Page 105 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
I drew out the skin of water I’d thrust into my deepest pocket and touched it to my lips, wanting to gulp at it greedily, but the liquid was too cold against my teeth.
I had some bread. Not much, but enough. I tore off a piece and held it on my tongue, softening it. There was cheese, too—the chunk half the size of my palm. Biting into it, I closed my eyes, savouring its tang.
With my cloak under me and the cloth wound close to my face, I crouched against a fallen trunk, brushing off the snow to reveal moss, and made a crook of my elbow in which to place my head.
* * *
Ihadn’t intended to sleep but woke to the low call of some nearby bird. An owl on its last nocturnal hunt? The sky was lightening, and I’d been right; to one side, the trees appeared denser, the shadows far darker. To the other, they seemed to thin, revealing daylight. The chasm had to be that way.
There was no time to lose, but the frost had entered my bones. With great effort, I unbent my knees, pushing up from the log. The pain of standing made me gasp, and I cursed myself for having lain still so long. Had I slept longer, perhaps I wouldn’t have woken at all.
Which heart would have stopped first? Mine, or that of the babe inside me, nestled unknowing in warm flesh?
With faltering steps, I shuffled forward, knowing that I must keep moving—must stir my blood to warm me and make my limbs useful again.
I imagined Eldberg swinging into the saddle and setting off at a gallop, sweeping for signs of my trail, bending low with piercing eyes. I glanced back, half expecting to see him, but I was alone still.
Think only of what you must do.
Soon, I heard the rush of water again, growing louder as I approached. Reaching the edge of the trees, I grasped a branch and looked down. There it was—the river, and the sunlight, and a sky clear now of clouds.
My progress was slow but feeling was returning to my limbs. I struggled on and, before long, realised the ground was shelving downward. The sheer walls of the chasm were retreating, giving way to softer contours, the forest sloping to meet the water’s edge.
I might have remained within the trees but wanted to feel the sun’s warmth—what little of it there was. I’d descend to walk as close to the river as I could. Continuing upstream, there’d be no chance of becoming lost.
Carefully, I proceeded, keeping hold—one branch to the next. It had become much steeper and slippery with it, the frosted depth of powdered snow and leaves parting as my weight came down. Suddenly, I was sliding, scooting on my behind, skidding faster toward the brink, where the bank dropped away to the water. Fearful, I spread my arms, digging in my heels, needing to grasp something to stop my tumbling. Shooting past ferns and bracken, my cloak whipped from under me and my skirts rode up. I was grabbing handfuls of nothing that would prevent my fall—and the river was rushing closer.
Then, there was a jerk, and I shrieked, pulled so suddenly to a halt that I lost my breath. My cloak had caught on a stump, leaving me dangling.
I lay there for a moment, wanting to cry and laugh. I was winded and bruised and I’d scraped my hands, but I was unharmed. I just needed to gather myself. Lying here, I’d only become cold. I needed to sit up, to untangle my cloak.
The river was very close, the water rushing below my feet. I’d be able to walk here safely enough. I might even slither down and make my way directly along the river. Weren’t there stones and shingle on either side, along some stretches of the water, beside the shallows?
Rolling onto my side, I looked back toward the depths of the forest and the slope above me—so much steeper than I’d realised. I’d been lucky not to truly hurt myself.
I twisted, propping myself on my elbows, and the cloak pulled taut, straining at my neck. I fumbled at the brooches pinned on either side and the strap of leather between them. But as the thong pulled free, I was suddenly falling, staring back at my cloak, still hooked on the fallen trunk. I was clawing at fistfuls of snow and rotted matter, and then there was nothing beneath me at all.
As I hit the water, a thousand icy needles pierced me.
Gasping, I came to the surface, splashing in fright, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the riverbed. It seemed my lungs would burst, so cold was the water and the air. It seemed to freeze as it entered my body.
The rushing, icy torrent robbed me of movement, of thought. It robbed me of breath.
I’d landed just beyond the shallows, the water no deeper than my chest but the current was strong, sweeping back the way I’d come. With the rocks slick beneath, I fought to stand upright.
Got. To. Get. Out!
I made myself look at the bank and told myself to push, to swim, but my limbs were already numb.
In warmer water, without my heavy skirt, I might have managed, but my gown dragged heavy. Slipping sideways, I went under again, pulled along, tumbling in the churning water until I struck against a boulder on the river’s bend and emerged choking.
I clung, spreading my arms. Grasping the rock to my chest, I coughed the water up I’d swallowed, and sobbed at my foolishness, for now I would die—too weak to escape the river.
If I let go, all would be over. The babe I carried would never draw breath. I’d never see Eirik again. I was afraid to do so—to be swept from this life.
And then, above the rushing around my ears, I heard the whinny of a horse and a man’s voice, stern in command. A stallion was upon me, kicking up spray from the shallows, its rider swathed in coarse fur—and the face that looked down was filled with fury, barely contained.
Guiding the horse into the deeper trench, Eldberg leaned over to wrench me upward, clasping me under the arms to sit before him in the saddle.
