The Twisted Tree

by Rachel Burge

  The sky is dark now, with only the moon to see by. We steady each other, and she points and says, ‘What the hell was that thing?’ I glance at the grotesque severed head and bury my face in her shoulder. The creature’s body lies half inside the hollow of the tree. Dozens of ravens caw and flap over it, sharp beaks feasting on the last scraps of sinew and skin.

  ‘It killed Yrsa and Olav!’

  Mum pulls away from me. ‘What?’

  ‘We found them dead in the snow.’

  ‘Who is we?’

  ‘Stig. He should be here, but I don’t even know if he’s alive.’

  Fear crowds my mind as I remember Hel’s words. She didn’t promise to let Stig live. But I returned the dead and killed the draugr, so maybe … Staggering into the dark, I take a few paces one way and then another. ‘Stig!’ I run wildly, ignoring Mum’s pleas to come back.

  The ravens flap and caw above me, and then land to my right. I run to them and see a mound in the snow. Please. Please, let him be OK.

  Stig’s face is blue. His cheek feels like ice, yet the only wound I can see is a faint pink scar on his neck. ‘Stig! Wake up!’ I call his name over and over, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

  A hand touches my shoulder. I look up and see Mum. She takes off a glove and holds a finger to his throat. ‘There’s a pulse. Quick.’

  We reach under his armpits and haul him up. Somehow we manage to drag him between us. He murmurs something and my heart soars. ‘It’s OK, Stig,’ I whisper. ‘We’ve got you. Everything’s going to be OK, I promise.’

  Mum glances at me over his head, as if she’s not so sure.

  In the cabin, we lay him on the sofa.

  ‘Blankets, quickly!’

  I rush to Mormor’s room and drag the cover from the bed, then go to the spare room and take another. Returning to the lounge, I throw them on the sofa and help Mum remove Stig’s coat and boots.

  She tucks the blankets around him, then notices my worried face. ‘He needs to warm up. Give it a few minutes.’ She shakes her head and sighs. ‘That thing outside – I’ve seen it in visions, but I never believed –’

  ‘Visions?’

  ‘Hallucinations … I used to paint the images to get them out of my head.’

  Mum touches Stig’s forehead. She rubs his arm and I do the same.

  ‘Once I started the medication, I hoped the visions would stop, but they didn’t. And then you had the accident. If only I had –’ She takes a deep breath. ‘The doctors say I didn’t foresee what happened, they say it was a false memory that I created after the event, but the images kept coming. In every one was the tree. I knew I had to keep you away from it.’

  She rubs her temples and glances at Stig. His skin is more white than blue now, and his breathing is shallow but regular. If only he would open his eyes.

  ‘Just before you went, I started to get a new vision. I kept painting that … that thing outside.’

  Mormor said there have been many seers in the family. Maybe Mum painted the draugr for the same reason my ancestors did those charcoal drawings: to warn of what was to come.

  ‘Is that why you told me to leave the cabin?’

  She nods and a lump comes to my throat. ‘We tried, Mum! We were going to Olav and Yrsa’s, but we found them dead in the snow. They’d been clawed to death.’

  Mum’s face is ashen. She looks at me, unsure, then swallows hard. ‘I’ll drive to the police station later. First I need to know what’s been happening. And I mean everything.’

  Stig’s eyes flutter open. I wrap my arms around his neck. ‘You’re OK!’ I pull away and look at him, but there’s something wrong. His eyes are dark and vacant, like he’s not really inside.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Give it a few minutes, Martha.’ Mum tries to sound reassuring, but I can tell she’s worried too.

  Stig turns his head to one side and groans. Maybe Hel let him live but he’s just a shell – or worse, a creature like the draugr. His mouth parts and he licks his lips. He opens his eyes and briefly looks at me, then stares over my shoulder as if he’s seen someone he recognises. ‘Nina?’ he croaks. My heart twists. Mum gives me a quizzical look and I shake my head. Why would he say her name?

  He mutters something in Norwegian and I turn to Mum, wanting her to translate. She touches my arm and shakes her head. ‘He’s confused.’

  Maybe Mum is right, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. A long minute passes, and then Stig blinks at me and smiles. There is so much warmth in his gaze that my doubt and fear melt away. ‘You’re OK?’

  He gives the smallest nod and I hug him, my heart expanding in my chest until there’s no room for anything but love. He still feels so cold though. I hold him tightly, trying to share my warmth with him.

  Mum stands and looks at Stig, then back to me. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  I touch his shoulder, ‘Mum, this is Stig.’

  Mum takes off her coat. ‘Yes, I’ve gathered this is Stig. I’ll make us all a hot drink, and then you can tell me who Stig is and what’s been happening here, OK?’ Mum shakes her head and mutters, ‘Even poor Gandalf looks worn out.’

  ‘Gandalf!’

  He’s curled up in his bed with his head on his paws. I rush to him and kneel by his side. ‘But I thought …!’ He licks my face and my heart fills with gratitude. I give him the biggest hug, and then pat his head and whisper, ‘Good boy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  Mum busies herself in the kitchen. She turns on the tap and fills the kettle, then opens a cupboard and sighs. ‘Where’s the coffee gone?’

  Stig whispers hoarsely, ‘Top shelf, red tin,’ and I grin at him, wanting to absorb every detail of his face. The way his dimples appear slowly and then all at once when he smiles. The deep crease in his bottom lip that’s so kissable. I touch his feet through the pile of blankets and find a toe to hold. He grins and I smile back so hard my cheeks ache. I can’t wait for us to be alone together. There’s so much I want to say.

  Mum grabs my arm and steers me into the kitchen. I brace myself for the talk – the one where she tells me off for running away and freaks out about the goth on the sofa. Instead she takes a shaky breath and murmurs, ‘I should have told you about Mormor.’

  I stare at her in surprise, a familiar tightness in my chest. I’m angry that she lied, but she was so brave, charging in and bashing the creature with that branch. I know she would do anything for me. She didn’t tell me about Mormor’s funeral because she knew I would insist on coming here, and she wanted to keep me away from the tree. She was trying to protect me.

  Mum pours boiling water into the coffee pot. ‘No more secrets, I promise. But I need to know what’s been going on.’ She stirs the coffee and then pours three cups and hands me one. I follow her into the living room to find Stig snoring softly. She places a drink on the floor next to him and shoos me back to the kitchen, as if she knows I could happily stand and watch him sleep.

  I sit at the table and wrap my hands around my cup. The coffee is hot and delicious, even better than how Mormor used to make it. Maybe staring death in the face does that to you – makes everything taste better and feel more alive.

  Mum raises her eyebrows. ‘Well?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘You know how Mormor wanted you to water the tree? Well, no one did and it started to rot.’

  Mum looks at me blankly. ‘And?’

  ‘Beneath its roots is the underworld. A hole formed and the dead escaped.’

  Mum’s eyes widen.

  ‘That thing I killed was a draugr.’

  She stares into her cup. ‘Your grandmother showed me a chest of journals once. She said there are mystical beings who live in the tree. She took me out there and told me to listen, but it was all nonsense.’

  ‘Mormor was telling the truth, Mum – about everything.’

  She buries her face in her hands. ‘Oh my God, I didn’t believe her. I thought it was some weird obsession, or maybe she’d been hallucinating
and it must run in the family.’

  My jaw tenses with resentment. If Mum had done her duty and watered the tree, none of this would have happened. Why couldn’t she just have believed Mormor?

  I go to the window and a thought drops into my mind like the last piece of a jigsaw. ‘You read the letters Mormor sent to me before you burned them, didn’t you?’ Mum hangs her head and I continue, ‘You knew I could read clothing. You could have told me it had happened to you too, but you didn’t.’

  Mum gives me a pained look. ‘I heard a voice at the tree once, or thought I did. Your dad and I were having problems and I was under a lot of strain. Afterwards, I could sense things when I touched people’s clothes, but the way the doctor explained it, it all made sense. I’d latched onto the idea of being able to read clothing because your grandmother had told me about it so many times.’

  She takes a shaky breath. ‘If I had known you would come out here by yourself, I would have told you everything, believe me.’ Mum wipes her eyes, then stands and walks over to me. She speaks slowly, as if it’s hard for her to get the words out. ‘I’m sorry I burned the letters. I’m sorry I kept everything from you.’

  I don’t say anything and she sighs. ‘I didn’t want Mormor to fill your head with the same nonsense. I didn’t want you to become like me!’

  I glance at the window, where our reflections stare back at us from the glass. We look so similar. I wonder why I’ve never noticed before. I don’t know whether to be angry or feel sorry for her.

  I touch her arm and her woolly jumper is heavy with fear and confusion. She found it easier to believe that she’d been hallucinating than admit that there’s magic in the world. She’s been trapped for so long, afraid to admit the truth. I am disappointed in her, but then I know how easy it is to delude yourself. I was so absorbed by self-pity that I convinced myself Stig couldn’t be interested in me. I shudder, remembering the nightmare I had, where my eyes and mouth were stitched up. If I hadn’t seen how I was, that would have been my fate – cut off from the world; sewn shut.

  ‘I will tell you everything, but first you have to read the journals. OK?’

  Mum takes a moment. ‘OK.’

  A weight I didn’t know I had been carrying lifts from my shoulders. I feel so tired. My head spins and I grip the counter to stop myself falling.

  ‘Are you all right, Martha? Maybe you should lie down.’

  She leads me into the lounge. ‘I’ll go to the police in the morning. You can tell me where Yrsa and Olav are, and I’ll say I found them while I was walking the dog. That way you won’t have to lie when you give a statement.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  There is so much I have to say, but I’m so tired. Tired of feeling angry and disappointed. With everything that’s happened, it doesn’t seem important. She loves me and she’s here for me now, and that’s what matters.

  I stop at the sofa and take a long, blissful look at Stig. I wish I could stay by his side all night. ‘Mum, will you watch him for me, make sure he’s OK?’

  ‘Of course. Now into bed.’

  26

  I wake to the sound of a happy house: people talking and laughing. For a moment I don’t dare open my eyes. Stig is alive. Mum is here and she knows the truth. Gandalf is fine. It’s like when I used to wake on Christmas morning and was afraid to explore the house.

  In the kitchen, Stig has his back to me, eating breakfast, and Mum is at the sink. The two of them are chatting happily in Norwegian. I go to Stig and hug him around the neck, cautious of his wound even though it seems healed. He smiles at me and I grin back.

  Feeling uncomfortable with Mum in the room, I look at the pile of journals on the table. Her reading glasses sit on top of them and I wonder how many she’s read and how much she knows.

  Mum sees me and smiles. ‘Breakfast?’

  ‘Great. I’m starving.’

  I sit opposite Stig and she sets a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee before me.

  ‘Good?’ asks Stig.

  I swallow. ‘Very. But not as good as yours.’

  ‘I heard that, young lady.’ Mum sits next to me. ‘When you’ve finished, I thought we might take a walk out to the tree and water it together. And then you can tell me where …’

  I nod, not wanting to think about Yrsa and Olav. I point at the journals. ‘So you read them?’

  ‘Yes, and Stig told me some of what’s been happening. It’s a lot to take in.’

  Stig smiles shyly. ‘It was for me too. I didn’t believe Martha at first; it seemed so crazy. I found it hard to trust, but she has a way of being persuasive.’

  I smile at Stig and feel so many things. Happy and excited that I met him and he’s OK, but sad about Yrsa and Olav.

  After we clear the breakfast things, we put on our coats and head out. I trudge through the snow with Stig and Gandalf, while Mum strides out, carrying the pail. She slows as we reach the tree and I gaze at its mighty branches and imagine Odin hanging above me, finding the runes in the well. My breath catches, remembering what Stig said. If the journals are right, the tree stands at the centre of the cosmos, connecting different worlds. Who knows where its branches and roots might lead?

  Mum’s face is pale. I leave Stig and take her arm. ‘I used to be afraid of it too.’ I realise that it no longer scares me. The dead are back where they belong and there’s nothing that remains of the draugr – not even bones. The ravens must have carried them away. As long as we tend to the tree, it should never happen again.

  Mum watches as I take the pail from her, dip it in the well, then throw the water over the hole inside the tree. A raven caws overhead and she glances nervously at the sky.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen.’

  ‘OK. I might leave you two alone. I’ve got some more reading to do.’

  She spots the axe in the snow and picks it up. I give her a hug and watch as she trudges back to the cabin with it. Stig stares at the tree, seemingly lost in thought.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For your thoughts. It means, what are you thinking?’

  ‘Oh.’ Stig puts an arm around me and pulls me close. I fall into him, enjoying his warmth.

  ‘Sprinkler systems,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know you need to water the roots every day, but there’s no reason why you need to use the pail, is there?’

  Gandalf comes over and wags his tail as if he thinks it’s a good idea.

  I laugh and Stig looks at me in surprise. ‘What’s funny? I think it could work!’

  I wrap my arm around his waist. ‘No, you’re right.’

  He turns and leans close, and I hold my breath as his lips meet mine. He kisses me again and again, each one a tiny knock at the door of my heart. The softness of him melts every part of me. I feel like a thread unravelling, coming undone. Being with him, kissing him here under the tree, feels so right.

  Stig pulls away and stares at something behind me.

  I follow his gaze. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I thought I saw …’ He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. ‘When you see the dead, how do they appear?’

  I glance at him, surprised. ‘Can we talk about it another time?’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ A look I know so well passes across his face – a dark cloud then sunshine. A flicker of emotion, followed by its opposite.

  He yanks my arm. ‘Come on, before my nose freezes off!’

  We walk back to the cabin hand in hand. There are so many things we don’t know about each other that our conversation jumps all over the place. I want to ask him about all his likes and dislikes, the places he’s been and the things he’s seen. I have a million questions.

  As we climb the porch steps I stop and kiss him again. I don’t know which I want to do more, talk or kiss. The thought makes me laugh.

  He pinches me lightly on the nose. ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘I was just thinkin
g of all the kissing and talking I want to do. I don’t know how I’m going to fit it all in. Even ten lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.’

  Stig flashes me his dimples. ‘Du er deilig. And we have plenty of time, don’t worry.’

  I try to smile, but I can’t help worrying. What if Mum insists that we go home right away – what will happen to Stig? How will I get to see him?

  Inside, Mum is drying up at the sink. The cabin feels so different – the emptiness and the shadows have gone. It looks how I remember: a place where I was happy.

  She turns and gives me a knowing smile, then narrows her eyes. I know I’m going to have to answer a lot of questions about Stig, as well as everything else. Things might be tough for a while – I’m going to have to help Mum get her head around things. It should have been her supporting me, but that’s just how it is. We have to work together now.

  I shrug out of my coat and hang it over a chair, but I misjudge the distance and it drops to the floor. Stig grabs it for me and I smile a thank-you, glad of his help.

  Mum coughs. ‘I’ve been thinking – I could sell the house in London and move here.’

  Stig looks at Mum expectantly, then takes himself off to sit by the stove. I haven’t thought about the future properly. Maybe I’ve been purposefully avoiding it – not wanting to think about how Stig and I will be together exactly, just hoping that we would.

  ‘We can both live here together,’ I say.

  Mum frowns. ‘You don’t have to stay out here with me. Watering the tree is my responsibility.’

  ‘But I want to be here with you and Stig!’

  ‘You’re seventeen, Martha. You have your education to think about. I’m sure you can stay with Dad. If you don’t want to go to school, we can arrange some kind of home tutor.’

  ‘But, Mum, I can get the ferry to a college on the mainland. Some of them must offer classes in English – and anyway, I want to learn Norwegian.’

  Mum raises an eyebrow.

  It’s only been a few days since I left home, but so much has changed. Whatever happens with Stig and me, I don’t want to hide away any more. And I need to learn Norwegian so I can read the journals for myself.