Mistress of the Wind (17 page)

“If I could be of help, I would go with you.” Jorgen watched her, his face unreadable. “My power is tied to this place, and I am more useful here.”

Astrid went down on her knees before him, and bowed her head. “Thank you for everything, my friend. More than anyone else, Bjorn and I are in your debt.”

He was before her in an instant, hauling her to her feet.

“You do not bow to me, my lady.”

“I am only your lady if I can recover your lord.” She smiled at the surprise on his face. “But I plan to.” She leaned forward and kissed him on each cheek. “I will get him back.”

* * *

Astrid was freezing. She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering.

A snow-topped mountain stood straight ahead, its slopes glowing red and gold in the setting sun. Giving a false impression of warmth.

The wind had carried her in great leaps east, but like her, it had begun to tire, the jumps becoming lower and shorter as the day wore on. And now dusk was seeping across the winter sky and she had no cloak.

She needed to find shelter.

She’d seen a light earlier, as she approached the end of the valley, winking through the trees at the foot of the mountain, and she jumped one last time to land just in front of the treeline.

She straightened her dress but her hair was beyond help. Whipped and twisted into knots, it stood out from her face like a writhing nest of snakes, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She made her way through the tall pines, wincing at every step. She could smell the wood smoke as she got closer to the light, the sweet smoky scent mingling with the aroma of a stew or broth.

Her stomach growled.

What if they turned her away?

She felt the light touch of the wind on her shoulder, felt the air sprites crowding behind her, and she took comfort.

If she was turned away, so be it. She would manage.

She pulled her spine straighter and followed a narrow path just visible in the gloom. It led her with a twist and a turn around massive pines, and there, nestled with its back against the mountainside, was a small cottage.

Light spilled from the edges of the shutters, and as she approached a horse whinnied from an outbuilding attached to the side of the little house.

She came to the rough wooden front door, and after a moment of hesitation, knocked three times.

There was a shuffle from within, and the door was opened by a tiny old woman, wizened as an end-of-winter apple, with cheeks just as rosy. She stood protectively in the narrow wedge of light, blocking any view of the interior.

“Yes?” Her eyes, beady and dark brown, missed nothing. They took in her worn and ragged dress, and lingered on her hair.

“I . . . I come to seek shelter for the night, mistress.” Astrid winced. Even through all the years of poverty with her father, she had never had to ask for the charity of another. Her father’s pride would not allow it.

“Who are you?”

Astrid hesitated. Who was she? Just a short time ago, she would have had no trouble answering this question. “I am Astrid.”

“And why are you traveling so late?” The old woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I am looking for the East Wind.”

“Ah.” The woman pursed her lips and looked over Astrid’s shoulder, as if she could see the air sprites.

“Come in.” She stepped back, opening the door wider, and the wafting smell of cooking, the gentle touch of warmth on her cold-stung face, enticed Astrid into the room.

The old woman closed the door, and Astrid stood numb within, the heat of the wood fire pricking her eyes to tears. Eyes watering, nose dripping, she took in the cosy little room, the far wall of which was the mountain’s bare rock face.

She closed her eyes to blink away the tears, and when she opened them again, the room had fallen away.

Chapter Twenty-four

S
hock and fear froze her to the spot.

Back in the dark.

In some kind of cave. She could sense the vastness of it, the terrifying breadth and height.

Astrid could smell the damp rock, the stale air. She drew in a deep breath of it, forcing down the panic. Bending on one knee, she felt the floor. It was clammy, slippery with moss and mold. Slime coated her fingers.

Trapped? Tricked? What was this?

Somewhere to her left a single drop of water hit stone, the sound echoing in the massive space.

How did she know it was so big?

The thought diverted her fear, and she latched onto it. How
did
she know? She could see nothing.

And yet she felt the air. Instinctively knew how much surrounded her. Knew she stood exactly in the middle of the space. And knew, she realized with a little leap of excitement within, that there was a passage out.

She felt the air flow down like a stream of water into a large reservoir far to the left.

She took a step in that direction, and as she did someone—
something—
whispered near her ear, and she spun to face it.

“Hello?”

“We have a test for you.” The voice was gritty, earthy; the smell of rich soil and the metallic tang of stone danced on the air to her.

“Who are you?” Astrid strained to see in the dark, holding her hands before her to at least have some forewarning if something got too close.

“We see you have discovered the door. You have to walk to it without bumping into any of us.”

“What are you?”

“Not something you want to bump into.” The speaker sniggered.

“But I can’t see.” Astrid’s voice faltered.

There was no reply, and Astrid winced at the weakness she had shown.

She thought about it. The air could be her eyes.

It already told her where she stood, how large a place she stood in and the way out. Everything her eyes could have told her.

She needed to trust it now. To trust her mastery of it. She turned back to the opening and took a step, felt the air compress slightly.

There was something just in front of her, and she stepped to the right of it and around, moved forward again. As she made her halting way through the cave she learned the language of air pressure, of compression.

She wondered what strange dance she was performing, gliding, stopping, twirling around her unseen partners, silent and still, earthy and dark. She felt them loiter with an edge of cruel interest.

As she moved faster and faster, more and more sure-footed, she learned her connection to the air was far stronger than she’d ever realized or admitted to.

That it spoke to her on an instinctual level.

And as she took the last step to the passage entrance, she was so connected to the air, so close, she was certain she could fly up the narrow, twisting staircase she found.

Awe caught in her throat, and for the first time, she truly believed she had a chance of finding Bjorn. She was not just Astrid. She was something more.

She put her foot on the first stone step, and heard the shuffle of feet behind her.

“You take your leave of us, Wind Hag?”

As she spun, light suddenly seeped down the staircase, as if above her, someone had opened a door. Astrid’s eyes widened at the sight of the creature before her. If her invisible companions were air sprites, this was surely an earth sprite.

Deep brown, orange and cream, as if cut from the stone stairwell above her, streaked with the sage of lichen, it hulked and shuffled in the weak light. Unused to eyes upon it.

Its face was knobbly as rock, but in the angle of its chin, in the turn of its shoulders, she could see the majesty of a soaring rock outcrop, the jut of a cliff over the land.

She got down on one knee and bowed her head. “You have given me a precious gift. I give my thanks.”

The earth sprite was silent, and Astrid looked up at it, saw approval in its eyes. She rose, and placed a hand on its face, kissed its cheek. Felt the smooth, cool grain of stone on her lips.

“Was a time, thanks was given with blood,” it said gruffly.

“Do you wish it?”

“No.” It smiled. “Dame Berge wanted only to make sure you were the Wind Hag. But you are very different from the last one.”

Astrid found she liked that. Was freed by it.

“Go well, mistress.” It stepped back from the passage, vanishing into the depths of the cavern, and Astrid lifted her head to look up the long flight of stairs before her.

Dame Berge waited above, no doubt, fire crackling, stew bubbling.

She wondered who the old woman really was.

* * *

“So you are the one who should have married the Prince.” Dame Berge pushed a bowl of stew across the table to Astrid, and Astrid forced herself to nod, to not grab up her spoon, as her hostess ladled a bowl for herself.

“Eat, eat. I can see you’re hungry.” The old lady began eating herself.

Refusing to let herself behave like a starving beggar, Astrid lifted her spoon to her mouth, savoring the flavors on her tongue.

The old woman nodded. “You carry yourself well.”

At last, Astrid allowed herself to relax. Her legs felt leaden and the table looked as good as a feather pillow.

“How do you know the Prince is mine?” she asked.

“You seek him, don’t you?” Again, Dame Berge spoke sharply.

Astrid nodded.

“Well then.” She ate another spoon of stew, the matter obviously decided. “You may never find him, you know?”

The question revived her. “I will find him.”

“Hmm.” The old woman cackled. “I don’t think Norga bargained on going up against the Wind Hag, eh?”

Astrid looked up briefly, saw the cool intelligence in the eyes upon her, and took another mouthful of stew. “I only discovered I was the Wind Hag this morning.”

“Ho, ho! Even better!” Dame Berge grabbed up a loaf of bread and cut a slice with gusto. “Norga won’t have even the smallest inkling then, will she?”

Astrid was not as certain. For all she knew, Norga knew exactly who she was.

“Can I ask you . . .” Astrid took the slice of bread offered to her, wiped her bowl clean. “Where is the old Wind Hag?”

Dame Berge rested her hands on the table. “The Wind Hag has been missing for a long time. The weather has been colder because of it. Without her to keep the four great winds in check, the strongest one, the North Wind, has prevailed over the others. But as you are sitting here, the new Wind Hag, it can only mean one thing.”

There was a soft sigh of air in the room, and Astrid kept her gaze fixed on Dame Berge.

The old woman leant back in her chair and folded her arms. “The old Wind Hag is dead.”

“The dead woman in the clearing.” That meant somehow the Wind Hag had passed the mantle on to her at the age of three. It meant . . . “The Wind Hag used me to tell Bjorn she’d love him for ever.”

Dame Berge rose to clear the table. “Always had an eye for beauty, did the Wind Hag, though as a Jotun, she had a face like a dog’s behind.”

“She saw Bjorn and wanted him. Even though he was only a child.” Excitement drew Astrid to her feet. The answers were slowly finding their way to the light.

“Oh, she mentioned him before to me. Could not get enough of his fair countenance. Hoped he would grow used to her ugliness and when he was a man, would consent to marry her.”

“She stole him away, and Norga caught her and killed her.”

“Without knowing who she’d killed, no doubt.” The old woman went to a small cupboard near the fireplace. “If she’d realized it was the Wind Hag, she’d have tried to get the great winds on her side too.”

Astrid watched curiously as the old woman opened a drawer, and then raised her hands to shield her eyes as Dame Berge pulled out a golden sphere. It caught the firelight and reflected it, its golden rays brightening the room.

“What is that?” She spoke as if in a holy place, and surely this was an object of the gods?

“This is the gift I give to you, a golden apple. To help you on your journey.” Dame Berge offered the apple to her, and with trembling hands, Astrid took it, felt the smooth, cool metal of it beneath her fingertips.

This was a gift fit for a king or queen. “Thank you. For everything.”

Dame Berge smiled, nodded her head as if well pleased. “Sleep well tonight, and tomorrow, I will lend you my horse. If you take him, you can cover enough distance to bring you to . . . a friend of mine by nightfall. She will take you in. But I need Cirrus back. After his night’s rest, tell him to go home, and he will return to me.”

“Thank you for your offer, Dame Berge, but I am the mistress of the wind. I ride it in great leaps. Faster than a horse.”

Dame Berge shook her head. “You do not understand. Cirrus is not an ordinary horse. He was a gift from the old Wind Hag. Cirrus rides the wind.”

* * *

Astrid sat bareback on Cirrus and used the reins to guide him through the trees, down the path toward the open valley.