I wake inside the chamber of the tree, under a blanket of moss and leaves. A grey-chested raven pecks and pulls at my wrist, and I blink in wonder as a root unwinds from my arm and slides across the ground, back into the hole behind me. The bird releases my other arm and flaps away with a caw. I sit up and groan. Everything hurts: my arms, my legs, my head.
Images flutter up from the back of my mind. A tattered cloak, an axe dripping with blood, a hollow eye socket … memories of a dream I can’t stitch together.
Something jumps in my pocket and I feel a jolt of energy. The cord – I’m meant to use it to return Mormor and the rest of the dead. And then I have to … I rub my temples and try to remember. The axe … If I stop the creature, then maybe …
Stig.
My breath catches just to think his name. Hel said she hasn’t called him to her yet. If I return the dead and kill the draugr, perhaps she will let him live. I push myself to my feet and step outside. As long as there is a shred of hope, I have to try.
The blizzard has stopped and snow sparkles in the sunshine. I wince against the glare, then hold my arm before me and search in every direction. I used to love the way snow makes everything new, but now the sweep of white seems sinister, as if deliberately hiding what went before.
My teeth won’t stop chattering. I need to get indoors, and quickly. The cabin looks small and lonely on the other side of the garden; covered in snow, the plants on the roof take on strange shapes like weird topiary animals. I trudge towards it, straining for the slightest sound. I tell myself the creature won’t come back, not when the sun is shining. It only appeared before when the light was low: twilight, fog, a blizzard. But that doesn’t stop my body from tensing with dread.
As I walk, I scan the ground for Stig. I desperately want to see his face, but I couldn’t bear it if … I push the thought of Yrsa and Olav away and force myself to move faster.
The cabin door is open. I pause, my heart pounding. Maybe Stig managed to crawl back. He might be inside, waiting for me.
I hurry up the path, then stop.
The door is wedged open with snow. Stig must have left it unlatched when he chased after me. The crust of ice is untouched: no footprints, no blood.
The axe is propped against the porch, where Stig left it. I grab it and march up the steps. Inside, the room is cold and grey. I kick out the worst of the snow, then close and bolt the door. Everything is just as before: the kitchen chair lying on the floor, the journals scattered on the rug. My gaze falls on Gandalf’s empty bed and something inside me breaks.
He was so brave, he gave his life to save me. I wish he was here so I could hold him; so I could tell him he’s a good boy. I wish he was here to lick my face.
The axe drops from my hand and my body heaves with sobs. All of me is shaking. I can’t … can’t stop. I wipe away my tears and tell myself to breathe. I have to survive to free Mormor and save Stig. I need to think straight. I need to get warm.
I wrap a blanket around myself, then kneel before the stove. My fingers fumble and I drop the matches. At last the spark takes. I glance at the window, dreading the sound of a howl but there’s only the cry of the wind, whistling around the cabin like it’s trying to get in.
It will be twilight soon. I need to be ready.
My gaze rests on the axe. There was a symbol, something I’m meant to do. I take a journal from the floor. There are lots of runes inside, but the words next to them mean nothing to me. I throw the book aside and pick up another. Why didn’t I learn Norwegian? Mormor wanted to teach me, so why didn’t I let her? Why didn’t I ask more questions? I should have made Mum tell me the truth. I hurl the book and it slams into the wall.
I pace the cabin, chewing my thumbnail. What was it Stig said? Something about how Hel makes you see the good and bad in yourself … A memory pools at the back of my head. The things I don’t want to feel; the person I don’t want to be. I’ve been so full of self-pity, obsessed with hating the way I look – I pushed Stig away.
I didn’t want to look into Hel’s empty eye socket because I didn’t want to see my own darkness reflected there. Mormor said a life can’t be made up of summers, yet I only came to the island when it was permanently light – never when it was dark. I didn’t want my happiness overshadowed by Mum and Mormor arguing. That’s why I didn’t force them to tell me the truth; that’s why I didn’t learn Norwegian. I didn’t want to know what they were arguing about; I was happier pretending everything was OK.
My head feels clearer than it has in a long time. I may not be able to read Norwegian, but I can read clothing. My ancestors can speak to me through material. The doll is splayed out on the rug. I drop to my knees and snatch it up. Nothing. And then I remember. There was some fabric with the journals. I didn’t look before because I was so focused on the books.
I grab the axe, then go to Mormor’s room and lift the lid of the chest. Inside is a roll of yellow-tinged material. I open it onto the bed, not caring about the smell. On the left is an embroidered trunk with dozens of branches. Under each one is a name and a date. Near the bottom is stitched ‘Frida’ – Mormor’s name – and beneath it, nothing. I touch the space where Mum’s name should be and my chest tightens. Because of her, our family tree is twisted. My fate distorted.
I look up and shiver. Shadows are swirling in the corners of the room. There’s a dark mass behind the wardrobe, expanding and deflating, growing ever bigger. It reaches out to me, and I scramble to the middle of the bed.
Buzzing fills the air and I tell myself not to be afraid. They didn’t hurt you before …
Unseen icy fingers close around mine. I watch helplessly as my hand is guided across the embroidery. It stops on the name Karina and the thought of her tugs at my mind, as if she’s stitched a part of herself into the material. I reach for where my necklace should be and feel a pang of regret, but the thread pulls harder, demanding my focus.
A figure steps out from the shadows. She scowls a moment, then smiles. My shoulders drop with relief. I grin at her, then touch the next name – Gerd – and a tiny old lady with long flowing hair appears. I touch more names: Trine and Solveig and Astrid and Britt. My fingers trace the thread like a blind person reading Braille; each stitch tells a story at once familiar and strange.
More and more women appear, until I am surrounded. I look from face to face and my heart overflows with gratitude. They came back for me!
Karina points to the bed. There’s a square of fabric next to the axe. It must have fallen out when I opened the roll of material. I turn it over to see a vertical line crossed by a diagonal one. The same symbol Hel showed me.
‘Karina, what does it mean? What am I meant to do?’
She replies in Norwegian.
I leap from the bed. ‘But I don’t understand!’
She tugs the fabric between my fingers and somehow I know that she has stitched it for me, for this moment. Taking a deep breath, I place my palm over the rune.
Karina intones a deep sound – ‘Nau-dizzz’ – that I’ve heard reverberate in my head before. The other women join her in a circle and the word becomes a chant, swirling around me as they raise their voices in a vortex of energy. I find I’m singing with them. My feet root themselves to the floor as courage rushes up through me, straightening my spine and expanding in my chest. I feel the strength of twenty women.
On Mormor’s bedside table is an embroidery and a small pair of scissors. I take them and scratch the rune into the blade of the axe. Remembering what Hel showed me, I grit my teeth and pull the sharp edge across my palm. I wince in pain, then squeeze my hand and watch as blood drips onto the markings, making them glow white.
I look to Karina, hoping I have done enough, but her image is fading. The women’s features have gone, just like they did after they created the bubble to save me from the draugr. Karina shakes her head, and I know that she cannot stay. I look around the circle and watch my ancestors disappear one by one, like light bulbs going out.