Shelter
Ylva stood where overhanging rocks sheltered the ground from snow. Geri crouched beside her, huddled and shaking. His fur was damp and matted, and the sight of him made Ylva uneasy, though she didn’t understand why. He looked like the mangy, starving dogs in the village at home – the kind whose owners didn’t care about them.
So now we wait for Cathryn.
‘It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t come.’ Ylva was already preparing herself for the worst; persuading herself she would cope. ‘We’ll stay here long enough to get warm and dry, the horse can rest, then we’ll go.’ As she spoke, she searched among the sticks on the rocky shelf until she found one that was thick, and as tall as she was. ‘We’ll look for this village Cathryn mentioned. Seatun. Maybe we can find someone there to help us.’
We need a fire.
‘No. If the three-fingered man is out there, he’ll see it.’ She remembered the way he had sniffed the air like an animal. ‘Or smell it. We’ll have to find another way to get warm. Come on; this way.’
The land itself would provide much of the shelter she needed, so Ylva and Geri climbed up from the shelf and encouraged the horse to follow.
‘This is a good place.’ Ylva found a spot between two of the giant fingers, where the black rock stretched up on two sides, standing proud in front of a dark cliff that offered protection from behind. Inside the web of the two fingers, there was only a light dusting of snow on the ground – a good sign that the wind blew mainly from the back.
Sheltered from the worst of the weather, Ylva brought the horse across the entrance for added warmth and protection. The horse carried a sheepskin bedroll, two bags, and a large folded fur behind the saddle, so she dried him with the fur, laid it over his back, and hobbled him to stop him from moving away.
She and Geri retreated to the furthest corner of their rocky shelter and Ylva searched the bags the horse had been carrying.
‘I wish I had my satchel,’ she said as she opened the first bag. ‘It had everything we need.’
I wish Mother were here.
The goatskin bags from the horse provided enough to replace what Ylva had lost. There was hard cheese, bread, smoked meat, and dried fish. A clay pot, small enough to fit in her palm, contained strips of charcloth made from touchwood fungus boiled in urine. It was still smouldering – and would continue to do so for days – so she could use it to light a fire when the time was right. There was also a waterbag, a small pouch of salt, three silver coins, and five iron arrowheads.
When Ylva had made a mental inventory of everything, she rechecked and recounted it three times, then returned it to the bags and secured them.
‘So now we wait for Cathryn.’ She pulled the axe from her belt and sat with her legs crossed. ‘If she comes.’ She gripped the axe close to the top of the handle and, using the sharp blade, began to whittle a point at one end of the stick she had brought up from the ledge.
Shhkk. Shhkk. Shhkk.
‘I can tell you a story if you like,’ she said.
Geri whined and curled beside her, pushing against her thigh.
‘Mother told it to me one day when we were sitting on the dock with our feet in the water, and the sun on our shoulders.’ Ylva continued to carve as she spoke, imagining the warmth of the day, and the ripples glittering on the surface of the sea. ‘I was dipping my finger into the water and drawing pictures on the wood but the heat kept drying up my patterns. You were lying in the sun, curled up exactly like you are now. You loved days like that.’ Ylva had loved days like that, too; lazy days when she wasn’t breaking her back in the fields or wearing down her fingers at the loom. She would let the sun drain her energy and then she would lie with her face on Geri’s stomach and feel the rise and fall of his breath as she lost herself in the smell of his warm, soft fur.
But those days were gone now, so Ylva pushed the image away and began to tell the story of Signy, who married the wicked and jealous King of Gautland. ‘Do you know it?’ she asked Geri, but if she knew it, then it meant he knew it, and she was going to tell it anyway, just to pass the time and to remind herself of her purpose.
Ylva took a deep breath and told how the King of Gautland hated Signy’s family, especially her brother Sigmund, who refused to sell him the sword he had won from Odin. ‘So when Signy’s father and her ten brothers arrived in Gautland to visit her, the Gauts attacked them.’ Ylva’s words were hardly more than a whisper. ‘There was a fierce battle but the King of Gautland won in the end, killing Signy’s father and all his men. Signy pleaded for her brothers’ lives, of course, what else would she do?’ Ylva paused and glanced up at Geri, who sighed deeply.
‘She begged the wicked king to lock them up instead of killing them, and he agreed, but really it was a lie; just a way to make them suffer even more. He built stocks from a huge tree trunk and kept the ten brothers trapped in the forest. And every night, the King’s mother turned into a wolf and came to them, and every night she ate one of the brothers; killed him and swallowed him up while the others watched. She did it every night until Sigmund was the only one left.
‘By then, Signy hated the King as much as anyone could hate a person – maybe even as much as I hate the three-fingered man – and she was desperate to get revenge on him, but first she had to save her brother Sigmund, so she persuaded a servant to go into the forest and smear honey on Sigmund’s face. That night, when the she-wolf came, it tasted the honey and started to lick it all off. And when its disgusting tongue went into Sigmund’s mouth, he bit right through it. The wolf died of shock and Sigmund broke free. Signy’s last and favourite brother survived.’ Ylva stopped whittling and looked at Geri.
‘You’re quiet,’ she said.
It’s cold down here. And dark.
‘Don’t leave me.’ Ylva could hardly bear to see him so bedraggled. His coat was dull and the sparkle had gone from his eyes.
Forget about me and finish the story.
‘All right.’ She cleared her throat. ‘So . . . much later, Signy had a son who was strong and brave, and Signy knew he would get revenge for her as soon as he was big enough. He spent a lot of time with Sigmund, having adventures in the forest and fighting battles. One time they even put on wolfskins and became wolves for ten days, but when Signy’s son was finally ready, he and Sigmund sneaked into the King’s hall at night and set the whole place on fire. They burnt everyone alive. Everyone. Even Signy. But at last, after all that time, and all that waiting, she got her revenge.’
It was a good story, Ylva had always liked it, and when she finished telling it, she bit her lips and tried not to think about Mother.
Mother always told the best stories.
The sound of whittling echoed from the rock walls. Shhkk. Shhkk. Shhkk.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Ylva watched Geri lying still beside her. ‘You’re thinking that Signy died in the fire too, so what good came of it? That’s what you’re thinking.’
Geri raised an eyebrow.
‘Or maybe you’re thinking, why didn’t Signy just kill the King herself? She could have done it when he was asleep. That would have been easier. She could have taken a knife and—’
Maybe she wasn’t strong enough.
Ylva stopped whittling, and all was quiet.
Are you strong enough?
‘Yes.’ Ylva stood to test the spear she had made, thrusting it forwards against an invisible foe. ‘When the time comes, I’ll be strong enough.’
She went to the horse and stroked his neck as she looked down at the river.
‘If anyone passes below, there’s a good chance they won’t notice we’re here,’ she said as she went back to Geri and leant the spear against the rock. She sat down and practised grabbing it a few times, to be sure she was prepared for an attack, then she laid the axe beside her and watched Geri.
Huddled and unmoving, he wasn’t much more than a dark shape. The damp, musty smell of his fur was growing worse; as if he had crawled out from beneath the ground.
‘I know how to survive,’ Ylva said. ‘And I have food and shelter. I’ll be safe until daylight, then I’ll find my way out of the forest – see if I can find this place Seatun that Cathryn told me about. But until then I need to be alert.’
Cathryn will come.
‘I don’t think so.’ Ylva closed her eyes and listened to the forest.
The river was the most dominant sound, but when Ylva listened deeper, she heard bird calls and small animals scurrying in the trees. She became one with the forest around her, letting herself be a part of it. She needed to feel at home here, and for a moment she did. When her whole being was focused on the sounds around her, there was nothing else to think about, nothing else to muddy her feelings.
But her concentration was broken by the chink of tack. The soft swish-swish of something moving in the river. A sniff. Someone was coming.
Ylva froze. Her eyes widened. Her mind muddled.
The three-fingered man.
He had found her.
Move, she told herself. Move!
Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding. Every muscle cramped.
Fight! her mind screamed at her. Survive!
And then she was moving. The fear was not gone, but the paralysis was broken. She snatched up the spear and crouched with one knee on the ground, the other supporting her elbow as she aimed the point of the spear towards the opening of her shelter. She ignored Geri, huddled at the back like a ghost, and she listened.
The rider was approaching from her right. Ylva was certain there was just one. The gentle clink of tack and the unmistakeable swish of a horse moving through the shallows did not overlap in the way they would with multiple riders.
When the sound stopped, Ylva waited a while. Her horse snorted and turned in the shelter’s entrance, looking down at the water to see what was there. As it did so, Ylva inched forwards, pointing the spear ahead of her. Someone was there. They hadn’t passed by, but had stopped in the river beside the rocky shelf just below her. Ylva prepared herself for a fight. If it was anyone other than Cathryn down there, she would thrust the spear and—
‘This is becoming a habit.’
Ylva stared.
‘You pointing a weapon at me, I mean. It’s becoming something of a habit, don’t you think?’
Ylva had convinced herself she wouldn’t see Cathryn again. She had been sure she would have to survive alone. But when she saw Cathryn, an unexpected feeling of relief flooded over her like a winter wave on the open sea. She wasn’t alone any more.
‘I see you made yourself a spear. Very resourceful.’
Ylva looked at the spear, then at Cathryn.
‘And you seem to have settled yourself in for the night, but we don’t have time to be playing games.’
‘Games? I’m not playing games. I would have killed you.’
‘I don’t doubt it. It was just an expression.’
‘Oh.’ Ylva lowered the weapon. Her hands were shaking, and not just with the cold. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘That I’d leave you out here on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘That says more about you than it does about me.’ Cathryn steadied her horse. ‘Well, you picked a good spot I suppose. It’s well protected.’
‘We could stay here for the night. Get some—’
‘No. We have to keep moving. I know a better place further upriver. And if you like this place, then you’ll love the one I’ve got in mind.’