Swaying, padding closer, the bear circled. Its nose sniffed at Thoddun’s remaining tracks, faint indented outlines winding away into the dreary distance. The bear hissed, raised its head and took one step back. Skarga was not sure it had actually seen her. She began, very slowly, to wriggle beneath the low shadow of the sled, slipping between the two blades, lying almost flat, peering out to the far side. From there she could see only the four huge paws and their black curled claws, part retracted beneath the shaggy fur. The bear was as close now as a breath. Its snout swung down, pointed black nose and two bright bead eyes, and it saw her and snarled. Skarga gasped, cringing back. The paw came at once, swiping under the base of the sled to hook her out. The claws, no longer part hidden, extended into huge dark curves.
Her own knife was gripped tight and ready, her gloves discarded for better grip. The bear, leaning in, peered beneath the sled. It reached towards her, slashing again with its paw. No longer wary of the other, stranger smells, it was hungry, it smelled her fear and saw its prey. Skarga lurched backwards. The paw batted air and retreated.
Quite suddenly her terror turned ice calm and her mind cleared. The sea bear shuffled, wary. Skarga peeped out into the tiny wedge of snow visible to her but the bear sprang from the other side. With a speed she had not expected from its bulk, it pounced from behind and the claws slashed into the thickness of both her bearskin and wolf pelt. Skarga was dragged out, grabbing uselessly at the sides and sled tracks, booted heels digging desperately into the ground, pulled relentlessly from her hole. She stabbed the paw that held her.
Hilt deep, the blade hit bone. The bear snarled and wrenched her into the open. She rolled out into the stink of its breath, but its claws held only fur. She flung off both cloaks, releasing herself at once, and with the deepest inhalation of breath she could manage, Skarga screamed. Flailing her knife, stamping and yelling, she danced, kicking up the snow into its eyes. It nosed the discarded furs still caught on its claws, then growling, lunged. The dark lips curled back from the teeth and with the same great paw, it knocked her, feet flying, to the ground. She was winded and in pain, losing both breath and mobility. The bear hooked the shoulder of her tunic, sliding her across the ice within range of its bite. She struggled to aim her knife but was held firm. The paw crushed her flat, the hot rot of its breath in her face, a stench of shit, rancid decay between its gums, and the avidity of overpowering hunger.
Then in an instant it was gone.
Skarga staggered up, ready to run, but one ankle no longer supported her and she stumbled, yelping. She crawled desperately to her knees, still clutching her knife. She expected teeth to her neck. But there was no bear. She fell back, rolled over, kicked up with the one foot she could still master and balanced herself on both knees.
Not one bear but two. A great surging vibration through the ground and up through her body. Fighting giants; two bears, one already bleeding heavily at the throat. Heads up, circling each other, one hissing. Both sprang, hurtling together with crushing blows. Teeth to neck and bleeding stripes to the snout. Falling back, thundering, the rebound of incredible weight, ice flying. Skarga forgot the pain in her ankle, kept her grasp on her knife and stared. She knew exactly who the other bear was.
The transanima, though no larger, circled with a strange human elegance. Its fur was silk, its eyes elongated and intelligent, its back straight. Both huge males, but only one planning its attack two steps ahead. Skarga saw the clarity of intention, the manifestation of experience and calculation. She almost thought it smiled. Then both bears crashed head on and Skarga cringed. The other streamed bubbles from the neck, open flesh and blood freezing to its fur. Now Thoddun was also hurt, left foreleg gashed. Both wounded, both fought head to snarl, bleeding heavily. Skarga, wincing and careful of the ankle which refused to support her, crawled slowly, backing away, danger as great from the paw swipe unintended, but which might crush her as it passed. The ground was scraped into scrolls and hillocks of snow. Then both bodies crashed again and the snow splattered and flattened, bursting beneath them.
It seemed Thoddun was down, his bleeding front leg bent beneath him. The other creature, teeth to his belly, was onto him at once. Skarga forgot her ankle and was up and running towards them. The other bear stretched its jaws, gouging and mauling the body beneath. Then it turned. Skarga was the easier target and it sprang towards her. She rammed her knife into its lolling, gaping tongue, then stabbed directly into its eye. It stopped so abruptly she lost her blade. The hilt quivered, forced deep into its skull. She grabbed at it two handed and thrust deeper into the eyeball. Blood and jelly splashed her wrists. The bear lunged, one paw catching her leg and throwing her. But from beneath, Thoddun had its bloody neck between his teeth and was ripping out its throat. It was already dead.
Skarga, thick with bear’s blood, fell back, gasping. She closed her eyes. Dizziness and nausea combined. When she managed to struggle up again, Thoddun the man was kneeling beside her. He was out of breath and panting. His breath was strained and heaving. But he leaned down and took her very tightly into his arms. With the exhaustion of utter relief, she leaned her head against the warmth of his shoulder and began to cry. Thoddun looked down at her a moment, his golden hair tousled in his eyes, and shook his head as though clearing bear mind from man’s mind.
“Your courage,” he told her softly, “is admirable, little one.” His breath was hot against her face, making her blink as she gazed into the immeasurable depths of his expression.
She mumbled, “Admirable? To be – admired?”
“We will continue this journey together,” he answered her, “and it will not always be easy for you. But we will continue in friendship.”
Her voice was shy as she added, “Friends. I’d like you to think of me – like that.”
“I do.” His smile warmed his face and lit his eyes. She had never seen him look like that before. “You did well,” he said softly. “Very well indeed, little cub.”
CHAPTER ONE
It seemed that nothing had changed at all. The empty freeze continued without interruption into the unhindered horizon. The wind swept low, cutting at ankles and toes, ruffling then smoothing the huge expanses of snow. The black night spread unchallenged.
But in one way everything had changed, for Thoddun smiled.
Intensity and attack, uncertainty, fear, courage and relief. Now it was relief that followed the bear attack, the rescue, and the survival. Skarga wiped her nose on her sleeve. Then she felt a rueful twitch of shame for Grimr would have cuffed her ear for doing such a thing.
As usual Thoddun read her mind. “Perhaps I’d prefer you not blowing your nose on my sleeve,” he said, voice still bear-gruff. “In all else, I believe you should do exactly as you wish. I have no further objections.”
His approval warmed her. He had never before shown such patience nor had he ever acknowledged her courage, her resilience, nor her need for comfort. Much of the time, she thought, he had never even acknowledged her existence.
Now she was exhausted but had her breath back under control, and mumbled, “I never killed a bear before. I’m not used to – killing.”
She was still sniffing loudly when he interrupted her again. “I’m grateful,” he said, his breath tickling her ear as his voice became more human, “that you recognised me. It would have been unfortunate had you killed the wrong one.”
“Of course I recognised you,” said Skarga sitting up at once. “I’m not that stupid.”
And he took her more fully into his embrace and, leaning forward, kissed the tip of her nose, which was distinctly moist. “Silly cub,” he said with what sounded like vague amusement. “It seems I am becoming quite fond of you after all.”
Skarga looked up at him in amazement and said, “Fond?”
“I should not have left you here alone,” Thoddun nodded. “The bear must have been exceptionally hungry to come so far south of his range, but I’m aware of the dangers, and should have stayed at least until the dogs
returned. My need to hunt disguised man’s caution. I am sorry.”
Still curled within the circle of his arm, she sniffed again and shook her head. “An apology is far too much,” she said. “You may even start being nice and that’ll make me cry again.” She paused, then whispered, “Do you really think you might get to like me?”
He grinned. “I didn’t admit to liking. I merely said I was growing fond of you. I’m often fond of the younger ones I take in, the cubs and fledglings.”
Skarga wriggled away and glared. “I’m not a puppy.”
“No, indeed,” he laughed. “You are undoubtedly less endearing than that.”
She wiped the last tears on the golden border of her tunic and sat up. Down the side of his nose were two dark claw marks. “You’re hurt. I saw you wounded.”
He was still laughing. “Did you think me infallible? But they’re little more than grazes. No, that’s not mock heroism, simply the truth.” One leg of his britches was badly ripped but only a slight blood stain soiled the edges.
Her own ankle was still throbbing and she had begun to feel sick. She swallowed and shook her head a little, clearing the fogs. “Does it always work that way?” she asked. “I mean, if you’re wounded as – something else, you’ll be hurt as the other? I can try and bind it up, but there’s nothing to wash it with, unless I melt some snow.” She sighed. “And I ought to wash some of this blood off myself. I must smell dreadful.”
The bear’s blood disgusted her. It was thick on her hands and up her arms, and had smeared onto Thoddun’s tunic as he held her. He looked down at her with a silent laugh. “Indeed. The scent of fear and blood, which is utterly delectable are the greatest temptation. Have I warned you that I found no food?”
Skarga’s voice seemed to grow suddenly smaller in her own ears. “And I think I’ve hurt my ankle.”
He laughed aloud then. “So deliciously vulnerable. You have no idea of your own danger, do you, my sweet? A predator always chooses to take down the young or the injured first. But since I probably shouldn’t eat someone who’s just tried to save my life, it seems we must both go hungry. How bad is the ankle?”
“Painful,” blinked Skarga. She pointed. “There’s the bear.” She swallowed bile and turned away. The carcass was spread, throat open. The flaming skies lit the pool of split blood. This time Thoddun was not angry and his voice remained gentle.
“No, child. I cannot eat my own kind. Nor will I hunt again yet. I Changed back too quickly before, and will not risk Changing again while you are weak. When the dogs return, I will take us on. Can you continue without food?”
She nodded. “But I don’t think I can walk.”
He put his hands beneath her arms, hoisting her firmly back against the side of the sled. Then he tossed up the pleated hem of her shift, exposing both ankles. “Which one?” he demanded.
She pointed. At once Thoddun eased off her boot and without hesitation stretched his hands high up beneath her skirts, curling his fingers into the turned fold of her stocking where the garter tied around the top of her thigh. She hiccupped but said nothing. His fingers were very warm against her skin. He began to roll the wool down her leg and when he reached the ankle bone, he stretched his fingers outwards until her foot was uncovered. “Badly swollen,” he said, studying the bruised flesh. He pressed his palm flat up beneath her instep. “Either sprained or broken. Move your toes,” he ordered her.
She could not. She bit her lip, stifling the whimper. Instead she reached across and pulled her skirts back down over her uncovered thighs. She had been shamed enough by nakedness over previous moons’ seasons. Thoddun looked up at her, then grinned. “Still frightened of rape, or only of being dinner?”
“I was just cold,” sniffed Skarga.
“It seemed remarkably pointless lying to someone who can read most of your thoughts,” Thoddun pointed out, and caught up two handfuls of snow, rubbing her hands, cleaning away bear’s blood. He scrubbed down the dark stains along the deep cuffs of her sleeves, then handed back her gloves from where they had fallen. “Well, let’s eliminate one problem at least,” he smiled. “Now, until we get to my own halls, I can’t properly mend your ankle. It’s undoubtedly fractured and needs a splint, but there’s no chance of that here. I must use your stocking as a bandage. The stretch will bind well. Of course, it’ll leave you cold again, but you can put my cloak over your knees and tuck your feet in, which is the best I can offer. I could skin the bear’s carcass for you, but without curing, it would probably make you vomit. This will hurt. Are you ready?”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but took her foot firmly to his lap and began to wrap the ankle with the soft wool of her own stocking, spreading its width as he bound, first tightly around and beneath her heel, then briskly upwards to the curve of her calf. She stared up at the dragon fire in the sky and clenched her teeth, making no sound. Pushing her boot back over the bandage, he was fast and efficient and she bit her tongue, swallowed hard, but remained silent. When Thoddun had finished, he flicked down the hem of her shift, and smiled at her with vague approval.
“Thank you,” said Skarga, trying to settle the heave of a bilious stomach.
“Feeling sick?” Thoddun stood, stretched, and looked down at her. “Pain can do that. The hunger isn’t helping. Do you want your knife back?”
It protruded still from the eye of the dead bear. She shivered. “Yes, please. I might need it again.”
He chuckled. “Being stuck with me, you might.” He strode over and retrieved it, bent and cleaned the blade carefully in the snow, and brought it back to her. He then recovered both fur cloaks, arranging his own pelt over her knees and wrapping the great thick expanse of it under her legs and feet so that she was swathed from the waist down. He put her own wolf-pelt over her shoulders and bent down beside her again, lounging against the sled’s bulk, head tilted back.
The huge swathe of leaping colours across the arctic sky which had lit the bear attack in a flood of green and crimson, were now fading. Thoddun looked for a moment up at the vast sheeting luminescence disappearing into darkness once more, their final curtains opening, to emerald arrows shooting towards the stars. Then he closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Very well,” he said at last, in the voice of surrender. “I’ll answer whatever I can.”
Skarga peeped around at him but his eyes remained shut. The expression of resignation and note of reluctant acquiescence did not escape her. She felt guilty about a number of things, but taking his bearskin cape was not one of them. Though he wore only the coarse flax tunic, rough edged and plain over a thin woollen shirt part open at the neck, and his britches, tied under the knees over his stockings, were now torn, in fact he did not look cold. A small trickle of blood had seeped through one stocking from the scratch on his leg and had dripped unheeded to the turn of his boot. His gloves were lying still on the bench of the sled and he did not bother to fetch them. There was so much she wanted to know. Skarga, though surprised, relinquished guilt and said, “What will you let me ask?”
Thoddun’s eyes snapped open. “Suddenly timid?” She wondered if he meant to be reassuring. He said, “You have seen me as I’ve never let any human see me, unless I’m hunting and utterly disguised. You know more about me than I’ve permitted any human to know before. It’s a good deal more than I like, but you show no repulsion and little fear. So now there are other things I should undoubtedly tell you. However, if you’ve no wish to ask, I’ll say no more of them yet.” He stretched back again and shut his eyes once more, but he continued speaking softly. “Though perhaps for the sake of simple decency,” he continued, “at least I should tell you this. There was an avalanche. My home is vulnerable to such reversions, but this was not a natural event. It was contrived. It was a direct attack. Now those tunnels are closed off and must remain blocked until I chose to rebuild. I may never do so. There is no need to think of that yet.”
“But I keep wondering,” said Skarga, “how you knew where I was. I
s it only a coincidence that your tunnels led right there?”
Thoddun smiled, though this time it was to himself. “Yes, I knew exactly where you were, and coincidence is never coincidental. Those tunnels were built long, long ago and not by me. I had allowed them to remain closed. Because of you, I reopened them. Now they’re sealed again. I am not entirely displeased.”
“It’s to do with Grimr isn’t it?” said Skarga. “You only saved me because you wanted to fight Grimr.”
Thoddun opened his eyes and smiled again. “You are wrong, but not entirely,” he said. “You are not entirely wrong and you are not entirely stupid, but I could have attacked Grimr at any time and did not need you as an excuse. However, such questions must certainly wait for some other day. In the meantime, I am taking you to my halls in the far north. Somewhere below us, though further towards the summer coast, some of my crew are digging out the main passage, reopening the way back home. Others will Change to their other selves, and swim or fly. Some will have arrived and are already preparing for my return. I chose to bring you by sled, in the only way you are capable of travelling. It is slower, but I can set the pace, sustaining longer hours, and travelling through the dark.”
Skarga asked, “Will Egil be there?” and Thoddun nodded.
“Of course.”
He leaned over and scooped crushed ice between his palms. It began to melt a little within the heat of his hands and he held the trickling water out to Skarga. “Drink,” he commanded. “You can survive without food, but not without liquid.” She drank as ordered, her lips against cup of his fingers. He repeated this a second time and she drank again, then for himself. He wiped his hands dry on his britches and smiled. “There are still at least three days of travel before we arrive. More if the dogs fall ill, or the weather turns. And of course, although we speak of days as though daylight divides night – it does not. In winter the darkness is unbroken, whatever we choose to call it. There are many dangers and inconveniences out here in winter, in particular since each day appears simply as part of the night, but they are all possibilities I have dealt with before, and am accustomed. Hunger will be your main problem. The difficulty of your ankle need not delay me, as long as the dogs stay fit.”
Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy Page 31