She Wolf

by Dan Smith

  9

  Thor’s Salvation

  Ylva’s face burnt with cold, and she hardly saw the land around her as she struggled through the snow. Before long, deep thunder shook the sky and the ashen clouds darkened. Banks of them rolled across the world, smothering it and bringing fresh snow. It fell lightly at first but soon became heavy with flakes that fluttered in the still air. Ylva stopped in the eerie silence and looked up. ‘England isn’t so different from home,’ she said to Geri. ‘The people sound different, but the sky is just as grey.’ Snow settled on her face and in her hair. As it melted, her skin grew numb and began to sting, so she wiped the moisture away with her sleeve. ‘And we have the same trees.’

  To the left of the track, rowan and alder grew among the pines that sprouted from the white ground like old, dead limbs. Ylva knew the trees and their names because she had made it her business to know them. Mother had helped her with that. She had understood Ylva’s need to know; understood that once she had set her mind on something, it was not easy to encourage her to change it.

  To her right, the mountain rose gently, the forest rising with it until the trees gave up trying to grow in the thin soil and left it for the grassy scrub to claim. Higher still, and it was just bare and jagged rock, like a jaw of vicious black teeth biting into the stony sky.

  No one had ever been more alone.

  Even Geri – faithful Geri – had followed her like a reluctant ghost. Usually he was so brave and full of energy, but instead of foraging ahead, breaking away to investigate the smells of the forest, he had hung back, looking behind them every few minutes. Now he did it again, whining through his nose.

  ‘I know you want to go back,’ Ylva told him. ‘But we can’t. No one else cares, so it’s up to me to find the three-fingered man.’ Her breath came in clouds that billowed around her face. ‘It’s like when Thorir Erikson killed Sweyn Witch-Breaker’s brother. You remember? Sweyn went straight to Thorir’s home, called him outside and cut him down with his axe. It’s our way.’

  Geri whined again and looked up at Ylva.

  It won’t bring Mother back, Ylva imagined him saying. Maybe Cathryn was right. Maybe we should have gone with her. She could have taken us somewhere safe.

  A howl echoed out from the wilderness. A single, sorrowful tune. Ylva turned on the spot, listening for the sound to come again. Geri held his breath and swivelled his ears, but the land remained silent.

  Wolves.

  ‘It’s a long way off.’ Ylva scanned the mountain as snow flurried around her. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

  And the wind is getting stronger.

  ‘So I’ll move into the edge of the forest where the trees will protect me from the worst of it.’ And she would be almost invisible to anyone passing by – if anyone else was mad enough to be travelling this road in such weather.

  Wolves are another matter. There’s no hiding from wolves.

  ‘Hush.’ She moved off the track and continued walking.

  Ylva was half-right about the trees protecting her. The alders and birches sheltered her from the wind, but in the forest, the ground was uneven and dangerous. Twists of root and fists of rock lay beneath the snow like traps.

  Ylva fought her fear. She pushed away her sadness and anger, and whispered under her breath, telling herself to be strong and fearless; to be ready for the moment when she would find the three-fingered man.

  ‘Wanderers will tell our story,’ she spoke quietly to Geri as she pressed on. ‘Just think; jarls and warriors will sit by the fire and listen to the saga of Ylva the Fearless – the girl who hunted and killed the monster that murdered her mother.’

  Geri didn’t look impressed.

  ‘I’ll be remembered for ever,’ Ylva said. ‘For hundreds of years.’

  I’d rather be warm and safe.

  Ylva fell silent, thinking about the hut; about the fire and the warm ale and the breakfast she’d had. She thought about Cathryn and the boy – Bron – and wondered if she had made a mistake. Perhaps she was stupid, as Cathryn had said. Perhaps she should have stayed where she was. Perhaps she should have thought more carefully about setting off into the wilderness alone.

  Stupid. The word stung. Just thinking about it made her chew the inside of her cheek until it hurt.

  Ylva brushed the snow from her shoulders and looked back at her footprints, already disappearing beneath the constant fall of fresh flakes. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter to stop her body heat from escaping.

  Geri whined. Should we go back?

  ‘No. Be strong, be fearless, and survive. There’s no point in feeling sorry for myself; that’s not our way. A true Viking accepts hardship with open arms and laughs in its face.’

  I don’t feel like laughing.

  Ylva didn’t feel like laughing, either. She was cold and tired and now she was beginning to wonder if she should return to the hut. If she stayed out here she might freeze to death, and then her saga would be a very short one.

  ‘No.’ She pushed the thought away. ‘I’m not going back. Come on, Geri, I have an idea. There are other ways for me to keep warm.’ She went to the base of a rowan tree, and dropped to her hands and knees. Above her, the dark limbs reached out, laden with blood-red berries.

  ‘Thor’s Salvation,’ Ylva said. ‘That’s what Mother called rowan trees, remember? Thor’s Salvation.’ She dug into the snow, burrowing down to the forest floor, searching for fallen leaves and pine needles, just how Mother had taught her. And as she searched and gathered, she continued to mumble under her breath.

  ‘Don’t you remember the story Mother told us about Thor killing the giant Geirrod?’ There had been nothing better than listening to Mother’s voice as she spun her tales of Thor’s strength and Loki’s cunning. Ylva would sit on the floor of the longhouse, endlessly grinding corn with the quern while Mother worked the loom and told her of the death of Balder, or how Odin lost his eye.

  ‘There’s a part when Thor’s carrying Loki across the river Vimur,’ Ylva said as she collected leaves into a pile. ‘He uses a rowan tree to drag himself out of the river before he goes to find the giant.’ She looked at Geri standing beside her. ‘So maybe Thor’s looking over us now. He’ll keep us safe.’

  Geri wasn’t quite so convinced; he whined and looked back the way they had come, but Ylva wouldn’t be discouraged, so she returned to her task, and when she was ready, she stuffed handfuls of the debris between the layers of her breeches, packing it right down to her boots. ‘This’ll keep me warm.’

  Even through the linen, it scratched and prickled like cat’s claws, but it would provide extra insulation. Ylva had done this before and she had learnt that, with time, she could grow accustomed to almost anything.

  Next, she tightened her belt and stuffed handfuls of leaves between her undershirt and her tunic. Then she unravelled the blanket roll and wrapped it around her body, securing it with twine she had taken from the hut. By the time she hugged her rabbit-fur cloak around her once more, she was already feeling the benefit of the extra layers. But now the day was an hour shorter, and her stomach was starting to complain. Cathryn’s stew had kept her going this long, but the cold had drained her energy. She allowed herself a small ration of salted fish from her satchel and a sip from her water bag before setting off once more.

  10

  Smoke on the Mountain

  Ylva walked. And walked.

  From time to time, she paused to nibble at the rations from her satchel, and in those moments, she watched the path and the forest, searching for any sign of passing travellers, but saw nothing.

  The animals were quiet. She didn’t hear the wolf again. She saw no rabbit tracks, no evidence of deer or fox or boar, and even the birds were silent. The only animal she saw that morning was a magpie that hopped from branch to branch ahead of her before taking to the air and flying away.

  When Geri began to complain again, whimpering and stealing glances over his shoulder, Ylva ignored him and occupi
ed herself by counting trees; a game she used to play with Mother.

  ‘What tree is that?’ she said to Geri, but he refused to play along. Instead of walking at her heel, he fell behind, moving slowly with his head down and his ears flat.

  ‘Juniper,’ she answered for him. ‘So that’s twelve I’ve counted now. As well as twenty-two willows, six hazels, and more aspens and birches than I can remember.’

  Who cares?

  ‘It gives us something to think about.’

  We have something to think about; the hut where it was warm and there was hot food and we wouldn’t be alone.

  ‘Well we’re not going back, so you can forget about that.’

  Geri stopped and looked up at Ylva. Maybe I’ll go back on my own.

  ‘On your own?’ Ylva came to a halt and stared down at her footprints leading away into the past. ‘You can’t leave me.’

  Geri stood tall and glared at her, then turned away from Ylva and started walking in the opposite direction. He followed Ylva’s tracks but only managed a short distance before he stopped as if he’d met an invisible wall.

  ‘You can’t, can you?’ Ylva said.

  No. Geri lowered his head.

  ‘And you know why, don’t you?’

  Yes. Because you need me.

  By noon, the storm had finally blown over, and the snow had stopped. The sky remained lifeless and ugly, but the worst of it was gone – for now, at least. Ylva pressed on, watching the faint sun inch lower and lower until it dropped behind the trees and she knew she would have to find a place to make camp.

  But as she rounded a bend in the track, she spotted a thin tongue of smoke rising between the trees on a shelf further up the mountain. Ylva dropped to a crouch and watched the grey wisps snaking into the cold air.

  ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,’ Ylva said.

  And people.

  The only people Ylva had seen in the past two days, apart from Cathryn and the boy, were the people who had killed Mother, so as she stared at the smoke, she imagined the three-fingered man sitting by the fire with the woman. The woman would be wearing Mother’s necklace, and the three-fingered man would be holding her knife. In Ylva’s mind, they were laughing, and it was her duty to put an end to that.

  ‘We need to get closer.’ She broke into a slow run, heading across the track and into the trees on the other side. As soon as she was under cover, she removed the blanket and rolled it into a bundle. She tugged her tunic from her belt, pulled down her outer breeches and shook out all the leaves and pine needles. Whatever happened now, she had to be fast and silent. Like a wolf hunting its prey.

  The slope was gentle, so the climb was easy at first. As she moved higher though, the ground became treacherous, and Ylva grasped at trees to pull herself up the mountainside. Rough bark scratched her already-callused hands. Sharp twigs snagged at her fur cloak.

  The air was colder the higher she climbed, and Ylva’s breath came in heavy gulps, but she pushed up and up. This would be in her saga, of course. The difficult climb up the mountainside to confront the three-fingered man. The travelling storytellers would tell it as a long and dangerous journey in a foreign land, lowering their voices to make the listeners draw close around the fire in the great hall.

  ‘Without hesitation, Ylva the Fearless climbed the crooked mountain using the rowan trees for grip, just as Thor used one to cross the Vimur . . .’ they would say.

  By the time she reached level ground, the sun had dipped below the treetops and the light in the forest was dim and grainy.

  Ylva dropped the blanket roll at the base of a papery-barked silver birch, and shrugged off her satchel. She camouflaged her belongings with armfuls of sticks, and put her mouth close to Geri’s soft ear.

  ‘We have to be quiet now,’ she whispered.

  Geri licked his lips and whined.

  ‘Please.’ She put her arms around him. ‘Not a sound.’

  She held him close for a moment, feeling the softness of his fur and breathing his reassuring smell. In that instant she was transported home to a summer’s day in her village by the sea, with Mother humming songs as she worked on the loom.

  ‘No.’ Ylva released him and put an arrow to the string of her bow. ‘I haven’t time for that.’ She set off towards the smoke.

  Ylva crept through forest understorey thick with shrubs and dogwood. All around, the trees whispered as the wind teased through their knotted branches. The smell of pine and smoke hung in the freezing air.

  Ylva felt nothing but the rapid beat of her own heart. She heard nothing but—

  ‘. . . if you ask me . . .’

  The snatch of conversation made her stop. She listened hard, but the wind only allowed her those four words. Now there was just the white noise of the forest and the crackle of twigs dropping through the branches. Ylva waited before creeping on into the dying day, and when she was closer to the source of the smoke, she took cover in the low branches of a juniper. Geri pressed in tight between her and the rough-barked trunk.

  Through the trees, Ylva saw a small glade, in which two figures sat with their backs to her. The glow of fire washed around them. They were not the ones who had murdered Mother, though. They were both men, and neither of them was big enough to be the three-fingered man.

  Ylva had to make a decision: watch a little longer to see if the people were joined by the ones she was looking for, or find somewhere suitable to make camp. The longer she waited, the less light she would have. As it was, there was barely enough time for her to—

  Shhhhhhk.

  It was the unmistakeable sound of a blade sliding from its sheath.

  ‘You spying on us?’

  Ylva let out her breath and lowered her eyes to the ground.

  ‘Take the arrow away from the string, and turn around. Do it slowly. I’m the nervous type and you don’t want to make me jumpy.’

  Ylva stayed as she was.

  ‘There’s no use pretending I can’t see you, or that you didn’t hear me. I see you as clearly as I know my own name. That tree isn’t going to swallow you up, no matter how close you get to it, so I won’t ask again. Do you want to remain in this world, or shall I send you to another?’

  Ylva shifted her eyes to see Geri, his black and grey fur camouflaged by the grainy light and the thick foliage of the juniper. ‘Stay calm,’ she whispered to him. ‘Please. And keep quiet. I don’t need you right now. I have to be strong.’

  ‘Who are you talking to? Who else is in there?’

  ‘No one.’ Ylva stood and turned to face the man. ‘There’s no one there.’

  ‘Hm.’ The man had a hungry look. He was tall and thin, with a narrow face. What little hair was on his dirty head stood up on end as if he’d been struck by lightning. Khol-ringed pale eyes stared from beneath heavy eyebrows. A thick wolfskin cloak was fastened around his shoulders, and he wore sheepskin breeches that made him look like he was half goat. In his right hand, he carried an axe with a bloodstained handle, while his left held a sword pointed towards Ylva.

  ‘You sure there’s no one else in there?’ Keeping his sword steady, the man edged forward and reached out with his axe to part the branches of the juniper where Ylva had been hiding. He took his eyes off Ylva for no longer than a heartbeat at a time as he searched. ‘You were talking to someone.’

  ‘Myself,’ Ylva said. ‘I talk to myself sometimes.’

  ‘Hm.’ Finding nothing, the man stepped back and scanned left and right before finally settling his full gaze on Ylva. He grinned, displaying a set of pointed teeth. ‘Are you lost?’ He cast his eyes around without moving his head.

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ Ylva said.

  ‘Good. Good. And well done, because you’ve succeeded – you have found someone.’ He made a curious giggling sound and his eyes settled on the bow Ylva was holding. ‘But did you find the right someone?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘And you’re a Dane.’ He kept the sword pointed towards her. ‘
You don’t speak like a Saxon, and you certainly don’t look like one.’

  ‘Yes. I am.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He glanced over Ylva’s shoulder and giggled again. ‘The night is getting cold, but we have a good fire, and we have warm ale.’ He nodded at the weapon in her hands. ‘If you let me take that, you can join us and share.’

  ‘I don’t want to join you.’ Ylva made a move to step around him, but the man put out his sword and pressed the flat of the blade against her arm to stop her.

  He lowered his voice and looked right into her eyes. ‘I insist.’

  ‘Arvid, put your sword away.’ A voice came from behind. ‘You’re scaring the poor child.’

  One of the men must have left the fire, drawn by the sound of voices, but Ylva didn’t take her eyes off the goat-man, and he didn’t take his eyes off her. He kept the sword firm against her arm and bared his sharp teeth.

  ‘I told you to put it away,’ the second man said as he came to stand beside them. He was taller than the goat-man, broad and strong, with a kind face. He stared at Arvid the goat-man and put his hand on the blade of the sword until Arvid finally lowered it and slipped it back into its sheath.

  Shhhhhhk.

  ‘Good. Can’t you see she’s just a child?’ The second man ran a hand down his thick dark beard and smiled at Ylva. His teeth were not filed to points like the goat-man’s, but they were marked by thick horizontal grooves with red dye etched into them. ‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ he said.

  ‘Then you’ll let me go on my way.’ Ylva kept the arrow against the string of her bow.

  ‘We won’t stop you.’ The man opened his hands and clapped them together. ‘But it’s getting darker with every breath we take, and it’s colder than Niflheim.’ He rubbed his palms hard as if to warm them. ‘I can see you shivering, and I feel it deep in my own bones.’ He looked around. ‘And there are wolves in these forests. It’s no place for a man to be alone, never mind a child.’