‘What do you mean, it wanted you to follow it? You don’t look well, Martha. Please, just sit down a minute.’
Stig watches from the door as I scrabble under the kitchen sink. I shove a bottle of paraffin oil to one side and sweep some sponges to the floor. At last I find it: a large wooden pail.
Stig inhales sharply when he sees it. ‘This thing about the tree – it’s just a story. Make-believe.’
Ignoring him, I march down the steps and around the side of the cabin.
He follows close behind. ‘Don’t you think you’re –’
‘What?’ I snap.
His long black coat flutters about his ankles like a raven that’s forgotten how to fly. He pauses, a bewildered look on his face. ‘Well, taking it too seriously.’
The pail knocks against my leg as I walk. ‘And the raven?’
He hurries after me, breathing hard. ‘Birds do that. They get caught in a gust of wind or lose their way. Just because a raven hits the window doesn’t mean Odin sent it. It doesn’t mean that you’re his descendant!’
I spin around, suddenly angry. ‘You know nothing about me, or my family!’
‘I know you miss your grandmother. And I know grief can make people crazy, but –’
‘I’m crazy? That’s what you’re saying?’ I throw the words at him, then stomp away.
‘Nei, vent! Please, stop!’
I march towards the tree. Maybe it’s all in my head, but I’m sure the raven was trying to tell me something. It wanted me to go to the tree. I shouldn’t have waited; I should have done as Mormor asked and watered it straight away.
Stig calls, ‘Why don’t we go inside? It’s freezing out here. You can do it tomorrow.’
I pause and turn with a heavy sigh. ‘I know it seems weird, but I need to do this.’
We stand for a long moment, staring at one another. Emotions play across his face, like the way the contours of a landscape go light and dark when a cloud passes overhead. His eyes are wild and destructive. Stormy sea eyes that could drag me under if I let them.
I frown, wishing he would say something that would allow me to explain, but how can I, when I don’t understand myself? Our breath hangs in the space where words should be.
Eventually he turns away, muttering in Norwegian. I watch him trudge back to the cabin, his shoulders slumped like he’s one of the figures in the drawings. He disappears inside and loneliness settles over me like a tattered cloak.
I stare at the frigid sky and sigh. I didn’t tell Stig about the books that moved by themselves or the doll twitching, because he probably wouldn’t have believed me. I know he could never fancy me, but I don’t want him to think I’m losing my mind.
Taking a shuddery breath, I turn to face the tree. Buzzing fills the air, getting louder with each step I take. I hold my arm against my nose, but it doesn’t stop the hideous smell. Mormor died over a week ago and no one has tended to the tree since. She didn’t say what would happen if no one watered it, but it can’t be good.
I walk around the tree, my boots tripping over gnarled roots. The well is small, three people could join hands and reach around it, but something tells me it’s unfathomably deep. I dip the pail into the water and a raven launches from a branch, its black wings clapping in applause. I watch it fly away, my mind a blizzard of questions. Mormor fed a raven on the porch every day, and swore it was the same bird that came back to her. Maybe it has been watching me.
A gust of wind shakes the branches and snowmelt drips down my neck, making me shiver. The thought of the wolf stalks my mind. What if Olav didn’t shoot it? What if it’s still out here? I glance around, feeling vulnerable.
The buzzing is louder now. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it. Bending almost double, I enter the largest chamber. The hole is bigger than before. Too black and too deep, it gapes like an open mouth jeering at me. The wood around it is scored with deep lines, as if an animal has tried to get inside, or something has clawed its way out. Instinct tells me to throw the water at the hole. Closing my eyes, I picture Mormor: her long blonde hair and her mischievous grin. It gives me the strength I need. The buzzing roar is so loud it hurts. I press my hands to my ears and the pail thuds to the ground. It’s like the hole doesn’t want me to get near.
Gritting my teeth, I snatch it up and chuck the water at the tree’s roots. It hisses like a fire being put out and there’s a horrible sound, like the drawn-out gasp of a thousand souls taking their final breath. My skin prickles. What would make that noise?
I rush out and trip on a root, landing head first in snow. Mist snakes around the tree and wraps around my body. I scramble to my feet and two ravens explode from a branch, making my heart lurch. I look for the cabin but the world is falling away.
Confused, I stumble against the moss-covered trunk. What did Mormor say? Listen with an open heart. Swallowing hard, I press my ear to the tree. Time slows as a steady drumbeat sounds inside. Wood creaks and groans, like something is stirring deep within. I hold my breath and listen. I’ve heard that sound before …
The bark splits open and green smells invade my nose. I stare in disbelief as a forehead pushes its way out of the tree: a woman’s face with chiselled cheekbones and a sharp, pointed chin. Moss and dirt tumble from her eyelids as she blinks into life.
Her head snaps towards me with a sickening crack. Unable to move, I watch as a gnarled knot opens into a perfect hole, revealing a pale worm curled inside. Her voice sounds like wind through the dead leaves of a tree. ‘Time is running out, Marta.’