Page 57 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
I headed to my left, away from the sheer drop to the sea, but tumbling curls of white fast obscured the way.
Even in my plight, I was loath to step blindly, for a fissure might appear beneath my foot. I’d no wish to slip into some narrow crevice, wedging within the rock, or to break my bones upon each jarring ledge of a longer fall. What poor joke it would be, were I to find the chasm through which I’d so recently climbed.
Better to crawl, that my fingers would find any dangerous lip. From habit, I pulled up the hem of Astrid’s gown, to avoid its dirtying. I suffered a pang of remembrance. I’d made no farewell, for which I hoped she’d forgive me. This time, I would not return.
How cold it had become in the thickening fog, chill tendrils passing over my skin and entering my very bones. I carried on, hearing the distant rumble of waves, the heels of my hands brushing bracken and the discarded nest of some hilltop bird, wincing as my knee found a stone’s sharp edge.
And then all receded, and I was wrapped in silence.
My fingers touched something icy cold. I wasn’t alone. My eyes fastened upon the slender foot before me and the hem of a white robe, stained with soil.
I had no power to lift my head, to look upon the creature who stood before me. A cry rose in my throat but froze as surely as the breath and blood within my body. I attempted to speak her name, knowing it was she, but my voice abandoned me. Choking back my tears, I recoiled further, retreating from the one who had always been true to me and whom I had repaid so poorly.
It was another who broke the blanketing of the enfolding mist, another who ran, heedless, his voice strangled.
“My love. My love. Forgive me.”
Gunnolf’s dark head bowed to kiss the foot, and her hand reached to raise him. In death, as in life, she was beautiful, but so pale, and her eyes no longer blue but black as the pit revealed behind her. As if risen from the grave, her hair garlanded with leaves, her cheek and hands earth-covered, she was a thing without the radiance of life, yet moving and seeing.
He stepped to embrace her then gave a single cry. Consumed by the mist, he fell, to whatever emptiness lay below.
At once, another passed swiftly by me, her scream filled with both fear and rage. I shouted in warning but it was too late. Perhaps Faline flung herself upon the ghostly form, or Asta reached to claim her. The outcome was the same. Locked in tormented embrace, they toppled as one into the gaping chasm.
Shadows seemed to sweep before me, like the cast of clouds on grass, drifting before the sun. Except that, as my eyes closed and the ground surged up to meet me, there were no clouds nor mist. Instead, the moon was high and bright, and the stars uncountable.
31
The flame flickered in the lamp, showing me Helka’s face.
“You’re awake, thank the gods!” She lifted a cup to my lips, tipping it for me to drink. “Eirik found you, but no sign of our brother nor of Faline.” She pushed hair from my eyes. “What happened, Elswyth?”
Where could I begin? Impossible to tell the whole story. Would it even make sense?
“I heard about Asta’s death and their terrible accusation of you; of what my brother did.” She squeezed my hand, resting above the furs on the bed. “How did you escape?”
I had no answer for that. The gods had saved me, I’d thought, or perhaps a hand had reached from beyond the grave.
“I knew it couldn’t have been Halbert who took the boat. I guessed you must have gone to my cave.”
I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to recount what had occurred. I was so weary. What was to be gained from reliving those days? Couldn’t I be left in peace?
“You’re exhausted.” Helka looked at me with anguish. “Forgive me, Elswyth. I would have come to find you in the morning…”
“It’s of no matter.” I sighed and returned the pressure of her fingers.
“Eirik wants to see you.”
The mention of his name made my stomach lurch, made the breath halt within my chest. How could I face him? My dignity remained, if little else.
“He refused to believe you were anything but innocent, Elswyth. Sylvi came forward today; she’d been afraid to speak, but she said she saw Faline putting something from an old pouch into Asta’snattmal. She knew!”
It should have been some consolation but of what consequence was it? I could summon neither anger with Sylvi nor any joy for myself.
“You were gone so long,” I said, at last.
“Eirik’s horse threw him as we were entering Bjorgyn. The injury wasn’t severe but I insisted travel was impossible. I kept him there far longer than was necessary.”
“But, why?” This I couldn’t understand.
