“All right. Here.” He drifted back into sight around a tree, his voice hanging in the silence. Hooves made no sound here, muffled on deep springy cushions of needles, centuries deep.
“We’re going to lose one another,” she muttered to Brochael, but before he answered, a call came from the depths of the wood, from man to man.
Brochael waved to Skapti, then turned his horse. “They’ve found something.”
The men were gathered by a small hollow. Jessa looked down at Wulfgar, who was standing, and saw a fragment of cloth in his hands: a green strip of cloak, slashed and wet. Another was trampled in the mud at his feet.
No one said anything for a moment.
Then Vidar murmured, “I suggest, Jarl, that we go back. There aren’t enough of us here, as you said yourself.”
“No.”
Wulfgar put the cloth in his belt and swung himself up. “Not without the body,” he said with cold fury.
Vidar hesitated. Then he nodded.
They pushed on, following broken branches, a ragged scar torn into the wood. The trees were much thicker, hard to force through. Branches, tangled and low, swept close to the ground, swishing back into the riders’ faces.
Finally Wulfgar stopped. He dismounted and crouched, peering into the utter blackness among the trees. After a while he said, “There’s some sort of cleft in there; a rock wall. We’ll have to go in on foot. Gunnar, tether the dogs and keep them back; they’re no use. Keep two men with you and guard the horses. Jessa, stay here.”
“Wulfgar, you’re not thinking!” Brochael jumped down. “Maybe it’s waiting in there!”
The Jarl gave him a cool look. “That’s never bothered you before.”
“We should be careful.”
“He was one of my men,” Wulfgar said levelly. “My war band. You know what that means.”
Brochael glared. “Of course I do! All I’m saying is take care! We don’t even know what it is!”
Behind him, Kari stirred. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not here.”
They all turned and looked at him on his shadowy horse. Some of the men touched amulets unobtrusively. Suddenly Jessa felt their unease. They didn’t know whether to believe him. Perhaps he felt it too, for the birds dropped from the trees as if to aid him, one clutching his shoulder with its great claws.
It flapped away as Wulfgar asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It was there, not long ago. But now it’s not.” He gave a slight shrug and slid down from his horse. “I’ll go in, if you want.”
“No, we will.” Wulfgar half turned, then glanced back. “You are sure?”
Jessa watched in surprise. It was unlike him to ask twice. Kari spread his fingers. “I can’t feel it.”
“Wulfgar.” Vidar pushed forward urgently. “You must be careful.” He glanced past the Jarl’s shoulder at Kari, a rapid glance, but Jessa saw it. “Remember Freyr’s warning! And what I said to you last night.”
It seemed to her then that Wulfgar was really unsure, as he gazed for a moment into the wood. Then he shook his head. “We’re going in. Will you come with me, old friend?”
The priest sighed and nodded. He drew a long sword, took off his heavy pale coat and tossed it over the horse.
“Stay at the back, Jessa,” Wulfgar warned.
Then he bent low, and they followed him in under the branches.
It didn’t take long.
Stumbling under a swinging branch, Jessa thumped into Brochael’s broad back; he turned, deliberately blocking her view.
“Don’t look, Jessa,” he said gently, holding her shoulder. “They’ve found him.”
“Alive?”
He shook his head.
She had known that, anyway. Behind him the men talked in low, shocked whispers.
“Go back to Kari,” the big man muttered. “We’ll deal with this.”
She turned and pushed through the spiny branches quickly. She felt cold and sick.
Kari hadn’t come. He sat on his own with the two ravens. The men guarding the horses had moved away; they watched him, whispering.
She sat beside him. Neither of them spoke; he pulled a dead leaf from his hair and rolled it in long, frail fingers.
“Did you hear Freyr’s warning?” he asked quietly.
Jessa dragged her mind back to the dark, smoky hall. “Yes. Just before you came, last night.”
“That some pale, evil creature was coming to the hold?”
She looked at him, suddenly wary. “Yes.”
“The thing that killed this man.”
She shrugged. “What else?”
He dropped the leaf. It fluttered down against a mossy rock and lay there, still.
Fourteen
He was more huge than any human being.
They rode back toward the hold in a silent cavalcade. No one felt inclined to talk; the only sounds in the empty land were the jingle of harness and the wind, humming in the high fells.
Wulfgar rode far out in front, as if he wanted to think, and everyone else followed in a straggling line. Brochael’s ax glinted on his saddle bow; they had had to use it to hack a deep, hasty grave in the frozen soil. It had taken them a long time, Jessa thought. She wondered if the creature had been watching them.
She wondered about it, this thing Gudrun had sent. Unseen, ferocious, spell-forged. The thought made her uneasy; she turned in her saddle and looked back up the fellside.
The wood was a black fringe, hiding its death and its secret. Deep in the tangle of branches it must be lurking, breathing, bloodied. Surely this was what Freyr had warned them about. What else could he have meant? She wondered why Kari had asked.
Then she narrowed her eyes into the snow glare. Two small shapes were moving down the hill toward them, obviously horsemen.
“Wulfgar!” she called, and everyone turned, staring where she pointed.
Brochael brought his horse back to her. “Now, who are these?” he muttered.
They waited, watching the two horses pick their way down the steep, boulder-strewn slope. Farm ponies, scrawny and unkempt. The first was ridden by a coarse-looking black-haired man, his leather jerkin hacked into rough holes at neck and arms, soiled and sweaty. Behind him was a boy about Jessa’s age, riding awkwardly, she thought, until as they came close she noticed he only used one hand, the other resting uselessly in his lap.
“Who are you?” Brochael asked bluntly.
The black-haired man scowled at him. “I should ask that. You’ve been on my land.” Then he saw Wulfgar riding back and his look changed at once; he slid from the horse hurriedly. “Lord Jarl. I didn’t see you.”
Wulfgar nodded tight lipped; he hated servility. “I’m sorry we’ve been on your land. Your name?”
“Skuli Skulisson of Kordamark.” The man saw the boy was still on the horse and glared. “Get down, fool.”
The boy dismounted and stood, watching them all quietly. He wore a thrall ring around his neck; he looked uneasy, glancing from face to face—a quick look at Jessa, and then his eyes widened; a flash of terror filled them, and she knew he had seen Kari.
“I was coming to the hold, lord,” Skuli said, rubbing the black stubble of his beard with the back of one hand. He too had seen Kari; his eyes kept darting to him nervously. He swallowed. “I have some news that will interest you. This creature—”
“You’ve seen it?” Wulfgar asked quickly.
“Not myself, lord, no, not me. But this boy has. Last night he says he saw it. Come and tell your story. Answer the Jarl.”
The thrall came forward. He seemed wary, but not afraid.
“What’s your name?” Wulfgar asked easily.
“Hakon, lord.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘lord.’ Where did you see the thing?”