by Cate Martin
The toes were particularly deep. As if she had put all of her weight forward before leaping up into the air.
I didn't like the implication of that, like she had gone gladly. And yet, if she had fought, wouldn't it be her heels that stood out starker? If she had dug in and refused to go?
At last I went back to the hedge of undergrowth and waved for the others to follow me. Soon the space under the trees was crawling with people examining every trace of what had happened the night before. There was some murmuring, a few soft exclamations of shock, but no one truly spoke out loud.
"Jóra, are you satisfied?" Valki at last asked. Jóra was at the heart of the circle marked by the hooves of the horses, looking down at the final set of human footprints. She nodded without looking up. "Then let's gather around the fire and discuss this."
"What are we going to be discussing?" I asked Thorbjorn as we followed the others back to the lodge.
"Whether to finish the hunt or to return home with what little meat we have," he said.
"Finish the hunt?" I repeated. "Like nothing even happened?"
"No, not like that," he said. "But we still need the meat. And Freylaug is not coming back."
"That sounds so heartless," I said.
"Welcome to winter in the north," he said humorlessly.
"But shouldn't we do something?" I persisted.
"Do what?" he asked. "Ingrid, this isn't a murder to be solved. We know what did this. And as far as we can ever understand such things, we know why. It's done."
"It's not like we won't mourn Freylaug," Kara said as she and Nilda fell into step beside us. "Even with no body to bury or anything, we'll still have a remembrance for her. Just not here and now."
When we crossed the threshold into the lodge, we saw the others were already gathered at the tables, but no one was speaking. We were the last to come inside, and Thorbjorn pulled the doors closed behind us, as if the clearing even by daylight was not to be trusted anymore.
"Jóra," Gunna said to her sister. "If you wish to return to Villmark, you have only to say so."
"No, it would be very bad luck to cancel the hunt," she said. Her eyes were red with unshed tears, her gaze glassy and unfocused. But her voice was firm and resolved.
"If you wanted to go back, the rest of us will stay to carry on the hunt," Gunna said. "There is no reason for you to stay if your heart would be easier at home."
"I would be honored to escort you back to Villmark," Thorge said, resting his hands on the hilts of his long knives.
"No, I will stay," Jóra said again. "It still doesn't feel real. It still feels like at any moment Freylaug will just walk back in through those doors."
"Jóra," her sister said admonishingly.
"I know she won't," Jóra said, raising her chin. "But I won't go back without her. At least, not today."
"We agree," Freyja said, and her sisters beside her were each nodding, although Frigg and Freygunnar had tears in their eyes. "We'll stay until the hunt is done. Then we will return to Villmark and plan the best way to remember our sister. Our sister, the first person to be taken by the Wild Hunt here in centuries."
"Are we all in agreement?" Valki asked, looking from one person to the next, never moving on until he had made eye contact with each of us in turn and gotten a nod. "Then we should divide up for the hunts. Or should we all stay together?"
"No, three groups, as before," Raggi said.
"Too many people together, we'll frighten off the game," Thorbjorn said.
"Very well. Gunna, will you need me here?"
"No, Freyja and I can handle things just fine," she said. "We'll check for damage to the walls and make sure everything is sound before nightfall. The rest of you just be sure to bring us back plenty of fresh meat."
"Assuming the Wild Hunt didn't frighten it all off," Roarr grumbled from where he was sitting behind me. But he spoke so low I doubted anyone heard him but me.
"I'll be here as well," I said, raising my hand as if volunteering to stay after school.
"We'll be quite all right," Gunna insisted, but I had seen the relief that had washed over her face the moment I had spoken. My presence was going to be appreciated.
"Actually, I need to do some things of my own," I said. "Volva things. And honestly, I'm not much for hunting. I know Thorbjorn would've bagged something if I hadn't been slowing him down."
He flushed red but said nothing, and I knew I had confirmed his own thoughts on that score.
"Bag more deer than Raggi for me," I whispered to him.
"You just stay safe," he said.
"I thought this was the safest place," I said.
"For anyone else it would be. Somehow, I have the feeling you're going to start digging up trouble."
"I need to study my newest rune. And I'm definitely adding some magical protection to this house, strong as it already is," I said. "Where's the trouble in that?"
He started to answer, but then looked around. I looked around too and saw we had quite an audience of people who were trying a bit too hard to look like they weren't eavesdropping on us.
I once more found myself propelled across the room by his hand on my elbow.
"I really wish you wouldn't do that," I said, wrenching my arm free. "Just tell me you want to go with you."
But he ignored me, leaning in to whisper, "don't do anything about the Wild Hunt. Don't even try to do anything about the Wild Hunt."
"I wouldn't even know where to begin with that," I said, which was true.
Sort of. I had some thoughts.
"Listen to me, Ingrid," he said as if he could read my thoughts. "This wasn't a murder."
"She was taken before her time," I said. "It's not not murder."
"The Wild Hunt is part of the natural order of things," he said.
"More like the supernatural order of things," I said.
"Take my point, please," he said.
"I take your point," I said with a sigh. "It doesn't feel right, but it also doesn't feel like something I can set right. Good enough?"
"Not remotely," he grumbled, but I could see he was going to have to accept it. The others were already making their way outside, bows and quivers at the ready and cold lunches packed for midday.
"I'll see you at sundown," I said. I had walked with him as far as the door, but I had no reason to go farther. And I still had that strong disinclination to erase the bird marks from the snow.
"I'll see you," he said. Then he ran to join the rest of our party. They were heading west today, towards the better hunting grounds, and although they were trying to keep their exuberance tampered down, I could tell they were excited for whatever the day might hold.
Particularly Kara, who already had her bow in her hand. She fell into step beside Thorbjorn, matching his stride far more easily than I ever did. She looked up at him as she said something to him, and the happy glow on her face was like a kick to my stomach.
But I had to let that go. Again. Because I had work to do.
I had a rune to master. Spells of protection to weave.
And, whatever Thorbjorn said, a murder to solve.
11
After the others had disappeared among the trees, I turned away from the doors and towards the lodge's shadowy interior.
And saw Mjolner sitting primly in the middle of the room, washing his ears and acting for all the world like he'd been there the entire time.
"I probably could've used your help last night," I said.
He ignored me.
"Not going to tell me what you were up to at that hour?" I asked.
He finished washing his ears and gave his six-toed paw a final vigorous shake. Then he curled up right there in the middle of the aisle between the long tables and promptly fell asleep.
Typical.
I grabbed my art bag from where it was resting against one of the sturdy pillars, then looked around me. Without more than a moment's thought, I made my decision and settled on a bench under a sunlit window.
Gunna had thrown all the shutters wide open to let in the daylight. Soon I had my sketchpad on the table in front of me and my pencil in hand.
But I wasn't sure if I would be able to get into a flow state.
Not that the others in the lodge with me were being disruptive. Gunna and Jóra had finished rolling up the bedding and storing it in the cabinets and were currently sitting together on a table near the kitchen area with mugs of coffee and a little plate of cookies between them. The breakfast cleanup was done, and it was early yet to start dinner, so the two of them were sharing a quiet moment. They were speaking too low for me to catch more than a murmur of their voices and the occasional sniffle from Jóra.
I didn't know how I'd feel losing a daughter, but I doubted it would be the calm acceptance that Jóra was showing.
Unless it was just for show. I had had practice myself, not showing my grief in front of others, months before when my mother had finally passed after being sick for most of my lifetime. But if Jóra really was holding it all inside, she was going to explode before this hunting trip was over.
The only other people still in the lodge were Freyja and her son Martin. She had spread a blanket on the floor in another sunny patch and the two of them were building with wooden blocks together. He was just old enough that he was starting to pull himself up to standing with the help of the many handy benches. He would then bounce in place. Sometimes with just one hand on the bench for support, but he wasn't quite walking yet. His words were still all just babble, but he had a surprisingly deep voice for such a little guy.
I found myself drawing the two of them playing together, and then Gunna and Jóra sitting in companionable silence. It was nice just to sketch for once, simple sketches I wouldn’t be searching for clues later.
But I did have a job to do. I turned over to a blank page and traced out the shape of the Ur rune. It had a very solid shape to it, grounded and strong. It wasn't hard to feel the associations with cattle and yokes as I drew. It made me feel assertive just to draw it over and over again.
I turned to yet another blank page and let the pencil in my hand do what it will. It started drawing Freyja and Martin again, but more abstract than before. I switched from pencil to charcoal and drew them again, rubbing at the contours with my fingertips or the side of my hand.
Martin felt like a living example of Ur to me. But with his red hair and deep, happy voice, he reminded me of someone else. I drew in his uncle, Thorbjorn, standing over him. Not in a protective way, I realized as the drawing took shape. More like he was waiting for Martin to stand up, take those steps he was so close to taking, and join his uncles out on the hunt.
The sun had been climbing in the sky as I drew, and it reached a point high enough to shine over the tops of the trees, directly into my eyes as I sat near the window. I squinted against it long enough to finish my drawing of Martin with his chubby hand on a bench, reaching out with the other towards his mother, but then I stopped.
Was I bonding with this rune? Probably not on the first day with the first try. But it felt like it was going smoother than it had with Fe.
I turned to another blank page, but got up from the window and moved closer to the open doors. The sun was reflecting off of all the snow, but it wasn't directly in my eyes here. I settled my sketchbook on my lap, then looked out at the clearing.
The bird wing marks were still everywhere, although I suspected the full light of midday was going to be strong enough to melt most of them in a few hours. I swapped the charcoal for my pencil again and started sketching them. The feathery reach of the wings, the overlap of the pattern.
Every bit of it, every trace of a feathery touch on the gleaming snow, was glowing with magic. It wasn't diminishing in the bright light of day. It also didn't feel malevolent. I wasn't sure when amongst all the sounds of the night before that birds had made an appearance, but from the way the wing patterns covered everything, I had to guess they'd shown up just at the very end.
Was that deliberate? Were they some sort of clean-up crew, there to remove the traces of what had passed in the night?
And yet all the horses’ hooves, dog prints, and holes from the pole axes were still there. If they had hidden something before we stepped out at dawn, what had it been? Even Freylaug's footprints were still visible.
I was barely aware of my physical body now, just a vague sense that I was turning to a blank page again, then putting my pencil tip down on the paper to start drawing the trees on the far side of the clearing.
Then my awareness was totally out of my body, and I was drawing the far side of those trees where the marks from the Wild Hunt marred the snow. I wasn't drawing from memory; I was drawing what my mind's eye saw as it hovered above everything at the level of the tops of the tallest pines.
Then I started another drawing, this one from ground level, looking to the spot where Freylaug had last stood. My mind's eye within that clearing swept over every branch, every print in the snow, every broken branch, while my hand back inside the lodge took it all down.
Someone behind me sucked in a breath, and I snapped back inside my own body so suddenly I nearly fell off the bench.
"Sorry," Jóra said, resting a hand on my shoulder to steady me.
"It's all right," I said, but I was disoriented. My vision was all starbursts, like I had been staring into the sun without blinking.
"Here," Gunna said, pressing a mug into my hands. I took a large gulp, remembering too late how strong her family liked their coffee. My heart started racing at once, but my mind cleared just as fast.
"I'm all right," I said again.
"I didn't mean to interrupt you," Jóra said.
"If she hadn't, I would've," Gunna said. "You looked like you weren't even breathing, and you didn't even notice when I stood right in front of you. I would've been blocking your line of sight if you'd actually been looking at anything."
"I was... somewhere else," I said vaguely.
"That's Freylaug you were drawing, isn't it?" Jóra asked. I looked down at the drawing and felt the world rock beneath me.
It was indeed Freylaug, standing on her bare toes amidst a circling ring of men on horses, two dogs running around them all.
And I had thought I was just drawing the trees and snow.
"I guess so," I said.
"That's what happened?" Jóra asked. "It really was the Wild Hunt?"
"Was that even in doubt?" Gunna asked her.
"It was for me," Jóra said, lifting her chin at her sister defiantly. But her face softened as she turned to me again. "Did you see this? Like a volva prophecy or memory or something? Is this what happened?"
"I think so," I said.
"Look at her face," Jóra said, and Gunna came around to stand behind my other shoulder and look down at the sketchbook on my lap. "She looks so... what's the word?"
"Swept up in rapture, I'd say," Gunna replied. "Did she go outside on purpose?"
"I don't know," I said. "I didn't see that far back."
"Maybe you will if you draw again," Jóra said, with such confidence that her tone contradicted her use of the word "maybe." In fact, it sounded almost like a command.
"Let her catch her breath, won't you?" Gunna said to her sister. "She still looks so pale."
"She always looks pale," Jóra said. But she gave me the smallest of smiles to soften her words. "We're all red-heads here. We know all about always looking pale."
Freyja at the other end of the room snort-laughed at that.
"Do you need more coffee?" Gunna asked me.
"No, this is fine," I said, doubting I'd even finish the mug I was still holding.
"We're going to start dinner. If you want to help, you can join us when you've recovered," she said. Then she thumped a plate full of butter cookies down on the table beside me. "But eat those first."
"All of them?" I squeaked.
"Enough to get your color back," she said. "Come, Jóra. We have a mountain of potatoes to peel. Then there're the ca
rrots. And the turnips."
"I'll be along in just a minute," I promised, but Gunna just pointed at the plate of cookies again before she and her sister left me to head back into the kitchen.
Was she serious? There were a lot of cookies on that plate.
I took another sip of coffee, grimaced at its bitterness, then took a bite of one of the cookies.
Then I looked at what I had drawn. I wasn't surprised that Jóra and Gunna had been fixated on the image of Freylaug at the center of the drawing. Her face was the bright, white sun at the center of a whirl of darkness. It was a nice juxtaposition, and I was pleased with my own work, as unconsciously rendered as it had been.
But something else had caught my eye, something neither of them had remarked on. Perhaps they hadn't seen it. The lines that made up the trees that framed the image with their interwoven branches were so heavy and dark.
But here and there in the patterns of the bark were the faces of women. Or something like women. But every single one of them was within a tree, as if she were part of it.
I swallowed down the last of the coffee and grabbed a couple of cookies, then casually strolled out the door. I wasn't dressed for outside, but my wool leggings and knee-length sweater were warm enough for a short walk.
I once again pushed my way through the undergrowth to the clearing where the Wild Hunt had taken Freylaug. I stood at the spot where my mind's eye had been and looked at all the trees.
They just looked like ordinary trees now, as they had that morning.
I put my hand against the bark of one tree and closed my eyes, reaching out with my magical senses. The tree was alive, of course, but it was in a deep winter sleep, its warm heart low down in its trunk, almost completely dormant.
It didn't feel remotely like a woman was living within it.
I tried a few more trees, but they all felt the same. Finally, I just stood in the middle of the clearing near where Freylaug had been.
"Hello?" I called out, feeling a little foolish.
There was no answer. I didn't try again. I just put the last of the cookies in my mouth and headed back towards the lodge.