Hate
Embers rose into the blizzard like flickering fireflies in distant summer. If they came close to the stable, Ylva and Bron stamped them out, but there wasn’t much else they could do but watch the workshop burn until eventually it collapsed in on itself. In those final moments, a plume of sparks and black smoke rose into the sky, and when the workshop was no more than a glowing pile of ash, Ylva and Bron stood side by side; exhausted, aching and hungry.
‘I hate him.’ Ylva held Freki close to her chest. ‘The three-fingered man, I mean. This is all his fault.’ She stared at the coals as they blushed in the breeze. ‘And now we have to go. He’ll have seen the flames from the other end of the valley. He’ll come looking for us and . . . Wait.’ She stopped as a thought leapt into her head so suddenly it was as if Thor had put it there himself. ‘I’ve done enough running. We should wait for him.’ She turned to Bron. ‘We’ll find a place to hide, and when he comes, we’ll ambush him. We’ll kill him. You with your arrows and me with my axe.’
The boy circled his fist in front of his face and tapped his head.
‘I’m not stupid,’ Ylva said. ‘And I know you think I can’t fight, but I can. I’m strong. I can fight. I fought a bear to get here. Those wolves, too. And I just saved your life.’
Bron shrugged. So what?
‘So I’m going to stay here and wait for the three-fingered man.’ She pulled the axe from her belt. ‘And when he gets here, I’m going to kill him, and all this will be over.’
‘You want to kill me, child? I don’t think so.’ The voice was unmistakeable. Deep and smooth like rolling thunder.
The three-fingered man had found them.
Bron was reacting before the Viking had even finished his sentence. He turned, dropped, and raised his bow in one fluid motion. Ylva hadn’t known it was possible to move with such speed. But he wasn’t fast enough. As Bron reached to take an arrow from his quiver, the flame-haired woman appeared like a ghost from the shadow of the stable. Firelight glimmered on the short iron sword in her fist as she took two great strides forward and brought the pommel down hard on the side of Bron’s head.
Bron’s legs buckled and he collapsed like a sack of grain. He didn’t even make a sound.
‘You should give me your axe.’ The three-fingered man stepped from the shadow to stand behind the woman. He looked Ylva in the eye and held out his hand. ‘Unless you want her to hit you too.’