by Anna Ciddor
‘I should have brought something to trade,’ thought Thora sadly. ‘Some of Father’s runestones. Or some of Granny’s magic cloth. I could have collected some extra eggs and feathers.’
For now they’d run out of things to trade. When they reached the next booth, where there were sacks of wheat for sale, Oddo shook his head and walked past.
‘What is wheat?’ asked Thora.
‘It’s a stuff you grind into flour like rye and barley,’ said Oddo. ‘Wheat flour makes the best bread.’
Thora was silent as they headed back to the boat. She was thinking of the witch with the fortune-telling bowl. If Thora had been a spellworker like everyone else in her family, she could have done magic to earn silver and bought anything they wanted.
The beach was quiet now. Everyone was at the market. As they wended their way between the boats, Thora felt something squelch under her foot. A jet of liquid squirted up her kirtle. She looked down and saw that she was walking across a litter of seaweed. In a flash, she had dumped her bundles on the ground and grabbed a handful of sea-pods. Before Oddo realised what was happening, she pointed one at him and squeezed it. A satisfying stream of juice squirted out of the pod, striking Oddo on the cheek. He gave a yell and dropped all his parcels. Laughing and squealing, Thora gave another squirt, then darted out of reach. Oddo looked round wildly, dived down to grab a whole armful of seaweed, and chased after her.
In and out of the boats they dashed, until they called a truce and collapsed on the beach wet, sticky and exhausted. After a few minutes, Oddo got up again and began to collect his scattered bundles. Thora lay on the sand, eyes closed, remembering old sea-pod battles on the beach at home with her brothers and sisters. In her mind, she could hear their excited squeals, and Granny Hulda’s angry voice cutting into their play: ‘You bring those sea-pods here and stop wasting them! That bladderwrack’s the best cure there is for my creaky old bones.’
Thora sat up and stared at the sea-pod in her hand. She looked around at all the seaweed lying on the beach.
‘Oddo,’ she called. ‘Would people pay me for doing cures?’
26
Thora the healer
Next evening when everyone else gathered on the beach to sing and dance, Thora sat by herself in front of their little campfire, cradling a precious bundle in her arms. She’d had enough of crowds. She just wanted to gloat in peace.
She bent her head and breathed in the scent of the grey-blue flowers, the flowers the herb woman called lavendel. Then she unwrapped a corner of her tiny bundle to take a sniff of the cinnamon – those bits of brown bark that didn’t look like anything special but had a smell so exotic she was sure they had wonderful powers.
The sound of barking broke through the general din of the crowd, and Hairydog came bounding over. She flopped down by Thora’s side, panting and wagging her tail.
‘Hairydog, what have you been up to?’ The dog’s hair hung in dirty, matted clumps and there was blood on one of her ears. ‘You need a good wash and a soothing lotion,’ said Thora. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right person, you know. I’m a professional healer now!’
Thora smiled proudly as she remembered the people who’d praised her that afternoon, and the silver they’d pressed into her palm. They’d exclaimed at her healing powers as she rubbed the soothing juices from the sea-pods on their aching limbs. They’d sighed with satisfaction as they drank the healing teas she brewed from flowers she found growing wild. She’d collected quite a crowd of customers. There’d even been a Viking raider, still dressed in leather jerkin and metal helmet, who’d hobbled up with a bleeding leg.
‘A cursed farmer slashed me with his scythe when I tried to take his sheep,’ he’d said.
‘Serve you right,’ thought Thora, but she hadn’t said it out loud. She’d seethed a strong decoction of nettletops, just the way Granny had taught her, and dipped in cloths to wrap around his wound.
Before the day had ended she had made a heavy bundle of silver, and then she’d closed her business and rushed around the booths to buy as many herbs and spices as she could.
She’d bought seeds for some of the herbs too. After all, if the rosemarin herb could grow in Sigrid’s garden, surely some of the other herbs could bloom in hers?
She hadn’t found seeds for the spices, though.
‘Where do they come from?’ she’d asked at the spice stall.
‘From a far-off land in the East – a land where it never grows cold.’
‘Then they wouldn’t like my garden!’ Thora had answered. ‘In this land, it’s winter for half the year!’
Hairydog’s cold, wet nose broke into Thora’s memories. The dog was sniffing at the lavendel.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ Thora held her hand protectively over the flowers. ‘Don’t you dare eat these, Hairydog,’ she said. ‘They’re very precious.’
Thora bent again to breathe in the scent and repeated in her mind the herb woman’s instructions.
‘Plant the seeds where the flowers will see the south. Pluck them in the height of summer when the blooms are full. Wait for the cool of evening and avoid the wind, for it will blow away the scent. When the flowers are picked, conceal them from the sun. Store them in a cool and shady place. Guard them from the mouldering touch of rain or dew.’
Thora closed her eyes and pictured a shelf of the storehouse neatly set out with all her new herbs. The sweet-scented lavendel, the herb woman had told her, was good for soothing headaches, dog bites and adder stings. The dill plant, with its feathery leaves and flat fruits, was good for curing hiccoughs and belly aches. But the rue, with its dreadful smell, was most useful of all.
‘Takes away giddiness, cures a cough, saves your eyesight, gets rid of fleas, even cures a sick cow. Does just about anything, rue does,’ the herb woman had said.
And of course she had her spices too. The aromatic flower buds of cloves, white ginger roots that burnt her tongue, crumbling cinnamon bark and the golden tears of a sap called myrrh. Thora was simmering with excitement and impatience. As soon as she reached home she’d start making teas and poultices, powders and potions. She was going to be the best healer in the land.
Oddo returned, out of breath from dancing, and stood there grinning down at her. For the first time, Thora noticed how shabby he’d become. His mother would be horrified. His tunic, which Sigrid kept fastidiously washed and mended, hung in tatters. His hair, once carefully combed, stuck up like the ruffled feathers of a cormorant.
‘Everything safe in the boat?’ he asked.
Thora nodded.
‘No one’s been near,’ she said. ‘Except Hairydog.’
She pointed to the dog, asleep in a hollow of sand. Hairydog’s ears twitched at the sound of her name, but she was too tired and comfortable to open her eyes.
Oddo gazed with pride at the goods stacked inside the boat. There was even a bag of wheat, for Thora had given him some of her silver.
‘That’s payment for my ride here,’ she’d said. ‘If you hadn’t brought me here I couldn’t have earned this silver or bought my herbs and spices.’
All around them now people were making their way back to their boats and settling down for the night.
‘Time for bed,’ said Oddo, unrolling their fur blankets.
Just then, Thora felt a cold wet drop land on her hand. She tilted her head towards the sky and another drop splattered in her eye. Murmurs of annoyance rose around them as everyone began to notice the rain. Thora caught Oddo’s eye and he smirked at her.
‘Go away, rain!’ he ordered.
Thora smiled with satisfaction, and lay down dry and comfortable. No more raindrops fell on their little patch. For a while she listened gleefully to the sounds of other people moaning and rustling as they tried to find some sort of shelter from the rain.
‘Oddo,’ she whispered. ‘You’re the best!’
But there was no answer. A moment later, Thora too was sound asleep.
27
Heading home
‘Will you have to do a shape-change to get us home again?’ Thora asked.
Oddo shook his head.
‘No. The trip back should be easy. Even when I come with my parents, they let me row a bit on the way home. There are strong winds and currents to take us north. That’s why it’s so difficult going south!’
All their purchases were carefully wrapped and they were just finishing stacking them inside the boat.
‘Hang on!’ cried Thora. ‘You can’t go home looking like that. Your mother’ll have a fit.’ She rummaged among the parcels and sprang up again waving one of the combs. ‘Come here and see if I can fix your hair at least.’
‘Stop mothering me!’ said Oddo, shooing her away. ‘My hair’s fine.’
Actually, he was quite proud of his scruffiness. Every rip and smut was a record of some adventure or achievement.
The tide was in and it was time to leave. The two friends dragged the boat across the sand and into the shallow water. Thora leapt on board, sat on the chest and picked up her oar. But Oddo stayed on the beach, staring back at the market.
‘Where’s Hairydog?’ he asked.
Thora looked round in surprise.
‘She was here a minute ago,’ she said.
The little boat rocked and began to drift out to sea.
‘Oddo!’ Thora sounded nervous.
Oddo splashed through the water, clambered over the side and picked up his oar.
Just at that moment a speeding shape shot from the marketplace, streaked across the beach and catapulted off the sand into their boat. Then it gave itself a vigorous shake.
‘Stop it, dog!’ Thora lifted her arm to shield her face from the stinging drops of sand and water.
‘I did say she’d find us again before we left,’ said Oddo.
Oddo and Thora fell silent as they rowed their way carefully between the boats packed close to shore. Then they were in the open sea and headed for home.
‘How long will it take us?’ asked Thora.
‘A couple of days.’
‘Your parents won’t believe we did this.’
‘I know!’ Oddo smiled proudly.
‘Are you going to tell them how you did the shape-change?’
‘I’d better not,’ said Oddo.‘My father already reckons I’m a freak because I tell the rain what to do. Imagine what he’d say if he found out I can change into an animal!’
‘Well, I’m going to tell my family about selling cures at the market,’ said Thora.
But Oddo wasn’t listening. He was remembering his father lying on his bed, still and silent. Maybe Bolverk wouldn’t be able to say anything to his son when they got back.
‘Do you think Father will be better?’ Oddo asked, turning a worried face to Thora. ‘What if I didn’t do the right thing to lift the bad spell? What will happen? Will your father’s runes work?’
Thora didn’t know.
That night, Oddo was looking forward to a quick meal and a long sleep once they’d beached the boat. But Thora insisted on exploring as soon as they finished supper.
‘I want to look at those trees and flowers,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get a chance on the way because we didn’t stop.’
For a while Oddo trailed after her. There were flowers everywhere, pink and yellow, purple and white. There were spreading trees with wide, soft foliage, different from the narrow leaves of most of the trees at home. One kind of tree perfumed the air with its fragrant yellow blooms. Another grew bunches of tiny red berries.
‘I wonder what the berries taste like,’ said Oddo, reaching out to pick some.
‘Watch it!’ warned Thora, noticing spikes on the dark green leaves. But she was too late. Oddo jerked his hand back and sucked on his pricked thumb.
‘I’m going to bed,’ he said. He stumped back to the boat, unpacked his fur blanket and lay down.
But Thora kept bustling around, collecting plants and tipping them into the cauldron.
‘What are you doing?’ grumbled Oddo.‘Go to sleep!’
‘I’m making poultices,’ said Thora importantly. ‘Roll up your sleeves.’
She stepped over to him carrying hot, dripping leaves and wrapped them around his arms.
‘Ow, they’re too hot.’
‘They’ll stop you having sore muscles tomorrow.’
‘I’ll have burns instead,’ Oddo muttered.
‘Don’t be so prickly. Now show me your hands. I want to see if you’ve got any blisters.’
Oddo sighed. All he wanted to do was go to sleep!
But in the morning Oddo was pleased when he found he could move his arms without a twinge, and all his blisters seemed to be healed.
‘Well, how do you feel?’ asked Thora, as she peeled the leaves off her own arms and hands.
‘I have to admit you did a good job,’ he said.
The wind was brisk that day. At first they rejoiced, feeling the little boat dance along.
‘Come on, wind!’ yelled Oddo encouragingly. ‘Blow us home!’
But as the wind blew harder it blew colder, and the waves rose higher. The Cormorant swooped and dived and Oddo and Thora had to cling to her sides for fear of falling out. The rain began to fall – heavy soaking drops, faster and faster till there seemed no difference between the sheets of water falling from the sky and the waves that hurled themselves out of the sea. The wind howled and Hairydog howled and suddenly Thora could stand it no longer.
‘Oddo,’ she screamed, ‘make it stop!’
Oddo tilted his head to the sky, and his eyes were blinded by the rain.
‘Okay, calm down!’ he yelled.
He could hardly hear his own cry over the din of the storm. But the next moment the rain stopped and the wind slackened. Thora heaved a sigh of relief and tried to dry her face with her soaked cloak.
‘How about a bit of sun?’ called Oddo.
He was delighted by the look on Thora’s face as the clouds dissolved and sunlight streamed down.
In a short time, the flowers and berry trees along the shore gave way to familiar pine forests. Now there were lots of rocky cliffs and seabirds. Oddo and Thora edged their little boat closer to shore, watching for the mouth of the fjord.
‘Is that the cliff where we looked for the eggs and feathers?’ asked Thora eagerly.
Oddo frowned.
‘I don’t think so.’
But a few minutes later they both called out together, ‘There it is!’
They were nearly home now. It was only a short distance to the river that would lead them home.
To Thora’s frustration, the hardest part of the journey home was rowing upriver!
‘Can’t we just get out and walk?’ she groaned, glancing over the side at the water rushing so eagerly towards the sea.
‘We’ll get there soon,’ soothed Oddo. But at the thought of home his heart began to thud with nervousness. What would he do if his father was still sick in bed?
The two of them were tired now. They’d been rowing for hours. The Cormorant lurched from bank to bank as they struggled to keep in time with each other. At last Oddo heard a distant bellow.
‘That’s one of our cows!’ he cried.
They dug in their oars and pulled with all their strength. Now that the end was in sight, they were filled with new energy.
There was a shout and running footsteps. Oddo glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother running down the hill towards them. A big man with bushy hair and a flowing beard was running behind her.
‘Father!’ cried Oddo. ‘He’s awake!’
A moment later The Cormorant scraped against the bank. Oddo threw the rope ashore for Sigrid to catch. He bounded out of the boat and found himself grabbed in a fierce bear hug. Bolverk’s beard smothered his face and Bolverk’s deep voice growled in his ear.
‘Oddo, we thought we’d lost you. Your mother told me you’d been gone for days.’
Sigrid’s voice broke in, high with emotion.
‘Oddo, what happened
? Did you get swept out to sea? How did you get back? Let me have a look at you.’
She prised him out of Bolverk’s arms, patting his shoulders and head, as if reassuring herself that he was real. Oddo didn’t answer her. He couldn’t take his eyes off his father. Bolverk looked as big and full of life as if he’d never been bewitched.
Sigrid turned to Thora and held out a hand.
‘We’re so pleased to see you safely back,’ she said.
Bolverk looked at the girl and grunted.
‘And Oddo, look!’ cried Sigrid, ‘Your father’s perfectly well again. He’ll be able to take the things to market after all!’
Oddo and Thora looked at each other in puzzlement.
‘But we’ve just been to the market,’ said Oddo. ‘I’ve brought home all the things you asked for.’
His parents gaped at him.
‘You got all the way to market and back?’ asked Sigrid at last. ‘But that’s impossible!’
‘Of course I did it!’ Oddo said. ‘I told you I would!’
28
Voices in the garden
‘I reckon that love rune did work,’ whispered Oddo, as Thora bent down to pick up her bundle.
‘I think he’s loved you all along,’ Thora replied. ‘It’s just that he gets grumpy with you when you do things wrong. Why don’t you explain to him about the magic? Then he’ll understand.’
‘Oh sure,’ said Oddo. ‘That’ll really help. He doesn’t believe in runes or Little Folk or anything to do with magic! He’ll just think I’m making up excuses.’
Thora shook her head at him, then set off for the wood carrying her bundle. Her pace quickened and her heart hammered as she neared the bramble bush where her secret garden was hidden. But the first thing she saw was a gaping hole in the ground. The entrance to her secret tunnel was wide open! And there were voices in the garden! She let out a howl of anguish and dived into the tunnel.