Snow-Walker by Catherine Fisher Page A

trees. “Listen, Helgi—”
    â€œDon’t worry. It may not come to that. It wouldn’t help us if it does.” His eyes moved anxiously over the dark fells. “I’d be glad to see that hellhole now, troll or no troll.”
    Silence, except for the swish of snow. Jessa loosened the blade in her belt, warm under her coat. Night fell on them, like a great bird; the stars glittered through the trees. She thought of the peddler, his urgent voice saying, “Wait for me.” But where was he? He had abandoned them.
    Then the voice came from behind.
    â€œCaptain!”
    With a clink of harness, Helgi drew his horse to a halt. He sat still a moment, his back rigid. Then he turned around.
    The three horsemen waited in a line. Their swords gleamed in the starlight. Ice glinted on their clothes and beards.
    â€œWe’ve come far enough,” Steinar said. “We’re going back.”
    â€œGo on. I should have brought braver men.”
    The man laughed. “What’s courage against trolls and monsters? Come back with us, man.”
    â€œWhat will you tell the Jarl?” Helgi asked, his voice clear across the frost. “And what will you say to her ?”
    Steinar glanced at Thrand.
    â€œMy father was a poet,” the thin man remarked. “I can feel a story coming to me, too. It concerns two children who fell overboard in a storm.”
    With a slither of sound Helgi drew his sword. “Not while I’m alive.”
    Suddenly the pack mule jerked. A black shape flapped down through the branches, dusting snow into Jessa’s hair, and another followed it; two enormous, glossy ravens that clung and settled on the bouncing branches.
    Helgi laughed grimly, his hand tight on his horse’s mane. “Look at that. The High One has two birds like that. He sends them out to see everything that happens in the world. My job is to take these two to Thrasirshall and keep them safe on the way. If you’re coming, come. Otherwise go back. But don’t think I’ll keep your cowardice quiet.”
    Steinar’s harness creaked as he moved forward. “It’s a waste, lad. Though I suppose the wolves won’t think so.”
    The ravens karked. Snow swirled in the darkness. “Better ride, Jessa,” Helgi growled, but she was ready; she dug her heels in and the horse leaped forward into a sky that tore itself apart in front of her. The aurora crackled into a great arch of green fire and scarlet flame; Jessa thundered into it over the hard snow, could feel the eerie light tingling on her face. Branches loomed at her and she ducked, lying low and breathless on the warm, sweating skin of the horse. Voices yelled; Thorkil shouted; something whistled over her head and thudded into the snow.
    She kicked hard; the horse burst through the edge of the wood, leaped a black stream hanging rigid on its stones, and began to flounder up the white sides of the fell. The sky crackled and spat light; her horse was green, then gold, then scarlet. Behind her Thorkil galloped, coat flapping, his face shimmering with colors. Up and up through the deep snow, kicking the horse, urging it, swearing at it, and then, at last, the top!
    She came over the lip of the white hill through the stars and an arch of flame. A great wind roared in her ears; the horse stood, snorting clouds of breath.
    â€œGo on!” Thorkil was yelling. “Don’t stop now!” His own horse fought and floundered up the slope.
    But Jessa did not move. She sat, looking ahead, her hair whipping out in the gale.
    â€œThere’s nowhere left to go,” she called grimly.
    Beside her, he gazed breathlessly down into the valley.
    At Thrasirshall.
    It was huge even from here: a mass of black, broken towers hung with ice. The aurora flickered silently over it, tingeing glassy walls, dark window slits. A thin moon balanced on the hills behind, its light piercing the shattered roofs, stretching the