Snow-Walker by Catherine Fisher

Snow-Walker by Catherine Fisher

Author:Catherine Fisher
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Childrens, Science Fiction, Young Adult, Adventure, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780060724764
Publisher: RHCB
Published: 2003-01-01T05:00:00+00:00


Twenty-One

With such biting words of rebuke and

reminder he taunts him at every turn.

The hunters arrived back just before dusk.

Hakon, sitting on the fjordshore listlessly tossing in stones, heard the ring of hooves and scrambled up quickly. By the time he reached the hall, men and dogs and horses were everywhere, the air full of voices and angry words.

Grabbing someone’s elbow, he asked, “Did you get it? The creature?”

The man shrugged him off. “It got us. Wulfgar’s hurt badly. The girl’s dead.”

“Jessa?”

Astonished, he let the man push away, staring at him without seeing. He couldn’t believe it. He thought of how he’d spoken to her right here, only this morning, in her soft leather coat, her hair braided. Jessa? And he hadn’t been able to warn her. The fear of it struck him to silence.

Everyone was hurrying into the hall. He went with them, passive, hustled by holders, women, fishermen.

Inside they gathered in a hushed, anxious throng. Hakon was crushed at the back against the tapestried wall. He leaned back against it, feeling lost. Vidar came in, a crowd of men about him. Skuli was one of them. Everyone fell silent.

“Friends.” The priest’s voice was low and bitter; his face gray. “There’s bad news—bad for this hold and for the whole of the north. You may have heard that Wulfgar is badly hurt. The beast struck him from behind, we think. He’s lost much blood. He’s unconscious and may not recover.”

A ripple of talk ran down the hall. Vidar watched, the scar on his cheek dragging the pale skin.

“What happened?” someone yelled.

“Sorcery.” He said it deliberately into the silence.

After a moment he went on. “Wulfgar and Jessa Horolfsdaughter were at the end of the line. Only a few paces into the forest we realized that they were gone. Some rune craft, some filthy sorcery enticed them into the dark. We searched, all of us.” He paused, rubbing the back of one hand down his stubbly beard. “I and one of my men found them in a hollow by a mere, a place of stinking lichens and soft, boggy ground. The Jarl lay still—slashed by its claws. Then we saw it.” He stared in silent horror at the floor, as if he didn’t want to go on.

The crowd kept silent, waiting.

“It was crouched over the remains of the girl—a great, pale thing, a beast of ice, its eyes burning like demons’, a rune terror brought down on us by witchcraft and spells. Not a bear, no. I struck at it in my fury, but the sword passed through, as if through mist. It carried the girl off. Only this was left.”

And he held up the coat. It was slashed apart, bloodied, almost unrecognizable. But Hakon knew it, and he shook his head bleakly. All over the hall, fingers felt for amulets and thorshammers.

Vidar shook the rag fiercely. “Look at it! All that’s left of her! Already it’s killed three of our people, and maybe the Jarl too. And friends, tell me, where can this curse have come from if not from the Snow-walkers?”

A roar of approval erupted.



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