We lifted our hands to guard our eyes. In that moment the shape-shifter had begun running from us, dragging Mordur by the feet like he was a rag doll. “There!” I pointed. They were a good ten yards away already. Mordur called to us, lashing out with his arms, trying to get a grip on something and pull himself free. His head bounced through the snowbanks.
Michael and I ran after them, sinking into the snow. We passed the barn and headed towards the plateau. The farther we went, the deeper the snow got, but we were able to keep them in our sight for a little while at least. Mordur made one more cry for help, then they disappeared over a rise. All we were left with were tracks.
I flicked on my flashlight, carrying it in one hand, the spear still in the other. Here and there, splashes of blood stained the snow.
“That better not be Mordur’s blood,” I said.
“I just hope he’s still alive when we find him,” Michael said, gripping the axe with both hands, looking like some kind of insane tree cutter. “Did you see how huge that thing was?”
“It’s Skoll. The one mentioned in the calfskins.”
“I was beginning to figure that out,” Michael said. “But I was hoping I was wrong.”
We ran as fast as we could, following the beam of my flashlight. I wasn’t exactly sure of our direction, but it seemed we were climbing a hill heading towards the grazing fields. I turned back and the lights of Uncle Thordy’s house shone like distant stars.
A few steps later, we lost the footprints. They just stopped, like the shifter had vanished. I pointed the flashlight in a wide arc, but all the snow ahead of us was untouched.
“Where did they go?” Michael was huffing, sweat glistening on his face. Steam rose from his skin, looking ghostly in the moonlight. We headed blindly into the open snow.
The sound of Mordur screaming stopped us in our tracks. We listened, trying to pinpoint the direction.
“Up there.” Michael pointed to a rock wall barely visible a short distance away. It was about six feet high. “It’s coming from up there.”
We cut through the snow, climbed the wall. At the top, the land was flat again. The flashlight revealed a gray patch of cloth hanging from the branch of a small bush. A sickening feeling came over me.
“It’s part of Mordur’s sweater,” I said, pulling the tattered rag off. I held it in the same hand as the spear. “He’s probably freezing to death. He . . .”
“He’ll be alright,” Michael said. “If that thing wanted to kill him, it would have done it right away. For some reason he’s keeping Mordur alive.”
Clouds had cleared away from the moon. Rocks and snow were outlined in a cold, blue light. “The tracks start again up there,” Michael said, pointing. Then he turned to look back. “I want to know how that thing got from there to here, while carrying Mordur. Did it jump?”
Another cry came from the distance. Like Mordur was in pain.
“Let’s go,” I said, aiming the flashlight ahead. We dashed on, following the tracks until they took a sharp turn.
“Wait!” I yelled, holding up my hand. “Don’t take another step!”
Michael stopped. “What is it?” I pointed the flashlight down. There, just in front of us, was a huge chasm.
“I didn’t realize we were getting up so high,” Michael said.
I looked over the edge. One more step and we both would have ended up down there, our bones broken, the snow slowly smothering us. My knees felt suddenly weak.
I edged back. Sucked in a deep breath.
“You okay?” Michael had his hand on my back. “Can’t you breathe?”
“I’m . . . fine. We’ve got to keep going. I just won’t look down anymore.”
I turned, continued on, following the tracks. We struggled through the snow, across an area littered with large stones. It was like a giant had been bashing at the side of the mountain and this was where the chunks had landed.
We crawled up an embankment. I had to go one-handed, my other hand clutching the spear, the flashlight stuffed in my coat pocket. It would have been near impossible for the shifter to drag Mordur up here. It was at least six feet straight up, but at the top we found the marks again. A piece of Mordur’s sweater was torn and hanging from some rocks.
“The shifter is leaving this trail on purpose,” I said. “He wants to be sure we don’t get lost.”
Michael’s face looked pale and cold in the light of the flashlight. “You’re right. But what can we do? We have to try and rescue Mordur.”
We kept on going. It wasn’t until we had climbed the next rise that we stopped and stared, frozen in our tracks.
A stone house stood across from us. It was built into the side of a mountain. The roof sloped down from high above, stopping near the ground. Just below the roofline, candles flickered in the windows. It was probably one of the oldest stone homes in Iceland, ten times older than anything I’d seen in North Dakota.
I knew it was Gunnvor’s.