The Dark Horse (12 page)

11

So then the gray sky grew black above our heads.

The Dark Horse.

Of course we had all heard of them, but I think many people doubted that they even existed. They were like a legend, like something from a story, and I suppose no one liked to think about them any more than that, for they were death.

Fearsome horsemen, they were fabled to live a very different life from our own peaceful existence of farming and fishing. They were supposed to follow the herds of deer across the dark coldness of the far north. Living in great tents, they could pack their entire village in a night and move on at the speed of a galloping horse.

As Morten hurriedly prepared for sea, the rumor that he had started had already spread around the whole village. There were shouting and crying. It was terrible.

Freya, my good mother, stood next to me as we watched them load Ragnald’s body back on board. They promised to drop him far out to sea, but I was sure I saw them slip something overboard before they had even disappeared round the head-land of the bay.

“What have I done?” I asked Freya after the ship was out of sight.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I should have let a man become Lawspeaker. How can I save us if the Dark Horse come?”

“They all had their chance,” she said. “You are the best man here. You will see us safe. Take courage from your name.”

I must have looked confused.

“Your name,” she said. “Have I never told you what it means?”

I shook my head.

“Sigurd. ‘The peace that comes with victory.’ You see, you cannot fail!”

And despite everything, she laughed.

I remember wishing that what she had said would be true.

12

That night there was a meeting in the great broch.

Sigurd’s style of leadership was very different from Horn’s. All Horn’s discussions and decisions had been made with two or three of his cronies in his own broch. Now Sigurd had been given the Lawspeaker’s broch as his own, but he chose instead to call the entire village into the great broch to hear what he had to say.

But things were not to happen as he expected.

He told them that it was true, that Morten the trader had said the Dark Horse were riding south.

He told them that if this was true, there was nothing they could do to stop it.

He told them that all they could do was prepare to fight if they had to.

He told them last that if they did not ration their food and work hard at fishing and in the fields, then they would starve long before the Dark Horse got anywhere near them.

He told them all these things, but then Sif stood and challenged him.

“Why are we listening to this?” she demanded. “If we stay here, we will die. We will either starve or be killed. I say we should go now.”

“Where would you go, Sif ?” asked Sigurd.

“Where? That does not matter! I say we should go. I am Horn’s daughter, and I say we should go!”

Sigurd was silent while he tried to judge the mood of the people.

No one said anything; many gazed at the floor, avoiding Sigurd’s gaze.

Then Sif spoke again, angrier this time.

“Are you all fools?” she cried. “Are you going to sit here and die? I say we should go, and I am leaving! Who will come with me? Who will come with me?”

She looked around the hall. There was no movement.

She approached some of the men who had been her father’s favorites.

“In the name of my father, will you not stir yourselves and follow me?”

“Sit down, Sif,” said Longshank.

Sif whirled around.

“Do you doubt me?” she screamed. “Very well! I am leaving. Tonight! And anyone who is not stupid will come with me. A curse on the rest of you!”

And she left the hall in a fury.

And thus she left the tribe.

13

Sif could not be persuaded to stay.

She had always been stubborn, and this case was like many that had gone before. The difference was that she left, by herself, for who knows where. I myself did not mourn her going—there was too much else to worry about. Food, for a start.

I had decided that there was something we could do about the situation, something we could have done before. We had a powerful thing that we could have been using to help us, instead of ignoring or fearing.

“I need your help, Mouse,” I said as we climbed the low hills behind the village. It was the morning after Sif had left.

“What?” she asked.

“We could use your help. The whole village, you could help us all. You could find us food. Just like you did that time with the fish, remember?”

“They hated me for that.”

“They feared you. They didn’t hate you. . . . And now they’re hungry. If you help us find food, they won’t care how you did it. They’ll be too grateful to care.”

“People . . . ,” she began, but trailed off.

“So, what?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Selfish,” she said, but she sounded as if she didn’t really know whether that was the right word.

“Maybe,” I said, “but these are our people.”

She said nothing.

“I know you can do it. Just like that time when you showed us where the fish were.”

Mouse said nothing. I tried to encourage her.

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“The birds were calling to one another,” she said. “I felt them telling one another where to fish.”

The way she said it made it sound so simple.

“But you could do it again?” I asked, though I knew the answer. I suspected Mouse was probably capable of a lot more than we knew.

“Yes,” she said.

“So you’ll help?” I asked. “Leave the Storn to me.”

She nodded, but she looked doubtful.

It was a start, at least.

14

Mouse did as Sigurd Lawspeaker had asked, but only after Gudrun had spoken to the girl, too.

“Don’t tell me you’ve saved my life only to let me starve?” said the Wisewoman with a smile on her face, and at last Mouse was persuaded.

A really good catch of fish would go a long way. Anything they did not eat fresh could be smoked and dried to eat later. Then all Sigurd had to do was make sure crops did not perish.

Sigurd had said she could use his broch to work her magic, but she had refused the offer.

“It’s easier outside, closer to the world.”

He had nodded, and she had wandered away, to find a quiet spot, he presumed.

In fact, she now lay staring at the sky from a point about halfway toward Bird Rock.

It was early morning. She sat and watched the sun begin to shine over the sea horizon, bringing the blue to life from the gray water.

A bird.

Where?

There. That was what she needed. A sea-fishing bird. A flight of cormorants clung to a cliffside away and up to her right.

She waited, finding a mind to attach herself to.

With a suddenness that almost frightened her she was leaping from the cliff with one of the elegant black birds. The sea lay below her, rich and smooth from this height.

The bird folded its wings and arrowed at the sea surface. She plunged into the dark, freezing water with the bird. It was deafening and silent all at the same time. There was a lot of sound, but it made no sense. Just the rush of water as the bird struck a fish and wrestled it back to the surface.

But as the cormorant rose back to the light Mouse felt herself slipping out of it. There was something else there, something more powerful that was pulling her out of the mind of the bird.

The bird had gone, and Mouse was alone in the depths of the sea. She could see nothing, could hear nothing.

She could feel the cold of the water, but then something began to burn at her brain, demanding attention.

Slowly she was aware that she could see a light.

Firelight.

She didn’t understand how it was possible, given that her mind was underwater, but there was definitely a fire in front of her. Before she had time to wonder any more, other shapes began to materialize around the fire.

Then it all snapped into focus.

She lay still, in a bed of furs. She could see people sitting around the fire, shapes and shadows moving on the ceiling above her.

Then the ceiling itself moved, and Mouse realized it was a patchwork of hides sewn into a huge domed tent. The smoke from the fire spiraled out of a small vent in the center of the circle that formed the roof, and she saw a star twinkling on the other side.

Outside she heard horses gently whinnying to one another. She longed to step into their minds, but then a voice spoke.

It was a voice from the fireside.

Mouse came tumbling out of the picture and felt herself hit the seabed. It was sandy, just pure sand, but then, as she tried to push herself back to the real world, her hands felt something soft. She thought it was seaweed, but as she looked she saw it was hair.

White hair.

She looked at Ragnald’s decomposing body and screamed a scream, sea deep and silent.

She woke and ran from the hillside, tears streaming down her face.

15

I was so young then, and yet my heart was heavy.

I had assumed it would be an easy thing for her to lead us to plentiful fishing. But all she had found was the touchstone lurking in Ragnald’s rotting body at the bottom of the sea.

It seemed we would never be rid of this man.

Mouse took a lot of calming when she came down from the hill. Mother and I sat with her for a long time while she spoke about the pictures she had seen.

We tried to reassure her, but if I were honest, I would say that I was scared by her words.

“They’re coming,” Morten had said.

With a sickening dread I wondered whether what Mouse had seen was Ragnald’s own tribe.

Words came into my head: Have we had one of the Dark Horse in our midst and not realized it?

Then why had he come on foot?

It made little sense, but as I say, I felt that fate was working against me.

No fish.

The people complained but worked no harder.

Death had already come once.

I knew it would come again.