The first mistake they made was turning back to trolls in her chamber. As they struggled out of the door on knuckles and knees, she gained a small lead.
She could only see them because the light from her skylights spilled into the passageway, but the sconces were no longer lit. It may be daylight, but within the palace it was black as a tomb and she flew down the steps in pure darkness, the thud of massive footsteps behind her.
A troll cried out as it fell down the stairs, and the others slowed their chase.
Hands outstretched, she raced across the massive hall to the door, running too fast to stop herself slamming into the stone.
“Open,” she whispered. “Please open.”
The rock did not budge.
Then she would force it open.
Air in the palace, to me. She commanded the wind with her thoughts, desperate not to make another sound. The first brush of air on her face made her lean weakly back against the rock.
It had worked.
The trolls could be anywhere. Right on top of her, for all she knew. And she needed time.
With regretful, shaking fingers, she pulled her carved bear out of her sack and pitched it as hard as she could at the far wall. It skittered on the smooth granite and made a satisfying thunk as it hit its target.
She heard a grunt, and the sound of footsteps in that direction, but not three sets. At least one still stood, listening.
She could feel the pressure building as the air flowed toward her. As much strength as you have to offer. I must open this entrance.
As soon as she’d thought it, the pressure increased, the air whistling as it moved to her. Filling the hall with an eerie sound.
Her hair whipped her face, the wool of her dress flattened against her body, and she took the strain herself, gripping what handholds she could find in the stone and pushing with all her might.
The trolls were muttering, uneasy. And the one who’d been listening took a step toward her, his footfall a clear slap of sound on the polished floor.
The air was now like the blast of wind through a narrow gorge, concentrated, terrifying, its fingers digging into the fine crack that separated the stone door from the wall of mountain. The pitch of its whistle grew higher and higher as it cried out in exertion.
Astrid’s ears ached.
She felt the door move. A miniscule jerk. She strained against the rock, grazing her hands, pushing harder. The shriek and whistle of the wind was deafening.
Hurry.
If the trolls were coming closer, she could no longer hear them. But she could smell them. The air blasted their scent at her. The smell of rock, lichen and moss.
The door inched wider, vibrating with the strain, and a tiny crack of light penetrated the hall.
They would see her. Panic gripped her as she pressed back against the rock.
She knew the moment they had. One gave a cry of triumph loud enough to be heard over the pounding noise of air, and the thin line of light from outside illuminated it, a strange stripe of brightness, as it leapt at her.
Astrid was forming her scream when the troll was batted back, the wind turning its full force toward it for a moment. The troll stumbled and fell, and the air went back to work, howling in the confined space.
In the growing light, she saw the trolls look at one another. Nervous and confused. Their hesitation gave her the time she needed, and with a final shove, the door moved just enough to let her through.
She dived through the narrow gap, grazing her shoulders, and the moment she was through the air ceased pushing. The gate snapped back with a grinding screech that set her teeth on edge.
She lay on the ground for only a moment. How long would it take the trolls to get out the palace?
Astrid didn’t wait to find out.
Chapter Twenty-three
She was gathering the wind to her, running full tilt at the trees to make her first leap when an yggren stepped into her path.
She was going too fast on the slithering stones, and she willed the wind, like a limb, like a part of herself, to lift her up, and she jumped.
As she sailed high above the yggren’s head, she looked down, giddy with delight and fear, and saw it had craned back its neck to look at her. Its bark-brown gaze alien and unreadable.
“Do not run,” it called in the strange, high call she’d heard before. “I am not your enemy.”
Astrid landed hard enough to jolt her legs, stumbled and raced on, readying herself for another leap.
“Stop.”
Jorgen stepped from the cool shadows of the trees, blocking her way. He was too close to jump over, too close for anything but collision.
She slammed into him and he went over like a felled oak, taking the brunt of impact on the cold, hard forest floor.
Astrid rolled off him, but before she could find her feet he had a lock on her legs.
“Wait, my lady. This yggren can be trusted.”
“It isn’t with the trolls?” she gasped out, and saw the flash of surprise in his eyes.
“Trolls?”
“In the palace.” She sucked in air. “Tried to kill me.”
“Where is Bjorn?”
There was no mistaking the panic, the fear for Bjorn in his voice, and Astrid let herself flop gratefully back to the ground, her eyes closed. He had not betrayed her.
“Norga took Bjorn at dawn.” Her throat was suddenly bone dry, every word painful to speak.
The yggren gave a cry, and Astrid sat up again, looking at it warily.
“The bargain is lost?”
Jorgen’s face, the sorrow, the despair, mirrored Astrid’s own.
“Oh, Jorgen. I am sorry. It was my fault. I had a candle and I lit it last night to care for his wounds. I saw him as a man.”
“After everything . . .”
Jorgen sat back down, pale under his dark skin.
The sound of stone crunching beneath running feet filtered through the trees.
“The trolls.” Astrid leapt up, grabbing Jorgen under his arms and hauling him with all her might.
“Leave the trolls to us,” the yggren said, its voice like the shriek of two branches rubbing together in the wind. It let out a cry, strange and terrible, and suddenly there were yggren all around.
Before she could even count how many, they were gone in their disturbing way; faster than a blink, the crackle of leaves and the swish of disturbed branches the only sound of their leaving.
Astrid shivered. “Jorgen, quickly. I must know. Have you heard of the place that is east of the sun and west of the moon?”
Jorgen blinked, his old self again. He shook his head. “That’s where Bjorn is?”
“Yes and I am going to find him.”
From behind them, between the trees, they both heard the queer, high-pitched scream of a creature in pain. It cut off abruptly.
Astrid glanced back uneasily. “I need to know the best way to start.”
“You are going on a journey?” The yggren was back, no mark on it. It might never have been away.
Astrid could not look it in the eye after it had just shed blood for her. “Why are you helping me?”
The yggren bent down on one knee. “I gave Bjorn my loyalty. So did the others. It is a mystery to us why two of our own broke their word, but we have not. Will not.”
The declaration touched her, and she nodded. “I seek the place east of the sun, west of the moon. Do you know it?”
“I have heard of it, but do not know where to find it.” The yggren cocked its head like a bird. “Why do you not ask your loyal subjects, Wind Hag? Does the wind not go everywhere?”
Wind Hag. Was she?
Of course she was. Since the moment Bjorn asked her, she’d known it, deep within.
She bent her head. “I’m a poor mistress of the wind. I can command it, but cannot talk with it.”
The yggren shrugged. “These local air sprites do you good service, my lady, but they are not the same as the great winds.” He gesture
d east. “Perhaps the East Wind will know, if this place is east?”
The East Wind. Power seemed to lift up from her feet, to flow through every part of her. “I am in your debt, yggren.”
“We will watch for your safety where we can.” It stood, and then, in a blink it was gone.
“If I could be of help, I would go with you.” Jorgen watched her, his face unreadable. “My power is tied to this place, and I am more useful here.”
Astrid went down on her knees before him, and bowed her head. “Thank you for everything, my friend. More than anyone else, Bjorn and I are in your debt.”
He was before her in an instant, hauling her to her feet.
“You do not bow to me, my lady.”
“I am only your lady if I can recover your lord.” She smiled at the surprise on his face. “But I plan to.” She leaned forward and kissed him on each cheek. “I will get him back.”
* * *
Astrid was freezing. She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering.
A snow-topped mountain stood straight ahead, its slopes glowing red and gold in the setting sun. Giving a false impression of warmth.
The wind had carried her in great leaps east, but like her, it had begun to tire, the jumps becoming lower and shorter as the day wore on. And now dusk was seeping across the winter sky and she had no cloak.
She needed to find shelter.
She’d seen a light earlier, as she approached the end of the valley, winking through the trees at the foot of the mountain, and she jumped one last time to land just in front of the treeline.
She straightened her dress but her hair was beyond help. Whipped and twisted into knots, it stood out from her face like a writhing nest of snakes, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She made her way through the tall pines, wincing at every step. She could smell the wood smoke as she got closer to the light, the sweet smoky scent mingling with the aroma of a stew or broth.
Her stomach growled.
What if they turned her away?
She felt the light touch of the wind on her shoulder, felt the air sprites crowding behind her, and she took comfort.
If she was turned away, so be it. She would manage.
She pulled her spine straighter and followed a narrow path just visible in the gloom. It led her with a twist and a turn around massive pines, and there, nestled with its back against the mountainside, was a small cottage.
Light spilled from the edges of the shutters, and as she approached a horse whinnied from an outbuilding attached to the side of the little house.
She came to the rough wooden front door, and after a moment of hesitation, knocked three times.
There was a shuffle from within, and the door was opened by a tiny old woman, wizened as an end-of-winter apple, with cheeks just as rosy. She stood protectively in the narrow wedge of light, blocking any view of the interior.
“Yes?” Her eyes, beady and dark brown, missed nothing. They took in her worn and ragged dress, and lingered on her hair.
“I . . . I come to seek shelter for the night, mistress.” Astrid winced. Even through all the years of poverty with her father, she had never had to ask for the charity of another. Her father’s pride would not allow it.
“Who are you?”
Astrid hesitated. Who was she? Just a short time ago, she would have had no trouble answering this question. “I am Astrid.”
“And why are you traveling so late?” The old woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I am looking for the East Wind.”
“Ah.” The woman pursed her lips and looked over Astrid’s shoulder, as if she could see the air sprites.
“Come in.” She stepped back, opening the door wider, and the wafting smell of cooking, the gentle touch of warmth on her cold-stung face, enticed Astrid into the room.
The old woman closed the door, and Astrid stood numb within, the heat of the wood fire pricking her eyes to tears. Eyes watering, nose dripping, she took in the cosy little room, the far wall of which was the mountain’s bare rock face.
She closed her eyes to blink away the tears, and when she opened them again, the room had fallen away.
Chapter Twenty-four
Shock and fear froze her to the spot.
Back in the dark.
In some kind of cave. She could sense the vastness of it, the terrifying breadth and height.
Astrid could smell the damp rock, the stale air. She drew in a deep breath of it, forcing down the panic. Bending on one knee, she felt the floor. It was clammy, slippery with moss and mold. Slime coated her fingers.
Trapped? Tricked? What was this?
Somewhere to her left a single drop of water hit stone, the sound echoing in the massive space.
How did she know it was so big?
The thought diverted her fear, and she latched onto it. How did she know? She could see nothing.
And yet she felt the air. Instinctively knew how much surrounded her. Knew she stood exactly in the middle of the space. And knew, she realized with a little leap of excitement within, that there was a passage out.
She felt the air flow down like a stream of water into a large reservoir far to the left.
She took a step in that direction, and as she did someone—something—whispered near her ear, and she spun to face it.
“Hello?”
“We have a test for you.” The voice was gritty, earthy; the smell of rich soil and the metallic tang of stone danced on the air to her.
“Who are you?” Astrid strained to see in the dark, holding her hands before her to at least have some forewarning if something got too close.
“We see you have discovered the door. You have to walk to it without bumping into any of us.”
“What are you?”
“Not something you want to bump into.” The speaker sniggered.
“But I can’t see.” Astrid’s voice faltered.
There was no reply, and Astrid winced at the weakness she had shown.
She thought about it. The air could be her eyes.
It already told her where she stood, how large a place she stood in and the way out. Everything her eyes could have told her.
She needed to trust it now. To trust her mastery of it. She turned back to the opening and took a step, felt the air compress slightly.
There was something just in front of her, and she stepped to the right of it and around, moved forward again. As she made her halting way through the cave she learned the language of air pressure, of compression.
She wondered what strange dance she was performing, gliding, stopping, twirling around her unseen partners, silent and still, earthy and dark. She felt them loiter with an edge of cruel interest.
As she moved faster and faster, more and more sure-footed, she learned her connection to the air was far stronger than she’d ever realized or admitted to.
That it spoke to her on an instinctual level.
And as she took the last step to the passage entrance, she was so connected to the air, so close, she was certain she could fly up the narrow, twisting staircase she found.
Awe caught in her throat, and for the first time, she truly believed she had a chance of finding Bjorn. She was not just Astrid. She was something more.
She put her foot on the first stone step, and heard the shuffle of feet behind her.
“You take your leave of us, Wind Hag?”
As she spun, light suddenly seeped down the staircase, as if above her, someone had opened a door. Astrid’s eyes widened at the sight of the creature before her. If her invisible companions were air sprites, this was surely an earth sprite.
Deep brown, orange and cream, as if cut from the stone stairwell above her, streaked with the sage of lichen, it hulked and shuffled in the weak light. Unused to eyes upon it.
Its face was knobbly as rock, but in the angle of its chin, in the turn of its shoulders, she could see the majesty of a soaring rock outcrop, the jut of a cliff over the land.
She got down on one knee and bowed her head. “You have given me a precious gift. I give my thanks.”
The earth sprite was silent, and Astrid looked up at it, saw approval in its eyes. She rose, and placed a hand on its face, kissed its cheek. Felt the smooth, cool grain of stone on her lips.
“Was a time, thanks was given with blood,” it said gruffly.
“Do you wish it?”
“No.” It smiled. “Dame Berge wanted only to make sure you were the Wind Hag. But you are very different from the last one.”
Astrid found she liked that. Was freed by it.
“Go well, mistress.” It stepped back from the passage, vanishing into the depths of the cavern, and Astrid lifted her head to look up the long flight of stairs before her.
Dame Berge waited above, no doubt, fire crackling, stew bubbling.
She wondered who the old woman really was.
* * *
“So you are the one who should have married the Prince.” Dame Berge pushed a bowl of stew across the table to Astrid, and Astrid forced herself to nod, to not grab up her spoon, as her hostess ladled a bowl for herself.
“Eat, eat. I can see you’re hungry.” The old lady began eating herself.
Refusing to let herself behave like a starving beggar, Astrid lifted her spoon to her mouth, savoring the flavors on her tongue.
The old woman nodded. “You carry yourself well.”
At last, Astrid allowed herself to relax. Her legs felt leaden and the table looked as good as a feather pillow.
“How do you know the Prince is mine?” she asked.
“You seek him, don’t you?” Again, Dame Berge spoke sharply.
Astrid nodded.
“Well then.” She ate another spoon of stew, the matter obviously decided. “You may never find him, you know?”
The question revived her. “I will find him.”
“Hmm.” The old woman cackled. “I don’t think Norga bargained on going up against the Wind Hag, eh?”
Astrid looked up briefly, saw the cool intelligence in the eyes upon her, and took another mouthful of stew. “I only discovered I was the Wind Hag this morning.”
“Ho, ho! Even better!” Dame Berge grabbed up a loaf of bread and cut a slice with gusto. “Norga won’t have even the smallest inkling then, will she?”
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