The Dark Horse (7 page)

27

I can remember that I woke screaming.

In my head I was back at the beach.

I remember Mother came over and held me; Father crouched at the foot of my bed, staring at me. I can see myself now as the boy I was then, shivering with fear. How quickly I was to grow up!

“Shhh,” said my mother. “Shhh, my boy.”

After a while I stopped screaming. The beach seemed a little farther away, the beach with the black horses bearing down on me. . . .

“What is it, Sig?” asked Mouse.

She sat by me, waiting quietly.

And so I told them all about the horses. I was ashamed because I’d been running away, and they knew that. It remained unspoken.

One moment I had been walking along the beach. Strangely, I had heard nothing until I turned and saw the stampede of black horses about to trample me into the sand.

“Horses!” exclaimed Freya.

“Where did they come from?” asked Olaf.

I shook my head.

“And that man was riding them?” asked Father.

“Which man?” I replied. I didn’t know who he was talking about. “There was no one. Just the horses—no, wait. I did see a face, just once. I remember being lifted up.”

“Then the stranger is a good man,” said my mother. “He brought you back to us! Olaf, you must thank him.”

Father nodded. I learned later how he had challenged Ragnald, but that was a good thing about my father. He was honest and could admit to his mistakes.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I have a lot to thank him for.”

Then Father put out his huge hand and held mine with it.

I felt foolish and small, but deeply loved.

I looked at Mouse, who had a peculiar look on her face. Only for a moment, and then it was gone.

“Horses?” she said quietly.

28

“Tell me what is going on, Mouse,” said Gudrun.

Mouse had tended to the Wisewoman’s wounds many times now. An uneasy friendship had developed between them. Gudrun was grateful for the careful way Mouse followed her instructions. This time Mouse had remembered how to make the poultice perfectly, without any help from the Wisewoman. She placed it gently on Gudrun’s wound.

“You see?” said Gudrun.

“Yes. It’s much better already.”

“No, Mouse. I mean do you see what you can do? I’d only have to teach you.”

Mouse said nothing, just smiled. She still didn’t trust Gudrun, didn’t understand her motives. In a way they were quite alike. Both of them stood a little outside the village in general. Mouse because she was a foundling, Gudrun because of her calling. The villagers respected Gudrun because of her importance to them; they were also afraid of her. Their attitude toward Mouse was not so different. Mouse felt this instinctively but also knew that the person Gudrun had most contact with was someone to be feared. Horn.

“Wouldn’t you like to know the things I can do?” asked Gudrun.

Mouse shrugged, and smiled again.

“If only I could do what you can do,” said Gudrun.

Mouse stopped smiling. She didn’t want to think about that at the moment. It hadn’t kept Sigurd out of trouble or helped find him.

“So what’s going on?”

“That man. Ragnald. He says he found Sigurd lying on the beach.”

“What does Sigurd say?” asked Gudrun.

“He doesn’t remember much, and he’s still sleeping a lot. I don’t know what happened to him. He says he was run down by horses. Black horses.”

“Black horses?” repeated Gudrun slowly. She, too, had heard the legend. “There aren’t many horses around here. We’re lucky enough to have Skinfax.”

“But Gudrun, that’s not all. He has white hair and black palms. And the box! You know, that—”

“Yes,” said Gudrun. The thought of the box reminded her of her accident. She winced. “What of it?”

“The box is his!”

Gudrun seemed unmoved by this. “Has Horn given it back to him?”

“No,” said Mouse. “That’s a strange thing. Horn pretended we didn’t have it.”

Gudrun laughed.

“And the stranger said it contains his magic tricks,” Mouse continued. “He says he is an entertainer, but we know the box is empty, and yet Horn has let this pass. He seems to like the stranger.”

Gudrun was silent for a while. She managed to pull herself up in her bed without too much pain.

“Has Horn done anything about Cold Lightning yet?”

“Thorbjorn says it can’t be mended. He must forge a new sword.”

“That will hurt him,” said Gudrun, meaning Horn. “That sword has been passed from one Lawspeaker to the next for generations. No new sword will be the same.”

Mouse nodded. True, she thought. Things were not the same. There was a subtle shift taking place. People were talking about Horn behind his back quite openly. The nucleus of his henchmen was closing around him, and he had even taken the stranger, Ragnald, into his broch on more than one occasion. It was undeniable that many of the Storn were beginning to show their mistrust of Horn.

“Mouse,” said Gudrun, “there’s one more thing—you’ll have to help give the Spell-making tonight.”

“No. I can’t,” said Mouse automatically. The thought of sitting in front of the whole tribe made her feel sick. The thought of sitting near the fire pit still made her feel uneasy. “I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. I can’t speak loud enough. I’ll get them to carry me to the great broch. I’ll whisper to you, and you can recite the lines to everyone.”

Mouse shivered and looked at Gudrun.

“You’ll do it,” said Gudrun. “You must do as I say. Horn has told you that, hasn’t he?”

29

“Sig. I have to give the Spell-making tonight.”

Mouse.

I’d been sitting, feeling sorry for myself. Feeling stupid for running away. I had got nowhere, and I felt I was still going nowhere. I had spent the day digging up shriveled potatoes. And I remember thinking then that things were bad not just for me. The fishing was worse than ever; the crops were failing.

I was sitting on one of the grassy banks behind the great broch, watching the sea. Mouse came over.

“I have to give the Spell-making,” she said.

I nodded.

“I know,” I said.

“Who told you?”

“Ragnald.”

“Ragnald!” she said. “How did he know?”

I shook my head.

“Horn seems to like him,” I ventured.

“He scares me, Sig,” she said. “There’s something about him that scares me.”

“He saved my life, Mouse,” I said. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

I said this, but I felt something of her fear, too. He was strange. But I seemed to have won the point with Mouse.

“Yes, of course it does,” she said. “Don’t be angry with me. I’m just worried.”

“About the Spell-making?” I asked.

“Hmm,” she said. “The Spell-making.”

So that was it.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. In fact, you’ll be wonderful. You’re going to be something special, Mouse. With your skill, your mind.”

“No,” said Mouse, and she shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“Yes,” I said. “You will. While I go on finding seaweed and growing potatoes.”

She put her hand on my arm.

“Sigurd,” she said, but I was not in the mood to listen.

“I’m going inside,” I said.

I left.

As I ducked under the low doorway of the broch I saw that Sif had been watching all this. She scowled at me.

For once I failed to ignore her.

“What?” I said aggressively.

“Troubles?” she said slyly.

“None of your concern.”

“Perhaps I can help?”

She seemed to be playing a game. I shouldn’t have said what I said next, but I was too angry to care.

“The only thing you can do is tell your father to sort this village out before we starve.”

“How dare you!” she said.

“It’s nothing but the truth!” I answered. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we’re not in trouble.”

She was silent. Amazingly, she looked worried.

“Is it really bad?” she asked, as if she’d never thought about it before.

Expecting another of her tricks, I paused for a moment. But I could see no game this time.

“I don’t know,” I told her honestly, “but if it goes on like this, we’ll starve before summer’s here. Your father gave a whole bucketful of grain to Skinfax the other day. I saw him.”

Again she seemed dumbfounded, almost shocked. So unlike the Sif I was used to.

“We’re eating too much of the grain,” she agreed. “But Skinfax must eat.”

“He’ll end up eating that horse,” I said bitterly.

I left.

30

Again Mouse found herself in the center of the great broch. She was not in trouble, but she was more scared than when Horn had raised his sword above her head. For this time she had to speak in front of the whole tribe of the Storn.

She looked around. With most of the light in the broch coming from the fire beside her, she noticed that it was actually quite difficult to see all the faces staring at her. Those at the front were clear enough, however.

There was Horn, glaring. Mouse looked away. She knew she had Gudrun to thank for this—Horn was simply tolerating his Wisewoman’s decision. Mouse was not surprised when she saw Ragnald, the white stranger, sitting near Horn. Ragnald had been keeping Horn amused with tales of his travels as an entertainer, and Horn had elevated the stranger to a position of privilege.

Mouse had not seen Ragnald do any entertaining herself.

She saw Freya, who mouthed something at her, she couldn’t tell what, though she knew what she meant. She was wishing her well. Next to Freya sat Olaf. She couldn’t see Sigurd. He had to be here, though, because the whole tribe had to be.

They waited. There was a commotion at the doorway, and then the deer-hide curtain was pulled back to allow someone to pass. Sif came first, her hands by her sides. Then Mouse realized she was carrying the front end of a stretcher-like bed. On the bed lay Gudrun. And then Mouse saw that the back end was being carried by Sigurd.

She had no time to wonder at this strange union, for the bed was placed beside her, between her and Horn.

Horn shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly it occurred to Mouse that Gudrun was playing games with him.

“You. Lawspeaker,” said Gudrun. “You are responsible for this. You wounded me—now I humiliate you. Here is your daughter and the son of your enemy united in carrying me. And here is Mouse, the one you fear, the one you hate, performing the sacred spells. So I humiliate you!”

Mouse looked at Gudrun. And with a shock she realized Gudrun had not said a word. She was lying on the bed, struggling to sit upright with the help of Sigurd and Sif.

But Mouse had heard Gudrun’s thoughts clearly, and it put a smile onto her face. She felt a little courage creep into her.

“Mouse,” said Gudrun quietly. This time for real, in her real, broken, wound-weakened voice.

Mouse nodded.

“Let’s begin,” said Gudrun.