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
“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
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