“Who else could it be?” bellowed a voice outside in the dark a moment later.
“He must have climbed out by himself,” she heard Rossan argue.
“Impossible. The cellar door is much too heavy for that spindly brat. Somebody helped him, and it can only be her, because otherwise the watchdog would have barked the house down.”
“Then it must have been one of the servants.”
“Impossible,” snapped Bandon.
Rossan came into the room with Bandon on his heels. He set the lantern on the floor by the door and came over to the bed.
“Eidi,” he called.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Do you know where Tink is?” he asked her kindly.
“He’s shut in,” Eidi answered without hesitation. She rolled over on her side and pretended to go back to sleep.
“Where does that door lead?”
Bandon was pointing with his stick at the door behind the stool.
“Into the stable. But that’s enough now,” said Rossan. “This is no way to behave, disturbing folks’ rest. And what can you be thinking of, shutting a child up—”
Bandon kicked the stool aside and opened the door to the stable. Then he picked up the lantern and went in. Rossan followed him. Eidi lay quite still with the covers pulled over her ears. She could hear mice rummaging around the platter under the bed, but she couldn’t risk chasing them away.
There was a sound like a branch snapping.
“That confounded boy! When I catch him I’ll wring his neck!”
“That ladder won’t bear your weight,” came Rossan’s calm voice. “You’d better let me look.”
Eidi held her breath and listened in the darkness of her room. Some time passed.
“Not even a cat up here,” Rossan called, short of breath. And a little later, when he had come down by the ladder: “Now it’s high time we had some peace and quiet for the night.”
Bandon searched the stable, poking into the hay with his stick, but at last he let himself be escorted out the door. Shortly afterward Eidi heard Bandon stumbling and cursing in the alley leading out to the street, then Rossan’s voice: “Yes, it’s not easy finding your way in the dark. Let me light you home.”
Eidi stayed where she was until the sound of footsteps had ceased. Then she got up. She called Tink, who hurried down to her. He was trembling all over.
“Hurry up and take off your trousers!” she commanded.
“But—”
“Nobody must recognize you. You’re going to wear my skirt. We’re going to dress you as a girl and me as a boy.”
Tink did as she said. She helped him into the skirt and found a piece of rope in the stable to hold it up around his waist. She pulled his jacket down so the rope couldn’t be seen and wound his new scarf around his head so no one could see his short hair.
She herself put on Kotka’s work trousers, which were hanging on a nail in the stable. She put on his old sweater to cover the rest.
“You still look like a girl,” said Tink.
Eidi grabbed her long, thick braid and stuffed it down the neck of the sweater. She took the blanket off the bed and made a bundle of the rest of their clothes. She remembered to take her scissors and some other useful things as well.
Then she thought of the platter under the bed, but when she pulled it out, only the three little pickles were left. They would have to start off without provisions.
She put out the candle and stood listening with the stable door open a crack until she heard Rossan come back and close the front house door after him. Then she took Tink’s clammy little hand in one of hers, and the halter in the other, and led both him and Rossan’s horse out of the stable, down the alley, and onto the road.
The sound of the horse’s hooves rang out in the quiet of the night, but there was a seaward wind that carried the clatter out over the bay, away from the house and Lesna’s ears. The sky was heavy with rain clouds, and now and then a drop splashed on their faces.
In order to get clear of the town, they had to cross the marketplace. And in order to find the path over the hills, they had to pass by Bandon’s house. Light was streaming from the windows of the big room, and Eidi hesitated, uncertain what to do.
“Let’s take the coast road,” Tink suggested. “I know the way. There’s a town at the other end of it.”
From Bandon’s house, they could hear voices and a barking dog, and Eidi wasn’t certain that she could find the hill path in the dark, so she decided to follow Tink’s advice. They would have to turn inland farther up the coast.
They led the horse cautiously along the quay, and when they were well outside of town, they got on his back and rode into the dark.
12
The sun rose over the sea, and its light found a way through clouds and fogbanks to shine on the two children on horseback. It touched them with a hint of warmth and the promise of more.
Eidi was beginning to realize what she had done. She had stolen a blanket from Lesna, and Rossan’s horse as well. She had left her place with Rossan, quit her job, and kidnapped Bandon’s child. Or rather his deceased betrothed’s child, or whatever one could call this skinny small boy whose hands were holding on to her waist.
“I can see where your braid starts,” Tink observed.
“We’ll stop for a rest in a little while. I’ll attend to it then. Keep an eye out for a stream, so we can wash our faces and get a drink.”
Before long they found a place. A little brook ran under a bridge that was part of the road. The rippling water was clear and cold, and it soothed their empty stomachs. The horse turned his attention to the withered yellow grass.
Eidi sat down and dug out her scissors. She handed them to Tink. “Cut off my braid as close to my head as you can,” she told him.
The scissors were new and sharp. Even so, it took Tink quite a while to cut the hair off. When he was through, he handed her the braid. She wrapped it in her knitted head scarf and put it in the bundle.
Then she cut the rest of her hair herself. She lifted lock after lock from her scalp between two fingers and cut off the ends, so at last her hair was the same length all over.
“You’re getting curls!” said Tink, laughing.
Eidi felt her head. Yes, it was true. Her hair, which had been pulled smooth by its length and weight, had now gone all frisky with its lightness and was curling merrily all by itself.
“You look completely different. You don’t seem like yourself at all.”
She looked at him.
“You should see yourself, then,” Eidi said.
He really did look like a little girl. The long knitted scarf hid his hair, except for what fell down across his forehead. Beneath this light-brown fringe a pair of gray-green eyes smiled at her. His shabby, skimpy jacket hugged his figure down to the waist, and under that the skirt widened out. It reached right to the ground, so that only the toes of a pair of brown boots peeped out.
“What’s your name, if anyone should ask?”
Tink thought it over. “Askja,” he suggested.
Eidi nodded. “And I’m called Eski. We are on our way to our granny, our mother’s mother, because our mother is sick. A fox ate our food while we were sleeping, and . . .”
“. . . now we need some bread and cheese and sausage,” said Tink, laughing. Then he was suddenly serious. “We really do, don’t we?”
“But our dear mother gave us a little purse of money to take along,” Eidi continued, shaking the leather pouch that hung at her belt, so that the coins chinked together, “so we can buy what we need . . .”
“. . . if there was any place to buy it,” said Tink, sighing.
“We’ll find somewhere,” she assured him, getting to her feet.
At that moment she caught sight of two riders on their way toward them from the seaport town.
“Look there!” shouted Tink. His voice shook a little.
Eidi listened for the howl inside her ear, but she heard only
outer sounds—the gurgle of water between stones, the cry of a gull, the pounding of hooves coming closer and closer.
Tink took her hand, and she gave his a little squeeze.
“Askja,” she said. “Remember, now.”
He nodded.
The two riders came right up to them and stopped. Eidi looked up. The one was a woman and the other—It was her stepfather.
“Good day to you, children,” he said, without looking closely at them. He got off the horse and went to fill his water jug from the brook.
Eidi noticed a big haversack hanging at the side of the woman’s horse. She went over to her.
“We’ve lost our provisions. Could we buy a little food from you? I have some money,” she said warily, taking a few coins out of her pouch.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the woman, meeting Eidi’s and Tink’s longing gazes.
“Burd!” she called.
The man came toward them.
“Can’t we sell the children some of our provisions? They’ve lost theirs.”
Eidi’s stepfather was close by now and looked down at them.
“What are you called?”
“Eski,” answered Eidi.
“And my name is Askja,” Tink said. “We’re on our way to our granny, because our mother is sick.”
“That’s a pity,” said Burd. “And now you have no food. Jona, let them have the cooked sausage and a loaf of bread, and the little brown cheese.”
The woman found the food in the haversack and handed it to the children. Eidi held some coins out to Burd.
“No, no. I wouldn’t hear of it.” He refused the money with a shake of the head. “A body can always spare a bit of food. As long as you’re not after my brandy,” he said, laughing. Suddenly he stopped laughing. It was as if he saw Eidi for the first time, and he searched her face intently.
“See here, haven’t we met before?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she answered. “I was at the market.”
“Oh, then it must have been there I saw you. There isn’t a market anywhere that I haven’t been at. We’re on our way to another one now.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to delay you,” Eidi said eagerly. “And thanks for the food.”
She managed to remember just in time not to bob a curtsy. He patted her cheek.
“Your mother must be proud to have a handsome boy like you,” he said kindly, and mounted his horse.
“Off we go!” he shouted, and he and the woman rode on.
Now they had Burd ahead of them and Bandon behind. And Eidi didn’t care to meet either of them again.
She broke off some bread for herself and Tink, and as they ate she told Tink who Burd was.
“Why, he seemed really kind,” said Tink, puzzled.
“He is, when he’s sober,” answered Eidi. “But now he’s on his way to a market, and then he’ll get drunk, and then I’d hate to have him get the notion that he knows me.”
They walked down the road leading the horse. Eidi didn’t want to risk catching up with Burd, but at the same time she was nagged by the fear that Bandon might catch up with them.
Then she caught sight of a narrow track winding inland off the road. And even if it might not be anything more than an animal trail, she decided to follow it.
“This way,” she told Tink.
They got on the horse and rode up the track, away from the highway and the sea.
The sun warmed their backs despite the cold wind. Orange lichen glowed on the gray stones. A bird of prey circled overhead, and Eidi drew a deep breath. Then she began to sing, louder and louder, till it felt as though she was drawing the pearly sky closer to them.
They had been riding for a long time when Eidi felt Tink’s grip slacken on her waist.
“Hey, I think you’re falling asleep,” she said to him.
“Yes, I guess I am,” he mumbled.
So they stopped and found a sun-warmed hollow, curled up like two tired animals under the blanket, and fell asleep.
13
When Eidi woke, the sun was low in the sky. Tink was still asleep at her side, and it was tempting to stay under the blanket until the next morning. But if they got up now, they could ride for a couple of hours before dark. Eidi didn’t feel they had gotten far enough from the town yet. She woke Tink, and when they had each eaten a slice of bread with some sausage, they continued their journey.
They had been riding over bare bedrock, where only a bit of lichen grew, but now the landscape was changing. They passed the outer tip of the stony ridge that Eidi and Rossan had crossed on their way to the seaport town, and now they came to the heath, where the heather had clothed the countryside in a furry brown winter coat. Willow scrub and dwarf oak trees stuck up here and there. And now and then a boghole showed a yellow warning.
It was easier to follow the track here than across the bare rock. It wound carefully in and out around trees and bogholes, but Eidi wouldn’t have liked to travel along it after dark.
“We’ll have to look out for somewhere to spend the night,” she said.
“Mmmm,” mumbled Tink.
He would have been happy to stay asleep in the hollow, and if it hadn’t been for Eidi’s singing, he would have fallen asleep behind her on the horse.
Then, in the distance, Eidi caught sight of a little light-gray block in the midst of the dark heather. It was a stone house with a single chimney, but there was no smoke curling up from it. A low stable stood close by. There were no animals or people in sight.
“That’s strange,” said Eidi, when they had ridden right up to the place. “Nobody seems to live here, but still the house doesn’t have an abandoned look.”
They got down off the horse, and Eidi went over and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so she tried the latch—the door wasn’t locked—and went in.
There was just one room, with a fireplace, two settle beds, a table, and a chair. The walls were whitewashed and hung with deerskins. The stone floor was swept clean, with only a fine film of dust to show that it was some time since anyone had been there.
What sort of place is this? wondered Eidi.
There was a candlestick on the table. She lit the candle in it using the tinderbox that she found on the mantel. A fire had been laid ready for lighting. A basket by the fireplace was full of dry firewood.
“Don’t you think we should light the fire?” Tink suggested, shivering in the evening chill.
“Get the blanket and wrap yourself up,” she told him. “First I have to find out what sort of house this is.”
“It’s probably just a hunting lodge,” Tink suggested.
“A hunting lodge!” exclaimed Eidi. She had never heard of such a thing.
“Yes, a hunting lodge,” insisted Tink, “like the one Bandon has. Every so often he goes off to it with Ram—”
“Ram?”
“Yes. You know! The old servant. And the dog, and they hunt deer and game fowl. It stands all by itself on the heath beyond the Gray Mountains—”
“Gray Mountains?”
“Yes, the ridge of hills behind the town. I’ve never been there. Ram is the only one he lets go with him. Bandon always calls it ‘his own place,’ and—”
“And this is it!” exclaimed Eidi in alarm, and dashed out of the house.
Outside she stood still, listening in the dusk: the cry of a bird, the whisper of a dry tuft of grass, someone breathing . . .
She spun around and saw that Tink had crept out of the house after her and was standing close behind her.
“Hadn’t we better get out of here?” he asked, torn between travel weariness and fear.
Eidi shook her head.
“No one will be coming here now,” she said. “Listen. There’s not a sound, and in a little while it will be so dark that it would be too dangerous to ride out here, with all those bogholes, even for someone who knew the way. We’ll stay here tonight, and be on our way as soon as it’s light.”
But she did
n’t feel very safe as they lay under the blanket. Tink fell asleep right away, clutching her hand. But she pried it free and clasped her hands under her head. She lay that way a long time, staring up into the darkness.
She must have slept. Her arms and legs were heavy, like stones, and she couldn’t move them. Then the dream stole gradually into her memory:
Bandon, who kept insisting, “I have something to tell you,” and she, who didn’t want to hear it, and could keep from hearing it only by waking herself.
But even now it was as if Bandon were there in the room.
She sat up in alarm and looked around her in the pale dawn light that was seeping in from outside. Tink had curled himself into a ball, as he usually did when he slept. Except for them, the room was empty.
She woke him, and after tidying the house they went on their way without eating. Not even the burned-out candle could show they had been there, because Eidi had found a whole bundle of candles in the drawer of the table and put a fresh one in the candlestick.
They didn’t stop until they came to a ford. Tink went behind a bush to pee. It always took him a terribly long time, because he had difficulties with the skirt.
Eidi sat down with her back against a stone. She unbuttoned the neck of Kotka’s old sweater and took off the gold arrow brooch that she had fastened inside it. She was just about to throw it into the water when her ear clicked. Before the howling tone could start, she had pinned it back on again.
I’ll wait, she thought. I’m sure I can rid myself of it one way or another. She didn’t want to have anything to do with something that had belonged to Bandon.
Later that day she tried again to get rid of the little gold brooch. As they rode she unclasped it from the inside of the sweater and let it fall on the path. And, so as not to be distracted by clicks and howls, she sang a loud song about working on the loom, about weaving rag rugs: how the dreary warp, the up-and-down threads, the daily drudgery, are there to hold fast the side-to-side weft, the thin strips of many-hued fabrics, all the color and festivity of life.
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