Peaceweaver (23 page)

The animal, whatever it was, could probably smell her.

She resisted the urge to blink—she didn’t dare close her eyes. She strained them in the half-light, watching, waiting for it to move away.

It made another noise, this time fainter. Was it leaving?

She readied herself to push over the rock, every muscle stretched to its limit. She was going to make it.

A claw shot through the gap.

The creature was back.

TWENTY-THREE

H
ILD FELL, HITTING THE GROUND HARD
. T
HE SWORD FLEW
from her grasp.

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the weapon as the huge stone began to move. She watched in horror. The taste of blood flooded her mouth—she’d bitten her lip clear through. The new pain helped her focus. She gripped the sword hilt in both hands and positioned herself, knees flexed, just inside the stone’s edge. As it moved, she moved with it, keeping herself hidden.

The stone stopped. So did Hild’s heart.

An eternity passed and she waited, eyes wide, muscles strained.

The creature started through the cave mouth, a stag hanging limp in its arms.

Hild rushed forward and thrust the blade upward with
every ounce of strength she could muster, aiming for the creature’s eyes.

It roared, dropping the stag and reaching for its face.

Hild pulled out the sword and leapt over the stag’s body. The antlers snagged on her skirt, yanking her back. She tugged but her skirt was caught.

She tugged again, hard, and heard a tearing sound as the cloth ripped.

She was free.

She raced from the cave, splashed through the pool of icy water, pulling her sodden skirt out of the way of her legs, and ran.

Behind her, the monster kept roaring. She didn’t know how badly she’d hurt it, but she wasn’t going to stay to find out.

Her legs carried her forward and she pelted through the woods, not thinking, just moving.

The monster’s roar took on a different tone, a howl that rose to a shriek of rage and grief so loud and long the trees quaked to hear it. It had found its dead child.

As cold and bruised and exhausted as she was, Hild stretched out her stride, running faster than she’d ever gone before. Branches whipped at her arms, vines reached out to trip her, and twigs slashed at her face, but she kept going, leaping over stones and dodging trees. She knew how fast the creature could move, and now revenge would fuel it.

She prayed that fear would fuel her own speed—yet
she felt no fear. Instead, exhilaration flowed through her and she gulped in the cold, clean air. It tasted sweet on her tongue, her throat. The pale light of dawn lit her way. Birds chittered in the branches, a group of them lifting into startled flight as she neared. Through the trees she could make out a hint of the sun’s glow, drawing her forward, telling her the way. As if she was guided by the goddess, her feet took flight.

The sun rose and still she ran, sword in one hand, skirt held up with the other to allow her legs the freedom of their stride. Deer trails appeared before her and she took them when she could, always heading into the sun.

She wasn’t sure how long ago the creature’s howls had faded. The only sounds now were her feet hitting the ground, the crackle of branches and bracken as she pushed through them, and her breath, strong and steady. The scream of a hawk hunting for its prey barely startled her.

As the sun climbed, the ground fell, becoming rockier as it descended.

Hild’s breath came in gasps now, and the strength that had carried her forward began to diminish—while her side began to throb insistently. “Just a little farther,” she told herself, but she stumbled over a rock and hit her hands as she fell, the sword tumbling from her grip.

She grabbed it, clambered to her feet, and kept going, sliding on loose rocks, grasping at tree trunks to hold herself upright.

A steady rushing sound like wind in branches pulled her onward a few more steps. One foot after another, she moved forward until the rushing sound resolved itself into water.

She stepped out of the trees. In front of her, the river sparkled in the morning sun.

She crumpled into a heap beside the brown water.

•   •   •

At the sound of a jay shrieking, Hild roused herself. She couldn’t stop yet; it wasn’t safe. Still, she’d made it this far, and that was something. She whispered a prayer of thanks to the goddess.

A terrible thirst gripped her, but getting to the water was no simple matter, the bank was so steep. The river was swift and broad, and in places, the bank crumbled, dirt and leaves swirling into the current. She found a likely spot, but even then, she had to leave the sword above and grasp at weeds and bushes to steady herself.

The water was icy. Hild scooped one handful after another into her mouth, feeling it dribble down her chin and onto her gown. She knew she would regret it later when her wet garments made her cold, but for now, the water tasted too good for her to be more careful.

Sated, she climbed the bank again and gazed down the river.

A movement caught her eye and she stepped behind a tree, clutching her side to hold in the pain. In the distance,
a figure led a horse to the riverbank. Someone else joined him, a bow in his hands, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. Wulf. The first figure was Thialfi, she felt sure.

She stepped farther into the woods, her heart thumping. She didn’t think they had seen her. Surely they would have reacted if they had. If she was going to evade the creature and find Unwen’s people, she had to get away from here.
Now
.

Keeping the river on her sword-hand side, she started walking, going as fast as she could while weariness, hunger, and pain dragged at her. Her feet were cut and bruised from her wild run through the forest, her hands from her battle with the stones. The throbbing in her side grew sharper with every step. A cold wind whipped off the river, catching at her wet clothes and chilling her through.

All the exhilaration that had buoyed her as she’d fled the creature was gone. In its wake, fear crept in, and she watched and listened for the monster—and for the men.

How far would Unwen have gotten by now? Would she have already found her people? Or—Hild hesitated, not sure she wanted to admit the possibility—could she have met the same fate as Brynjolf?

A bramble caught her skirt. As she struggled to get loose from the thorns without tearing her already scratched and bruised fingers, she remembered the change that had come to Mord after she had saved him from the monster. She thought of the way his eyes had looked and the way he had spoken to her.

She thought of the two Geatish brothers, grieving for their father, and of Gizzur sitting beside his dead horse.

She thought of Hadding looking after her in Unwen’s absence, and Thialfi riding alongside her to keep her from falling off Fire-eyes when she fell asleep in the saddle.

They would be looking for her, as they should be, waiting in the woods in case she returned. And every single moment they waited for her made them vulnerable to attack by the creature.

She shoved the thought aside and kept going. Unwen might have already reached her home, and if she had, her people would be watching for Hild. Maybe they would come along the river to find her. They could be waiting around the next bend.

The farther she went, the slower her pace became, until finally, she slowed to a walk, dizzy with fatigue and hunger. As she leaned against an oak trunk, light-headedness made her sway. The world darkened. She bent down, hands on her knees, fighting the sensation. Behind her closed lids, a dark shape rose: the monster, loping through the trees, its gait awkward and jerky, half its face covered by its claws.

Hild stood upright, heart pounding. Where was it? She blinked, staring into the woods, straining her ears. And then she knew, in the same way she’d known about her cousin. The monster was headed toward the river. Toward the men.

What did it matter? Let it have them.

Brynjolf’s face came to her, and the sound of his laughter,
now forever silenced. Sudden anger filled her. Why were they still waiting for her? They should have left and not put themselves in danger.

She took a step toward Unwen, toward freedom, then stopped and looked behind her. They needed to be warned. But if she went back now, she’d give up her last chance of escape. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. The bend in the river wasn’t far now, and Unwen’s people could be just beyond it. She started moving again.

A root snagged her foot and she stumbled, catching herself just before she fell. Had she heard something? She listened, but the only sounds were the rush of wind over water and the rattle of dry leaves in the branches. She tasted blood and licked her lip where she’d bitten it in the monster’s cave.

Then, angry tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, she turned toward the men.

With half her mind, she could see the way ahead of her, the tree branches that reached out to grab at her. With the other half, she sensed the creature, crashing through the woods, heading for the camp. She had to hurry.

She picked up her pace, stumbling as she ran, the vision urging her on. She didn’t know how far away the monster was, or how soon it would reach the men. She only knew that it was coming.

When the trees thinned, she moved back to the riverbank. Surely the men would see her, or hear her movement
through the woods. But now that she wanted to be seen, none of them stood by the bank. If they were guarding their camp, she thought irritably, they weren’t doing a very good job of it.

She tripped over a rock and went down, dropping the sword. She grabbed for the hilt and lay panting on the ground. She was spent. She couldn’t go any farther.

The monster growled.

She was up before she realized it, running again, not knowing if the sound had been in her ears or her mind. It didn’t matter. The creature was on its way.

“Just a little farther,” she told herself, “a little farther,” but her footsteps grew plodding and leaden. She couldn’t do it.

She grabbed at a branch, then at another, and found she could pull herself along. It helped, propelling her forward a step, and then another, until the trees parted before her.

She had made it. She was in the camp.

The men were mounted, their backs to her, looking as if they were just about to ride away. One of them shouted and they wheeled their horses, turning toward her. Before she had a chance to speak, they raised their weapons—arrow, sword, and spear.

All of them were aimed directly at Hild.

TWENTY-FOUR

T
HE MEN STARED AT HER, THEIR EYES WILD BEHIND THEIR
masks, their mouths open, as if they were afraid of her. What was wrong with them, that they had their weapons trained on her? “Hurry, it’s coming,” she said, but her voice was too weak for them to hear.

“It’s a spirit, sent back to haunt us,” one of them whispered with a Geatish accent.

“It’s angry because we failed her,” someone else said. Mord.

Mord?
Didn’t he recognize her?

“Don’t say anything and maybe it will go away.”

“Why should I go away?” Hild asked, her voice cracking with incredulity.

“My lady?” Thialfi asked. He dismounted and rushed to
her side, Mord directly behind him, both of them catching her as she swayed.

“My lady!” They spoke the words simultaneously, the two of them lowering her to the ground and crouching before her.

“We have to hurry,” she said. “The monster, it’s coming.”

“You need rest, my lady,” Mord said.

“We have to go.
Now
.”

They stared at her and then she saw the two men looking at each other, a silent agreement being negotiated, but she was too tired to care what it was.

“Can you stay on a horse?” Thialfi asked, and she nodded, hissing in pain as he gently pulled her to her feet.

Gizzur had already dismounted from Fire-eyes and was readying the horse for her. As she came close, Fire-eyes whinnied, shying away. Hild didn’t have the strength to wonder why. Instead, she concentrated on getting into the saddle as Thialfi and Gizzur lifted her.