by Ana Mardoll
Her heart in her mouth, she poured her concentration into staying seated and calming her mount. When both she and her gelding could breathe again, Rúni was gone. Digging her heels in, she urged her horse into the chase, saving her breath rather than gasp an order to Torjei. He would follow her, she knew.
The Witchwoods lay west of the castle, a dark gash in the countryside where trees grew so close together that sunlight never reached the ground. Pink heather sprawled across rolling fields between the woods and the castle, nourished by blood spilled there during the war of succession that ended with Njáll crowned king. Only the unwise entered the woods, for bears and wolves lurked there—and the superstitious said worse.
Finndís had never set foot in there, though she had gazed on those woods from her window all her life. Now she paced the edge of the forest on her gelding, her fists too tight on the reins as her heart pounded in her chest and her horse tossed his head in protest at the bit jabbing in his mouth. Sucking in a long calming breath, she forced her hands to relax on the reins and made herself wait.
Torjei straightened from where he bent to examine the earth then pulled himself back into his saddle. "Tracks go directly in," he reported, his lips thin.
Torn leaves and gouged earth marked the area where Rúni had plunged his mare into the woods, but Finndís had hoped against hope the boy might have followed the treeline around to the north rather than enter the dark forest. She sighed and cast a longing glance over her shoulder at the castle. "We can't leave him in there. I'll go after him while you head back to rouse the guards."
Torjei didn't look at her but sat straighter in the saddle. "I'm not leaving you. We can go for the guards or we can go in after him together." He flashed a grin at her then, dazzling and insouciant as ever. "Besides, you know I'm the better tracker."
Finndís glared at him, knowing he was right. "You realize you're supposed to actually carry out my orders sometimes, Torjei? Royal companions usually do."
His brilliant smile didn't falter for an instant. "If I left your side, I wouldn't be here to obey your every order. So where shall I follow you now: forest or castle?"
She ran a weary hand over her face, pushing back her hair and wishing she had something to tie it up with; the dark branches ahead looked likely to snare. "Faint heart never won," she murmured, allowing herself one last look back before gulping a deep breath and guiding her horse into the trees.
Sunlight vanished and she found herself in darkness as her eyes struggled to adjust. Her horse snorted, each step was tentative and she felt the breeze stir her hair and rustle the leaves above. Over the sound of the leaves she could hear a smattering of birdsong, but otherwise the forest was strangely quiet.
Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Which way?"
"See the tracks there? He found an old hunting trail, or his mare did." Torjei pointed to indentations in the soft soil leading further into the woods. The tracks were wide apart and badly smeared, marking the mare's crashing progress, but at least the way was clear enough to indicate that Rúni had not been swept from his saddle.
Finndís sighed with relief, grateful to be spared a hunt for her brother's broken body. She guided her horse onto the trail with light touches, sensing the animal's nervousness. Torjei fell in line behind her, forced into single file by the tightly packed trees crowding both sides of the trail. His whisper drifted up to her on the breeze. "Finn, I'm sorry."
She wanted to turn her head to look back at him but didn't dare take her eyes from the trees ahead, not wishing to be knocked from her seat. "For what? Telling him Father wanted a daughter? He was going to put two and two together someday." She sighed and ducked under a low branch. "He took it well enough."
"No, I'm sorry I wasn't watching him." His voice, so low and serious, squeezed her heart.
"It's not your fault." She turned her head just enough for him to see her face in profile, hoping he could see she was not angry. "Torjei, he's my brother. I should have held his reins, but I didn't want to treat him like a baby. I ought to have been watching him and not allowed myself to be distracted."
"You're being unfair to yourself. That topic is painful for you, I know."
Finndís swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, unable to speak for fear her voice would crack. Torjei let the silence stretch between them for a long moment before going on. "I do know, Finn. We grew up together. I know you better than anyone else; better than your father or brothers, or the cooks or nursemaids. I know your heart, and I've never forgotten what you told me when I was brought here."
She must not cry. Whatever else happened, she would not cry in the Witchwoods while seeking her lost brother. But her eyes swam, remembering that first night when Torjei had sobbed himself to sleep in their shared room. She'd comforted him as best she could and they'd whispered secrets in the dark, promising always to stand by one another as friends even when the capricious adults around them did not.
"Father never believed me," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure he heard. "I told him when I was younger than Rúni, still just a baby. He thought I'd heard Leifur and Magni talking about the prophecy, but I hadn't known anything about it. I wouldn't have cared even if I had! I didn't want to be a queen or hold a magic sword, I just wanted him to stop calling me something I wasn't. I wanted him to see me."
His voice was gentle behind her. "I see you, Finn. Your father is a king, not a god or a seer or even particularly wise; he's wrong as often as any other man. We'll find Rúni, take him home, ride out this council meeting with smiles painted on, and everything will be back to normal in a month."
She took a shaky breath and tried on a smile that almost fitted her face. "Agreed, but I'm going to lock Rúni in his rooms when we get back to the castle. How could he possibly have thought this was a good idea after hearing how Grandmother Ásdís was mortally wounded in these woods? Little fool!"
Torjei's chuckle was as dry as ever. "He's a lonely little boy, Finn. He needs a companion. Maybe one of the visiting lords has a brat his age whom he can be persuaded to leave behind. Don't worry too much; he has his bow and knows how to use it, and it's early spring which means that the bears are still asleep."
"I'm worried for a reason!" Anxiety made her voice sharp; they were setting a slower pace than Rúni and wouldn't catch up with him at this rate unless he stopped to wait. She didn't dare go faster, not wishing to risk one of the horses breaking a leg or herself being struck by a low-hanging branch. "There are wolves in here, even if the bears are still hibernating. And something killed Queen Ásdís. Even without her magical sword, she wouldn't have been easy prey; some dragon or druid attacked her."
Her companion's voice took on a soft lull, calm as much for her sake as for the skittish horses. "Or she was wounded in the battle that took two of her sons, and no one noticed while she stole away to discard her weapon. Finn, he's going to be fine. Magic and monsters are the stuff of bedtime stories, and there are certainly none so close to your father's castle—"
A yell rent the silence of the forest, a high-pitched shriek of pain. Finndís gasped and heeled her horse into as much of a run as she dared, throwing caution to the wind at the mental image of her little brother broken and bleeding in her arms. "Rúni, hang on! We're coming for you! Where are you?"
"Finn, wait!"
She heard Torjei's shout behind her but was too far gone to care. Flattening herself along her horse's neck, she urged the creature faster, following the path of broken branches and muddied tracks Rúni had left in his wake. After what seemed an eternity, the trees widened out before her into a small clearing. The dun mare, bereft of rider and wearing an empty saddle, whinnied at the sight of her, happy to become the best of friends now that she was lost in the woods with no stable in sight.
"Where's Rúni?" Finndís knew it was nonsense to question an animal, but fear made her frantic. Her eyes darted around the clearing; no wolf surged from the shadows to attack her, no blood marked the ground where a body might have been dr
agged away. But there on the ground was a heavy indentation deep enough to mark where a small boy might have fallen from a saddle. "You threw him?"
Torjei thundered into the clearing behind her, wheeling his horse to a halt and petting its shoulder as it snorted at the sudden stop. Finndís whirled on him, her breath coming in short gasps. "She threw him. Look! She threw him, and I don't know why or where he is."
He was on his feet in an instant, kneeling at the edge of the soft earth. "Probably a snake," he suggested, glancing at the skittish dun mare, "or something in the undergrowth that startled her. He walked away afterwards, so he can't have been too badly hurt. He must've been dazed or seen something he wanted a closer look at."
"What could he possibly..." Her voice trailed off as she studied the edges of the clearing. On the western side, a speckled stone glinted on the ground; flat against the mossy grass, the stone was the breadth of her boot. Another lay beyond it and another past that, like a glittering garden path set by fairies. Finndís blinked at the stones. "What is that?" she whispered.
Torjei turned to stare at the path, his eyes widening in matching surprise. "Whatever it is," he observed with a deep frown, casting a worried glance back at her, "Rúni's tracks lead straight towards it."
Glittering cobblestones caught what little light filtered through the canopy and led them along a winding path through thick brush. They crept along on foot, having left the horses behind in the clearing with their reins looped around branches and their bits dropped so they could graze; the beasts were too large to thread their way along the gleaming path. As they approached an enormous tree bathed in shadow, Finndís was startled to hear Rúni's happy chirrup, high and easy, coming from within the tree.
His words were muffled and indistinct but he sounded perfectly content, and seemed to be speaking to someone. Finndís shot Torjei a worried glance as she stepped silently forward, her hand resting on the heavy hilt of her knife. In the shadows she could discern the faintest outline of a door: a flap of tanned skin lying flat against the bark of the trunk, almost the same color and texture. She reached out, letting her fingers graze the weather-beaten skin, then slipped inside.
At first she thought she'd stepped into a blaze. A fire burned in the center of the hollow tree, flames licking happily at a hanging cauldron, while the walls of the trunk glowed with a reddish light resembling embers in a dying hearth. Yet though the room was warm, she felt no pain and inhaled no smoke; soft breezes carried the steam from the bubbling cauldron through holes bored in the bark above her head. When she looked closer, blinking as her eyes adjusted, Finndís was surprised to realize the flickering glow coating the walls was a strange moss studded with the heads of tiny luminescent mushrooms.
"—so I asked Father to give her to me for my tooth-gift, and he did! She's the prettiest mare in the stable and the fastest horse we own, even if she is a little wild. I should be getting back to her, though."
"Let her graze a while longer; I told her to stay, and the clearing is safe by day. There is a pixie ring in the far corner and they dance round the toadstools at night, but twilight is far off and your mare is perfectly content for the time being. Now we must tend to another guest."
"Finn!"
Rúni sat on the floor at a low table that dominated the right side of the room and which was big enough for a man to stretch out upon and sleep; indeed, perhaps that was its use, for Finndís saw no bed and glimpsed rolls of thick fur bundled under the table as though stored away for the daytime hours. Rúni gripped a wide cup in both hands, the watery contents of which still smeared his chin, and beamed a bright smile at Finndís.
She tensed, expecting him to bowl into her with a hug, and was surprised when he did not. Her eyes fell on the wrappings tied about his left ankle. "Rúni! Are you hurt?" She wanted to run to him but refrained as she watched the owner of the unfamiliar voice, a strange shape hunched opposite him at the table.
She was a witch, for there could be no other word for her. Her ash-blond hair was straggly and hung in dirty clumps dotted with leaves and twigs. Her face was young but unnaturally pale and marred with pockmarks which spoke of hard living; a deep scar in her lip gave her smile a sinister twist. When she spoke, however, her words were solicitous. "He's fine; just a twisted ankle. Painful, but soon mended. I welcome you and your man to my home."
Finndís twisted to see Torjei lifting the skin covering the door behind her, then whipped back as the witch unfolded herself from the floor. A wooden wand the length of her forearm hung from her belt and swayed lightly as she pulled herself to her feet. Finndís forced herself not to take a step back, but watched the woman's hands in case they strayed towards the magical tool.
Politeness seemed prudent; Finndís gave a deep bow, keeping her eyes on the woman. "I thank you for tending to my brother," she said in a formal tone, anxious to express gratitude without incurring debt.
"Oh, it were no trouble," observed the witch with a smile. "Not the first little lost bird I've tended. If their wings don't mend they make a good stew, but this one will be fine; just a bad fall."
"We nearly trampled her!" Rúni put in cheerfully. "Rode into the clearing and whoa she was there, and my mare shied and threw me! The whole time she didn't flinch at all, Finn, just watched us. You never saw anyone so brave!"
Finndís blinked at his account and nodded in a cautious manner. "I am very grateful you are both safe. Now we need to get you home; Father will be worried. Come, we'll carry you back to the horses."
"But I haven't finished my broth!" The boy kicked up an instant fuss as Finndís had known he would, but Torjei moved around her and gathered him up in his arms in spite of the stream of complaints. Torjei knew as well as she that they must get Rúni away from the witch before she brought any harm to him.
Finndís watched the woman as Torjei struggled with the writhing boy, but she seemed wholly uninterested in the scuffle at her table. Her attention remained focused on Finndís and the two women stared at each other with matching intensity. While Finndís' gaze was wary, the witch seemed almost amused.
"I see you in my dreams." The words were offered without preamble.
"Excuse me?"
Her smile grew wider and the red glow of the strange flickering moss reflected off two rows of surprisingly numerous teeth. Finndís tried to picture her in full sunlight, wondering if she only appeared sinister through a trick of the shadows, but her imagination failed her; the woman did not fit into a world of bright meadows and warm castle halls. "I see you in my dreams. I can't think I'm the only one. May I know your name? I already know your brother's, but you are far more interesting to me."
Torjei looked up sharply but Finndís needed no warning; only the unwise gave their name to a witch. Rúni, determined to prove this adage, ceased his struggle in Torjei's arms and grasped the opportunity to be helpful. "That's Finn! Torjei, let me down; I don't want to go! Finn, tell him to put me down!"
Finndís swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, but the damage was done. She nodded at the witch, easing her feet back a step towards the doorway, anxious to leave. "I am called Finn, madam." The familiar diminutive was incomplete but not incorrect, and more than the woman needed to know.
The woman shook her head and the amusement in her eyes gleamed brighter. "You may be called Finn, but that is not your name. To know your name is surely a small thing to ask after binding this little one's ankle."
"We must go—" Torjei started, his voice a commanding boom in the small space, but Rúni squirmed in his arms again, confused and anxious to clear away any misunderstandings with his benefactress.
"Do you mean our long names? Mine's Rúnolfur, but everyone calls me Rúni. Finn's long name is Fin—"
"No." The witch's eyes all but danced now as she watched Finndís. "I wish to know your true name."
Finndís stared at her as the world slowed. Shadows drew closer around them until they were the only two living creatures in the world. Torjei was gone, swallowed by the
darkness; Rúni's chirruping voice no longer reached her ears. There was only herself and the witch, and a long wand of thin white wood that dangled at her side and glowed with inner light against the encroaching void.
"My name is Finndís."
Her words were a whisper, the secret slipping over her lips like water over northern cliffs. She'd held the word close to her heart, sharing it with no one all these years. Not even Torjei knew, though she believed he'd suspected the truth when she first asked him to call her Finn and never the formal name Father used. But her own name, her true name, had been hers alone until this moment.
The witch smiled and the amusement in her eyes softened to something deeper and kinder. "An honor to meet you, Finndís, and to put a name to your lovely face. I am Eirný. Wand-wife Eirný, if you are feeling genteel; witch Eirný, if you are not. We are in the Witchwoods, after all, and I am at peace with my nature."
Light streamed into their world; only the glow of the moss and mushrooms and fire, but blinding after the darkness which had enveloped them. Torjei and Rúni stood nearby once more, staring at the two women, motionless save for their soft breathing; she did not know if they had overheard or if the words had been spoken in her mind alone. Eirný gave the trio a cheery smile, brushing loose dirt from her filthy robe.
"Well! Shall I show you the sword, then? I do think it's time."
There were a thousand reasons not to go deeper into the woods with a witch, and Finndís was troubled to find she had rationalized them all away. The trip would calm Rúni, who had flown into a fit when Torjei had at first refused to go. Flailing and kicking, the boy had sworn to sneak out of the castle and return in the night if they did not take him to see his grandmother's legendary sword. Torjei was strong enough to wrestle him back to the horses, of course, but his expression was grim and Finndís could guess why; they would have to inform King Njáll of Rúni's intentions, which would mean confessing this day's events to the stern lord.