Snow-Walker (52 page)

She glanced at Skapti. “Do we?”

“No!”

Brochael turned. “We have to! Kari is in there.”

“And Kari knows far more about it than we do.” The skald crossed to him, took his arm with long, firm fingers. “I know it's hard, Brochael, but we can't just blunder in. We might not be helping him. We'd be putting ourselves in danger.”

“He's right,” a sly voice muttered.

Grettir stood behind them on the stairs, a tiny, hunched figure in his coats and wraps. He rasped out a chuckle. “Go in there and you'll wander forever.”

“You would say that!” Brochael came back and caught the old man by the throat, all his frustration infuriating him. “Tell me the truth now, before I squeeze the life out of you. What's happening to them?”

Grettir still smiled. “A contest of souls, axman. And only one of them will come out of it alive.”

He reached out at her, through sunlight and mist. Through unbearable coldness into empty places, into nothing. With all his power he reached for her soul—and touched ice. He took out his knife and began to dig at it, chipping and stabbing, kneeling on a glacier, out in the cold. Somewhere, she was laughing at him; he ignored that. A little way off, dark against the stars, all the Snow-walkers watched.

It was hard, tiring work; fiercely he chipped at the ice and shards of it flew up in his face. He jerked back, afraid for his eyes. Hands pulled at him, voices murmured, but he shrugged them off.

“Keep them away!”

The bird wraiths moved behind him, menacing.

And now, deep in the glacier, something gleamed; he pushed his fingers in among the crushed slush and tugged it out: a stone, a diamond, hard and glittering.

It burned him and he almost dropped it. It became a snake winding over his fingers, a bird fluttering in his hands, a flame, a drift of vapor, a stinging wasp, but still he held it, through all the pain and the woman's growing anger all around him.

“Even though you've found me,” she whispered. “You won't keep me.”

“I will. This time.”

She was there, feeling for his hands, opening his fingers, but he flung her off and held on.

She came again, her hands soft on his. “I'm your mother,” she said. “Remember?”

“I know that.” Despite himself, tears blinded him; he held the stone fiercely, huddled over it. “But that's over. All of it. Everything is over.”

Then she knew. With a scream of rage and fear she struck at him, became a coldness that closed about him tight, tearing at his life, but he held the diamond tight. And it was her soul that he held, and her power and anger and amazement, and he let it flow into himself, feeling that he knew her for the first time, knew all of her, and it terrified him.

“Let me go!” her voice screamed. “Let me go!”

Dragging all his energies about him, Kari began the webs; he conjured with runes and blackness and cold, pulled out every shred of power he had to wind about her, to hold her, to keep her still. Murderous with rage she tore at him, became a flame that burned him, lava that seared his hands, but he knew he was holding on, that he was winning, and the power in him grew and he wound the spells tighter, fiercer, binding them about her.

Somewhere, someone was shouting, but he couldn't think about that now, he had to imprison her; his hand slid to his pocket and he pulled out the crystal he had brought for this.

Deep within it he embedded Gudrun's soul, deep in the sharp glass facets, weaving spells about her with words that came from nowhere into his mind, as if all the sorcery of the Snow-walkers rose up and flooded him now. And when the spell was finished, when he was sure it was safe, he closed his eyes and let his mind empty, and there was silence, and exhaustion swept over him like a wave.

“Is it done?” a harsh voice croaked in his ear.

Numb, he nodded.

“Then you must get back. This is nowhere. We're lost here. Now, runemaster!”

“Later,” he murmured.

“Now! It must be now, Kari!”

They crowded him close, anxiously. All he wanted to do was sleep, to lie down and rest, but he knew they were right, and he staggered up, his hand gripping the crystal.

“Which way?”

“Any way! It's all one.”

Nodding, struggling to think, he stumbled forward into the dark, into a mist that swirled purple and green and then white, ice white.

And as the others stood at the door, they saw him drift toward them, loom suddenly out of nowhere, and Jessa swore that for a moment two men were with him, until the mist swirled and she saw they were only the ravens swooping out, eyes bright.

But Kari was indistinct; he stumbled as he came, and just as he reached the threshold, he almost fell. Brochael caught him, but at the same time Moongarm pushed from behind and snatched something out of Kari's hand, snatched it fiercely, hungrily, a small, glittering stone.

“No!” Kari gasped.

Brochael grabbed the man's sleeve.

“Let me finish this,” Moongarm said quietly.

“No!” Kari struggled to stop him. “Brochael!”

“You know it's best,” the werebeast said. “I'll take this where no one will ever find it. Where she'll never get back. Call it my revenge. And it's what you want, Brochael.”

Slowly Brochael let go of his sleeve. Then he said gruffly, “It's taken me too much time to come to know you.”

“And now you do?”

“I think so.”

Moongarm nodded at him. “I'm glad, my friend.”

And then he turned and walked through the doorway, deep into the mist, and as he walked his body twisted and blurred into a lithe, gray creature, shimmering, gone in an instant.

Kari turned away, silent.

And over his shoulder the others saw nothing but a small frozen room, every surface of it seamed with ice, and in a white chair Gudrun was sleeping, just as Signi had slept.

Kari slept for a day and a night, almost without moving. The others stayed alert. They gathered in Signi's room, not knowing what to expect, and Brochael prowled about uneasily, ax in hand. But no one came near them. The ice fortress stayed as it had always been, cold and silent.

Finally Jessa and Hakon ventured out. Food was running short, and they needed to find out what the Snow-walkers were doing.

Creeping silently into the hall, they saw a strange sight. Grettir was huddled in a small chair, his palms flat on the carved armrests. On a white bier before him Gudrun lay asleep; she lay still, barely breathing, her long hair loose, her dress smooth and white. Icicles already hung from her sleeves; crystals of frost had begun to form on her hair and skin.

They walked up to her, and looked down in awe.

“She looks as though she'll wake up at any moment,” Hakon whispered.

“She won't.” Jessa looked down at the old man. “What happens to you?”

Grettir stirred and looked up. His face was lined and gray. “That depends. Does the boy live?”

“Yes.”

“Then we're all in his hands. He has the power now.”

He stood up and shuffled toward the sleeping woman, and looked down at her thoughtfully. “She was cruel too often, but she was strong. She knew all the secrets; she took what she wanted. Until the end, she was never afraid.”

He glanced at Jessa, who said, “She was evil. We all knew that.”

“And now Kari comes into his inheritance. How different will that be?”

“Very different,” she snapped.

He laughed wheezily. “I'm glad you think so. But I know better. I know how their power gnaws them till they must use it; how it changes them. Even she was different once.”

“But Kari's got something she never had.”

“What?”

She smiled at him. “He has us.”

For a moment he looked at her gravely, and at Hakon, and then he smiled too. “So he does,” he said sadly. “I hope that it will be enough.”

He turned and hobbled away. “I'll bring you some food.”

“Thank you.”

“We didn't even ask him,” Hakon murmured.

“That's how this place is.”

“And it's Kari's now. Will he stay here?”

“I don't know.” Thoughtfully she walked to the door.

Grettir brought the food; strange stuff, most of it, but they ate it and saved some for Kari. When he finally woke up, he sat by Brochael for a while, listless and silent, no one wanting to bother him with questions. Finally, with an effort, he got up and went over to Signi.

“You must go home now,” he said.

The girl smiled at him, her silken dress pale. He touched her wrists briefly and the ice chains began to melt, dripping away rapidly.

“Don't be sad, Kari,” she said. “It's all over.”

Surprised, he managed to smile back. “Yes. It's over. Tell Wulfgar what you've seen. Tell him we're coming home.”

Fading before their eyes, she reached out to touch him. “All of you? Are you all coming?”

“All of us.”

And then the chair was empty, and Jessa imagined with sudden clarity the girl lying in that bed in the hold—how she would be waking now, sitting up, stiff and hungry; how she would stumble downstairs, into the silence and cold of the hall, to Wulfgar....

“What about the others?” she asked aloud.

“Gudrun's spell faded with her,” Kari said. He sat down against the wall, knees up. “They'll all be waking now—the noise and warmth will come flooding back. All their souls will return to them; the hold will be as we always knew it—busy, warm, alive.”

“In fact, by the time we get back,” Skapti said slyly, “they'll have forgotten about it.”

“And us,” Jessa muttered. “It's a long way.”

“Indeed it is. And there are places we'll go a long way around,” Brochael rumbled.

They all laughed and fell silent.

After a moment Kari got up and went out into the hall. Brochael gazed after him uneasily.

“Let him go,” Skapti muttered.

“He's too quiet. I thought he'd be … happy.”

Skapti rubbed his unshaven chin. “Give him time, Brochael. All his life she's been there, a threat, a torment. When a weight comes off your back, you're often too stiff to stand up at once.”

It was Jessa who went after him, much later. She found him standing at the side of the bier, looking down, quite still. Beside him, Jessa was silent a moment. Then she said, “Where is she, Kari?”

He twisted the frayed end of his sleeve around his fingers. “I don't know, Jessa,” he said finally. “I stole her soul and locked it into a crystal, locked it deep, with tight spells. But he's taken it back into that world, it's lost there, and I don't know how to find it again.” He looked up intently. “Perhaps Moongarm was wise. Now she's neither dead nor alive. Because I couldn't have killed her, Jessa.”

They turned and walked back into the little room. Brochael looked up at them.

“We leave tomorrow, after we've all slept. Unless you want your kingdom.”

Kari laughed suddenly. “Grettir can have it. Thrasirshall is my kingdom. And you're its only subject.”

They all laughed then, Brochael hearty with relief, and the sound echoed in the empty rooms and halls of the palace. Jessa thought that it was a strange, new sound here, and wherever they were the White People heard it with surprise. She caught Hakon's eye.

“You never got around to naming your sword.”

“Ah, but I have.”

“Tell us then.”

Awkwardly he touched the hilt. “You'll laugh.”

“No, we won't.”

“Well, at first I thought of Bear-bane....”

Despite herself, Jessa giggled.

“Not bad,” Skapti conceded.

“And then Snake-stabber. But I didn't think that was any good....”

“It's not.”

“So I thought of Dream-breaker.”

“Why that?” she asked.

“Because in my dream I fell from the bridge, but the sword saved me.” He smiled at them shyly. “What do you think?”

“It's a fine name,” Skapti said.

Kari nodded, and Brochael laughed. “I never thought we'd make it then.”

“Oh, I did,” Jessa said, putting her arms around them both. “I always did.”

Chapter-opener quotations in Book 1 are from “The Words of the High One”; those in Book 3 are from “Voluspa” (translated as “The Song of the Sybil”); both from
Norse Poems
, edited and translated by W. H. Auden and Paul B. Taylor (Faber and Faber Ltd, 1983); reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber. The Book 2 chapter-opener quotations are from
Beowulf
, translated by Michael Alexander (Penguin Classics, 1973), reprinted by permission of Penguin Putnam.

Read on for a preview of

Catherine Fisher's

electrifying book

The Oracle Prophecies:

The Sphere of Secrets

So the rumors were true. And
these
were elephants.

Their enormous bodies amazed Mirany. In the evening heat they stood in a great semicircle, twelve beasts, tails swishing, vast ears rippling irritably against flies. On their backs were towers, real towers of wood with gaudy painted doors and windows, within which the dark-skinned merchants sat on jeweled palanquins tasseled with gold.

From her seat before the bridge, on the left side of the Speaker, she watched the animals through the twilight. A huge full moon hung over them, the Rain Queen's perfect mirror, its eerie light shimmering on the emptiness of the desert, the fires on the road, the black ramparts of the City of the Dead. A breeze drifted her mantle against her arm;
someone's thin silver bracelets clinked. There was no other sound, except, far below, the endless splash of the sea against rocks.

The central elephant was lumbering forward. Its great feet, heavy with bangles, thudded into the soft sand, the swaying mass of silver chains on its neck and ears and back brilliant in the moonlight. It wore a scarlet harness of tiny bells and immense pearls, the largest dangling between its eyes, a fist-sized, priceless lump.