The Dark Horse (8 page)

31

When Gudrun asked me to carry her into the broch for the Spell-making, I jumped at the chance to do something important. Something different.

Of course, she didn’t tell me who she’d asked to carry the other end until it was too late to back down without shame.

And from the look on Sif’s face I guess Gudrun had pulled the same trick on her.

I didn’t know what she was up to—Gudrun, I mean. Not then. Playing her own games, maybe. But thinking about it now, I see what she was doing.

32

Mouse gave the Spell-making, and all was well. She took her usual place at the edge of the circles of people.

Then Horn signaled for Herda to give a song, which he did. At the end of the song Mouse turned to see if Ragnald had been impressed, but he had gone. He must have left during the singing. Horn sat glowering in the firelight. Herda hesitated, unsure of what to do, until Horn grabbed a handful of dirt from the floor and threw it angrily into the fire.

The broch emptied rapidly.

33

And how strange things became, so quickly then.

Sif and Sigurd carried Gudrun on her stretcher once more, this time back to her bed. Before they were halfway back, Gudrun was asleep, exhausted with the effort of the Spell-making.

There was an uneasy silence between them. Both pretended to be quiet for Gudrun’s sake, to avoid having to engage in the usual hostilities.

As they left Gudrun’s hut a figure stepped in front of them.

“Good evening,” said Ragnald.

Sigurd said nothing. Sif looked sideways at him and was silent, too.

“That was brave work,” he went on.

Hardly. But Sif swallowed the bait.

“My father is Lawspeaker,” she said pointlessly.

“Indeed,” said Ragnald, “and the Wisewoman chose you well. Both of you.”

Sig was silent still. Sif gave him another sideways glance. It passed through Sigurd’s mind that he no longer felt grateful to Ragnald for saving his life. He wondered when the change had happened and why. He had begun to distrust the stranger.

Ragnald spoke again.

“It seems to me that you two are the finest of the tribe here. . . .”

“My father—” began Sif, but Ragnald held up a hand.

“Indeed,” he said. “What I mean to say is that you are the finest of the young people of the Storn. You are ambitious! You have strong wills!”

He waited a moment for his words to ring in their ears.

“I suppose,” he continued, “it won’t be long before you are the Lawspeaker here, Sif ?”

“The Lawspeaker is always a man,” she said bitterly.

“Always?” asked Ragnald. “Then who will take charge when your father . . . ?”

“There will be a fight.”

Ragnald nodded. “As there was between your fathers. Correct?”

Sigurd grew uneasy. He didn’t like this line of questioning.

“You’ve learned a lot about us already,” he said.

Ragnald shrugged. “Perhaps you would walk with me and tell me more?”

He glanced down to the beach, where the moon lit a silver path out to sea.

Sig stood where he was, motionless.

Sif spoke.

“Of course,” she said. “As I am the Lawspeaker’s daughter, it is my duty to make guests welcome.”

And Sigurd thought again that maybe he was being unfair to Ragnald. Hadn’t he saved his life? Then he spoke quickly, before Sif ’s words were cold.

“As one who owes you his life, I am honored to walk with you, Ragnald.”

“Ah,” he said. “You speak like kings! Let’s walk. . . .”

So the three strolled down to the moonlit beach, the stones and sand crunching underfoot.

34

Mouse was looking for Sigurd. Freya had gone to bed, Olaf to the drinking in the great broch, but their son was nowhere to be found.

She looked in at the door of Gudrun’s hut, but the Wisewoman was sleeping soundly; Sigurd and Sif were long gone.

The desire to see Sigurd began to overwhelm her. She had been unsettled by Ragnald. She
needed
to see her brother.

Though she was forbidden to do it, she walked quickly but quietly over to the small stone house where the female hounds were sent when they were having pups. She knew there was a mother in there now.

“Shhh, Moss,” she said at the low doorway.

The dog stirred and lifted its head as Mouse crawled inside. The feeling of protection and calm in the kennel cheered Mouse immediately.

“Are these your pups?” Mouse asked the dog. She tickled one under the ear.

“I need your help, Moss,” Mouse said. “Lie still.”

Mouse lay down next to the dog, which continued to suckle its newborn, undisturbed.

“What can you hear, Moss?” whispered Mouse. “What can you hear?”

35

Imagine you’re standing at the top of a hill. It’s a very steep hill, and beside you is a large rock. A boulder, huge and round and heavy. Now, put the sole of your foot against the rock as it stands on the brink of the hill. Push, push hard, and the boulder starts to roll down the hill. It moves slowly at first, as if unsure of what it will do, but then it speeds up, until it hurtles headlong into the future. Nothing can stop it now.

Well, this is what happened to us. Everything that was about to happen was unstoppable and would change our lives forever.

I walked beside Sif. I was wary of her, but I did not want to be outdone by her. A step behind and between us walked Ragnald.

“So, my lord and lady of Storn,” he said. “You have told me of your fathers and how Horn became ruler, but tell me this: Is there not one of you who is not one of you?”

“Yes,” said Sif. “Mouse! You mean Mouse!”

“The little one?” asked Ragnald, but it was not really a question. He knew whom she meant. “Your sister, Sigurd?”

“She’s not really his sister,” said Sif.

“Be quiet, Sif,” I said angrily, but something bothered me.

“How do you know about Mouse?” I asked.

“I have had little to do since I have been here except to talk and to learn. And I have learned much, you see. If only I had my box, my special box, then I’d have something to do. Then I could keep your fathers busy, and all the rest of you, too. Oh, how you would dance to my tune!”

“But there’s nothing in the box!” cried Sif. I had been about to say the same thing, and then I remembered that we weren’t supposed to have even heard of the thing, let alone know where it was.

“Oh,” said Sif, realizing what she had done.

“Oh,” said Ragnald. “Oh. Yes. I know you have the box.”

Sif nodded dumbly. I watched silently.

“And you are wrong,” Ragnald continued. “There is
magic
in the box.” He took a pendant from around his neck—it was shiny and gold and had a design of a horse’s head on it. He rubbed it between his fingers as he spoke. I remember moonlight flashing off its shiny surface and flickering across my eyes. I turned my face and saw the same pale light play across Sif’s face, too.

“Tell me something, wise ones,” said Ragnald slowly. “Have you seen this marvelous box of mine? I know Horn says you haven’t, but perhaps he is mistaken?”

I felt confused, as though there were something I had to do but couldn’t remember what. I looked to Sif for help, but she was staring straight at Ragnald.

“If only I knew where my box was,” Ragnald went on steadily. “If only—then I could show you something unbelievable.”

He stopped.

Sif turned her head to me, as if in a dream. There was no expression on her face. I said nothing, I remember, because I felt nothing.

“Yes,” said Sif softly. “I know where it is. Come with me and show us your magic.”

And Ragnald said, “Good.”

That was how it started. Ragnald had shoved the boulder from the top of the hill. Unstoppable.

36

The darkness and smell of the kennel would have made Mouse feel truly at rest at any other time. The bitch, Moss, breathed gently next to her; Mouse felt her own breathing settle into rhythm with that of the dog. On another occasion she would quickly have settled into comfortable sleep, happy to lie there all night. But not now, because something was eating at her. She wanted to know where Sigurd was. No, the feeling was stronger than that. She had to find him.

Through Moss she heard all the minute sounds of the Storn that were beyond human hearing. She could hear the clank of beer mugs in the great broch. She listened harder and could hear someone snoring in his broch, and farther than that, Gudrun talking in her sleep in her hut.

Mouse listened on, directing her thoughts around the village, and then she heard something that made her blood run cold. From somewhere very close to Horn’s broch she heard a voice she could not place.

“A single word from either of you and I’ll slit your throats.”

Mouse scrambled out of the kennel and ran.