Snow-Walker Read Free Page A

blurring sight, so that to Jessa the fire faded to a halo of red, and Gudrun and Grettir were shadows without edges. Staring hard, she thought she saw something form among the flames, the dim outline of a building, a window, a room full of light, and someone sitting there, turning his head....
    Then the door of the hall slammed open. The thrall that Jessa had met earlier stood in the doorway, his arms full of wood. He stopped, frozen in terror.
    Gudrun whirled in the smoke. She was furious; snakes of gray mist coiled and surged around her. “Out!” she hissed, her voice hoarse with rage.
    The man stood there rooted, as if he dared not move. Jessa felt a pang of fear shoot through her—Get out! she thought, but he stayed, staring with horror at Gudrun as she jerked her hand toward him.
    Logs cascaded to the floor with hollow smacks of sound. The man crumpled, soundless. He crouched on his knees, sobbing and shaking. Gudrun walked up to him. She stood a moment, looking down, then bent and lifted his chin. Pain convulsed him; he shuddered as she ran her long fingers across his throat. “Out,” she whispered.
    He staggered up and crashed through the door. They could hear the echoes of his flight for a long time, hanging in the smoky air.
    Jessa breathed out with relief, but at the same time she touched the edge of the tapestry, and it rippled and swished. Instantly, Thorkil dropped it and flattened himself against the wall. There was silence in the hall. Jessa’s heart thumped against her ribs.
    Then Gudrun spoke. She was so close that Jessa almost jumped.
    â€œKari won’t escape me, either. I’ve let him be far too long, to see what he would become. And yet, Grettir”—her voice turned away from them—“I have almost a desire to see him, to taste him, to use what he has.”
    Her hand came around the tapestry. Jessa almost screamed. The white fingers were inches from her face.
    â€œBut they’ll be here tonight, both of those two. That will be my time.”
    Grettir must have moved; they heard his chair scrape the flagstones.
    â€œI will come.”
    â€œYou must please yourself, old man, as ever.” Then she turned and flashed past them, under the archway and up the stairs, her light steps rising into silence above them.
    Thorkil let his breath out in a gasp and clutched Jessa’s arm. They were stifled; both wanted to run out, to breathe clean air, but the old man was still there, standing silently by his chair. Slowly he crossed to the courtyard door and unlatched it. Cold air rippled the tapestries to a storm of dust. When Jessa had wiped her eyes and peered out, the hall was empty.
    They ran straight to the door, squeezed through, and closed it. Smoke coiled out after them, dissipating in the wind. The watchman, half asleep, stared at their backs as they walked, too quickly, between the houses, among the children and the squalling hens. Once Jessa turned, feeling herself watched, but the windows of the Jarlshold were dark and empty.

Three
With a good man it is good to talk,
Make him your fast friend.
    â€œâ€˜I’ll have my hand on them.’ And she meant us.” Jessa watched Mord Signi stack the slabs of peat carefully onto the back of the fire, and jerk his hand out as the sparks leaped. “What do you think she meant?”
    â€œI don’t think,” Mord said, straightening. “Not about her.”
    He was a tall man; his gray hair brushed the low turf roof. He glanced over at his wife, folding Jessa’s clothes into a leather bag. “But I can’t let this go. Not without a murmur.”
    His wife put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s no use talking to Ragnar,” she said quietly. “Why should he listen?” Then she bent forward and whispered, so that Jessa only just caught the words. “Stay out of it. You have your own children to think of.”
    He turned aside, silent. Jessa felt sorry for him.