide back to shield her from tree limbs that snatched at her like dragon claws as they passed. But when the screaming began again, she risked a look back and immediately regretted it. A talon-like birch branch pulled her hair and tore across her cheek, making her cry out in pain. Her head snapped back, her grip loosened on Cathryn, and Ylva slipped sideways. For one awful, awful moment, she was falling. She was going to plunge into the brambles, and she would be trampled and killed and left for the monsters on their tail.
As she fell, Ylva frantically snatched at Cathryn’s cloak, yanking the woman to one side. Startled, Cathryn tugged hard on the reins and the horse responded by swinging left with a suddenness that almost threw both riders from its back. But Cathryn was strong and experienced. Her bond with the animal was firm. She righted herself and reached back to pull Ylva up into the saddle. Immediately, Ylva grabbed a handful of the woman’s furs and pressed herself closer for safety.
The damp warmth of her own blood slid down her cheek.
Behind them, the sounds continued. That nightmare of screaming and howling. Some faded into the distance, as if whatever was chasing them had slowed, but others were gaining.
‘They’re coming closer.’ Ylva’s voice was full of panic.
And then it was right behind them. A scream that froze her blood. And into that pure white terror came the glint of moonlight on metal as a spear whisked past and thumped into a tree. Bark and woodchips exploded just inches from her face, peppering her with splinters.
‘They’re catching up!’ she shouted as a second spear clattered among the branches to her right.
A rider was moving parallel to them through the trees. He wasn’t carrying a flaming torch, but as he pounded in and out of the shafts of moonlight cutting through the birches and aspens, Ylva caught glimpses of him sitting astride his horse, and she saw the terrible image beneath his well-worn helmet. Only the man’s eyes were exposed to the cold air of the wintry night; the rest of his face was covered with a black woollen scarf pulled right up over his nose, and it was painted with the same design she had seen outside the hut.
A half-skull.
Ylva screamed at herself to move. This could be him, the three-fingered man, riding alongside her. This might be her chance to fulfil the promise she had made to Mother; to do what the gods expected of her. They had led her to this moment so she could prove herself to them.
Ylva let go of Cathryn and reached for the bow across her back. As she did so, Cathryn drew her sword. The Viking half-skull veered closer, taking advantage of a gap in the trees. He thundered towards them, raising his cruel sword and letting out a savage scream.
In one quick movement, Cathryn slashed her sword at the approaching rider. It was not a good strike. The half-skull saw it before Cathryn had unleashed it, and he slowed his horse at just the right moment. Cathryn’s weapon hacked nothing but cold air, and the giant remained firmly on the back of his huge black stallion.
The momentum of her attack unbalanced Cathryn, and as she tried to resettle herself, her horse passed between the narrow white trunks of two aspens growing close together. There was barely enough room for the horse to make it through the gap, but with Cathryn’s arm extended, they didn’t have a chance.
Still trying to shrug the bow from over her shoulder, Ylva saw what was going to happen. She saw it, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. They were moving too fast, and the trees were too close.
Cathryn’s arm smashed into the aspen trunk with a lurching thump followed by a sickening crack. The sword tore from her hand and was lost to the forest. Cathryn screamed and twisted hard in the saddle, forced sideways by the impact. She pushed against Ylva, and the two of them were ripped from the saddle. The horse stumbled, and then they were falling.