he himself who brought that creature of death here?
‘Valdis has changed. Something has entered her and she no longer speaks the truth, you must believe me. She is not to be trusted any more.’
‘It is Eydis who does not speak the truth. She’s gone mad. Why else would she want to die in agony in this cave? Don’t listen to her, Fannar. Listen to me. Free us and we will guide you to a place of safety where the Danes will never find you.’
‘Swear to me, Fannar,’ I beg him, ‘on the lives of your precious daughters. Swear that you will not try to break the iron bands, unless I ask you to.’
But Fannar is staring from one to the other of us, a look of complete bewilderment on his haggard face. He does not know which of us to believe, but which of us will he listen to in the end? If he chooses to trust Valdis, none of us will live to escape this cave.
Chapter Twelve
The shamans of the North say that before the world was made, there was nothing but chaos and darkness, a vast ocean which raged and foamed and would not be still. From the dark, tormented seas a tiny island emerged. Two beings appeared on the island. They were each male and female in one body, but neither being could be complete without the other.
One of these beings found a stick and broke it in two and placed it upright on the shore which was neither earth nor water, but both sea and land. The beings watched and waited. Then out of the darkness flew a white falcon and the moment it alighted on the stick, light began to creep over the island and the seas shrank back from it. The island grew bigger and bigger until it became the world.
And the falcon flew over the face of the world until he found a woman, who was fairer and more lovely than any woman who has ever lived since, and from their union, the very first shamans were born, with the power to send their spirits up into the stars.
Isabela
Cast of hawks – two falcons working together to hunt the same quarry.
I am lost in the forest again. I feel very small. An old woman hurries along beside me. She is holding tightly to my little hand, almost dragging me. She is my grandmother. Somehow I know that. It’s dark and we are weaving between the thick tree trunks. I can see the dark smudges of others walking ahead of us. A man I know is my father carries my little brother on his back. I wish he would carry me instead. I’m tired. My legs ache. I don’t want to walk any more. I want to go home to my soft bed.
Grandmother is holding my fingers much too tightly. The ring on her finger digs into the back of my hand. It hurts. I’m too hot. I am dressed in too many layers of clothes. I want to tear them off. I feel squashed and stiff. It’s hard to bend my arms. There’s a sharp stone in my shoe. It hurts every time I put my foot down. I keep tugging on Grandmother’s hand, trying to make her stop so that I can take it out, but she yanks me forward crossly, making me run. I hate her. I want to hold my mother’s hand instead, but she is carrying the baby.
My father stops. Men are stepping out of the trees in front of us. My father whips round, staring at something behind me. I turn. More men are stepping out from the shadows behind us and walking towards us. They’re carrying cudgels and swords. One man ambles towards my grandmother, swinging his cudgel in his hand.
‘Running away, are you, Huguenot traitors?’
‘Let the children go,’ my father says. ‘Please … they are innocent.’
The man snorts. ‘What man would be so foolish as to go to the trouble of hunting down a viper, and not destroy its young? You think we want more Huguenot spawn infecting France with poison?’
The man with the cudgel bounces the end of the stick against the palm of his other hand. I can hear the slap, slap of it as he walks slowly towards us through the fallen leaves. Grandmother pushes me behind her, one hand on my arm to hold me there. The man smiles at her. I can feel Grandma shaking and I want to tell her