by Dan Smith
‘Protecting her pups,’ Cathryn agreed. ‘No wonder she fought so hard. But she was alone. Without a pack, no wolf could beat a bear. Not even one fighting for her pups.’
The she-wolf had burrowed a den into the base of a hazel thicket. A hidden opening that she would have used to provide warmth and protection for her pups. But it hadn’t been enough; the dangers of the forest had been too great for her, and now the bodies of her three pups lay scattered close to the den.
‘If we hadn’t frightened it away, the bear would have taken them for food?’ Ylva whispered.
‘It’s a bad winter, and getting worse. Everything’s hungry, child, and that includes you and me and the people following us.’ Cathryn looked up at the sky. ‘The fresh snow will cover our tracks. Maybe someone up there is looking out for us.’
‘I don’t think the gods are helping me,’ Ylva said. ‘It feels more like they’re punishing me.’
‘Well . . .’ Cathryn sighed. ‘The bear’s gone, I think. Time to move.’ She trudged back towards the place where they had left the horse, but as Ylva turned to follow her, she spotted movement by the trees. Her first thought was that the bear had returned, but when she saw the movement again – small and dark against the white snow – she realized what it was. One of the wolf pups had survived the attack.
‘Let’s go.’ Cathryn beckoned for her to return to the horse.
The pup was a different colour from its mother – black, with a teardrop of white on its chest. His coat still had the fluffiness of a pup, and Ylva guessed it was five or six weeks old, but the way it behaved was different from the way Geri had behaved at that age. It was more alert, and steadier on its feet.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ Ylva whispered as she approached.
‘What is it? What are you doing?’ Cathryn called to her. ‘We have to go.’
Ylva ignored her. She got down on her haunches and held her hand out for the pup to smell her fingers, but it jumped back, dodged around her, and ran straight to its dead mother.
Ylva followed it, crouching as the pup huddled against the she-wolf’s stomach. It nuzzled against its mother, then sat upright and opened its mouth just enough to show the tip of its pink tongue. Ylva was so engrossed in watching its movements, already forming plans for the pup, that she didn’t notice Cathryn approach from behind. The first she knew of it was when Cathryn reached down and grabbed the pup around the neck. She pushed it hard against the ground, grunting as she placed one knee across the squirming animal to hold it in place so her hand was free to draw her knife.
‘No!’
Cathryn put the blade against the pup’s throat and looked at Ylva. ‘It’s the kindest thing; it won’t survive alone out here.’
‘No.’ Ylva grabbed Cathryn’s wrist, hating the feel of the woman’s skin under her fingers. ‘Please.’
The pup was small and vulnerable and alone. Its mother was dead, but it was wild and fierce, with a will to survive, and the potential to grow into something special. When she looked at the pup, all Ylva could see was Geri. And herself.
‘It will never replace him,’ Cathryn said. ‘This is a wild animal, not a dog. You can’t keep it.’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘How d’you think you’re going to kill the three-fingered man?’ said Cathryn. ‘If you can’t even mercy-kill a wolf pup.’
‘It’s different.’ Ylva twisted Cathryn’s hand, trying to pull the knife away. ‘I can keep him alive. I can look after him just like I looked after Geri when he was a pup.’
‘There’s no looking after a creature like this. It’s a wild animal.’ They struggled against each other while the pup squirmed under Cathryn’s knee, and when Ylva saw she wasn’t strong enough to take the knife, she did the first thing that came into her head; she took advantage of Cathryn’s awkward position and the state of her broken arm. She shoved her shoulder into Cathryn with enough force to unbalance her and knock her sideways into the snow.
Cathryn collapsed hard and awkward, grunting with pain as she landed on her right side. Her broken arm took the full weight of the fall. The pup slipped away from her and scrambled back to its dead mother, pressing against her belly for the last of her warmth. Ylva regained her balance and stood up, looking down at Cathryn lying in the snow on her right side. ‘I won’t let you kill him.’
Cathryn closed her eyes tight and let out a long breath. When she tried to breathe in again, her face contorted with pain. ‘I think . . . I’m going to need help.’ And there was something in the tone of her voice, in the effort it took for her to speak, that drove an icicle through Ylva’s heart.
‘What is it?’ She stepped back, running a hand into her hair. ‘What’s wrong? Is it your arm?’
‘No,’ Cathryn said. ‘Worse.’ She rolled to her left, holding her hand to her side. ‘This is going to be trouble.’
Cathryn’s knife was not lost in the snow beneath her. It was right there, piercing her cloak, and firmly embedded in her flesh.
24
A Whole Lot of Blood
Ylva gripped a handful of her own hair and stared at the knife sticking out from just above Cathryn’s right hip. ‘You should have just let me save the pup,’ she said. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Cathryn grunted. ‘Or you could have just done as I asked.’
‘Are you saying this is my fault?’ Ylva’s thoughts were a terrible muddle. ‘This isn’t my fault. It isn’t.’ She turned away from Cathryn. ‘You should’ve just let me save the pup and then we could go back to the horse and find Seatun and . . .’ She balled her free hand into a fist and thumped it against the side of her head. ‘This isn’t my fault.’
‘All right.’ Cathryn’s voice was quiet. ‘It’s not anyone’s fault. I’m sorry if I sounded angry. This isn’t your fault.’
Ylva took a deep breath and turned back to Cathryn. ‘Really?’
‘Really. But I need you to help me. Can you do that?’
‘Yes.’ Ylva nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll help you.’ She came closer and dropped to her knees beside Cathryn. ‘What can I do?’ She reached out with both hands but stopped short of touching the knife handle. ‘I can’t take it out yet. We have to be ready.’
‘Right . . .’ Cathryn caught her breath. ‘If you take it out, there’ll be . . .’ She grimaced. ‘A whole lot of blood. If there are any more wolves, they’ll pick up the scent from halfway across the forest. The bear will smell it from even further. But I’d be lucky not to bleed to death before either of them get here.’
Ylva looked around. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Get the horse.’
‘Horse. Yes.’ Ylva jumped to her feet and hurried back to the horse. She unhitched it and led it back to the clearing. She threw the reins over a nearby branch and went straight to Cathryn.
‘Now help me sit up.’ Cathryn grabbed Ylva’s arm with her left hand and gripped hard. ‘Do it quick.’ She pulled against Ylva who dug her heels into the snow and leant back as Cathryn sat up from the waist. Cathryn sucked in a breath and held on to Ylva to stop from falling back.
After a while, Cathryn opened her eyes and nodded at her. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Good. Now I need to stand up. You ready?’
‘Not really.’ Ylva shook her head, making Cathryn force a smile.
‘Me neither,’ Cathryn said. ‘But here goes.’ Once again, she pulled against Ylva and Ylva pulled back with all her weight as Cathryn shifted her legs and manoeuvred into a position from which she could get to her feet.
Once that was done, she wrapped her good arm around Ylva’s shoulders and hung her head while she caught her breath. ‘Went right under my armour,’ she said. ‘I can feel it against my rib. Doesn’t hurt too much right now, but the pain will come. Later.’
Ylva said nothing.
‘All right. Get me on the horse.’
‘With that?’ Ylva looked at the knife handle, the blade disappearing into the side of Cathryn’s cloak.
‘For now.’
So Ylva supported Cathryn as she limped to the horse, and she helped her struggle into the saddle, using her shoulder to push her up.
‘Now go back and do for that pup,’ Cathryn said. ‘It’s the kindest thing.’
‘What? No. I won’t.’
‘Stubborn child,’ Cathryn said. ‘I can see that once you’ve set your mind to something, there’s nothing will change it.’
‘There’s no sense in making up your mind if you keep changing it.’
‘Unless there’s good reason.’
‘That’s what Mother used to say.’
‘I like her more and more.’
Ylva strode back into the glade where the pup was still nestled against his mother’s stomach. She grabbed him with both hands, tucked him inside her cloak, and returned to the horse.
When she climbed up, Cathryn didn’t say anything. She just nudged the horse and they left the glade behind.
25
A Promise
Cathryn rode upright in the saddle. Her breathing was heavy and interrupted by grunts of pain whenever the horse stumbled. Ylva sat behind her, trying not to bump her, afraid to make her pain even more unbearable. She spoke to Cathryn often, mostly to reassure herself that the woman was still conscious.
Inside Ylva’s cloak, the wolf pup slept.
An hour or two after they left the dead she-wolf, they came to a narrow ledge that rose up the mountainside. It was precarious to navigate – only just wide enough for the horse – and one wrong step could mean they’d tumble to the ground far below. But they stayed on track and followed it until they were above the treetops and Ylva could look out across the forest. Only now did she have a true sense of how vast it was. She was insignificant here; as unimportant as a single leaf fallen from a single tree.
A little higher, and the narrow ledge passed a series of openings just visible in the black rock.
‘Barghest Caves,’ said Cathryn as she guided the horse into the mouth of the nearest one.
Inside, the damp, moss-covered rock sheltered them from the biting wind. They were well protected from all sides, and the worst of the weather cut across the cave entrance, so there was barely even a dusting of snow on the uneven ground. Ylva had grown so used to the sound of the wind in her ears that the sudden silence of the cave folded around her as if it were solid.
She helped Cathryn down from the horse, settled her on one of the sheepskin bedrolls and threw a rug over her. She was shivering but Ylva couldn’t be sure whether it was from the cold or from the knife wound. The woman had done well to make it this far, but she was weakening by the minute.
‘Fire,’ Ylva muttered under her breath. ‘I need to get you warm.’ She took the pup from her cloak and put him down, then brought the bags from the horse. The pup sniffed about, but stayed close to Ylva.
Maybe you should forget about the three-fingered man.
‘What? No.’ Ylva looked up at Geri sitting in the shadows of the cave. She hadn’t called for him, hadn’t asked for his help, but there he was.
But look what’s happened already.
‘I’m not giving up,’ Ylva said. ‘I’m a warrior and I don’t give up on anything.’
It wouldn’t be giving up. It would be a retreat. Even a Viking shield-maiden doesn’t fight battles she knows she can’t win.
‘I’m not giving up. I made a promise to Mother and . . .’ Ylva turned away from Geri. ‘And to you.’ She chewed the inside of her cheek and muttered under her breath as she busied herself collecting the smaller rocks littered around the mouth of the cave. ‘And he took something I want back.’ She wouldn’t be persuaded to give up on the three-fingered man. She was going to help Cathryn, then she would find him. ‘Someone in Seatun will help me.’
She brought the rocks inside and began building them into a low, curved wall close to where Cathryn was lying.
Or maybe no one will help you.
‘Then I’ll do it myself.’ The pup followed Ylva as she worked, scurrying aside when it found itself tangled under her feet.
You’re not a warrior.
‘Hush.’ She pushed the doubt away. ‘I fought a bear and won.’
The bear was weak from its fight with the wolf. And men aren’t like bears; they’re more dangerous – even more dangerous if they’re Ulfhednar.
‘Get out of my head.’ Ylva gripped a handful of her hair. ‘I don’t need you right now.’
She ignored the voice and continued to work on the wall. When she was finished, she took a piece of narrow rope and fastened it around the pup’s neck as a makeshift leash. She weighted the loose end beneath a heavy rock.
‘Stay there,’ she told him as she left the cave and ventured down the ledge into the trees. She collected wood from the forest floor, searching for sticks where the snow was thinnest, and brought it back to the cave.
The smouldering touchwood from the pot she had found helped her give life to a small bundle of tinder that she prepared behind the curved wall, and she carefully encouraged it to grow by adding twigs and larger sticks. It was a risk to have the fire, but if she kept it modest, her wall would protect the flames from the wind and hide them from anyone who might pass in the forest below.
The damp forest wood took a while to catch, but once the fire was lit, it had an uplifting effect. Ylva was overwhelmed by how much a simple thing could raise her spirits. It was as if she had lit a small beacon of hope in the cold darkness, and she suddenly didn’t care if the fire was visible from the forest below. Her destiny was already decided, so if the gods wanted the three-fingered man to find her, there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The pup was wary of the flames at first, but soon moved as close as his leash would allow. He curled up with his back to the warmth, and watched Ylva peel chunks of moss from the cave walls. When she had enough, she shoved the blade of her knife into the hottest part of the fire, and while the iron heated, she untied the pouch from her belt and sprinkled a pinch of small black henbane seeds on to a flat stone. She was careful not to use too much – too much could be poisonous.
With a round stone, she crushed the seeds into a powder that she scraped into Cathryn’s water bag. She gave it a good shake, and encouraged Cathryn to drink it. ‘It’ll kill the pain. Mother showed me how.’
‘As long as it doesn’t kill me.’ Cathryn took a sip and pushed the water bag away. ‘It’s time to take it out.’
Ylva nodded. ‘I’ve got everything ready.’ She wrapped both hands around the handle. ‘Do you want something to bite on?’
‘Just pull it out.’
So she did.
Ylva had seen healers tending to wounds before – she had even helped from time to time – but she had never done it all by herself. The knife slid out more easily than she expected. More or less as if she were sliding it out of its own sheath. Straight away, Ylva opened Cathryn’s cloak and unbuckled the leather tunic that had been too short to protect her from the blade. She peeled away Cathryn’s tunic to reveal the injury, then reached across, took her own blade from the fire and pressed it to the wound.
Cathryn gasped. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the bedroll, like she’d passed out from the pain.
‘There’s not as much blood as I thought there’d be.’ Ylva wiped it away with one of the cloths from the saddlebag. ‘That must be from leaving the blade in.’
She threw the bloodied cloth aside and grabbed a chunk of the moss she’d taken from the cave wall. She pressed it against Cathryn’s wound, put a tightly folded cloth on top of it, then tied another around Cathryn’s waist to hold it in place.
When that was done, Ylva sat cross-legged beside Cathryn and pulled the loose end of the pup’s leash from beneath the rock so he could come to her. He sniffed about, then climbed up and curled into her lap.
‘That’s good,’ Cathryn said, making Ylva look down at her. ‘Twice you’ve patched me up now.’
‘Mother showed me how.’ Ylva felt the first touch of calm as she
stroked the pup’s small, warm body.
‘And the pain isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I think you’d make a better healer than killer,’ Cathryn said.
‘Mother knew things. She was a famous healer in our village.’
‘Of course she was.’
Ylva looked down at the pup and ran her hand over his head.
‘You know, it’s not right to put a collar on a wild animal,’ Cathryn said.
Ylva touched the rope around the pup’s neck. ‘It’s better than killing him.’
‘Maybe. For now. But you’ll have to let him go. Nothing should have a collar round its neck – person or beast.’ Cathryn looked Ylva in the eye. ‘Not a child either.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I know what you are, Ylva.’
‘You know nothing about me.’
‘I know more than you think. I know you’re not the killer you want to be. You could have left me back there. In the glade. You could have just left me to die.’
‘Would you have left me?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. Isn’t that why you helped me? Because it was the right thing to do?’
Ylva thought for a long time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it is.’
26
Monsters in the Dark
While Cathryn slept, Ylva chewed on strips of dried fish.
Outside, the snow fell over the forest, making her think of the stories Mother had told her on cold dark nights at home. Nights when she’d felt safe and warm, with the fire crackling. Or those told by the wanderers who came to the village and spoke in the great hall.
Sometimes skalds came especially to tell their tales at wedding feasts or at the solstice celebrations. There would be a sacrifice – perhaps one of Jarl Andersen’s best horses, or least favourite slaves – then Ylva would help to lay whole roasted pigs and sides of beef on the table. There would be buttered vegetables, stews, sweet fruits and nuts. And endless jugs of strong ale. Everyone would roar and laugh as they listened to tales of the gods, of battles with ogres and monsters, or they would fall silent at the stories of witches and ghosts that roamed the wintry forests. Ylva liked the way the stories made her feel – afraid but safe – but the tale she had enjoyed the most was ‘The Death of Bjorn Ivarson’.