Mistress of the Wind (8 page)

A troll?

“Norga has lost, either go back to her and stay there, or die.” The growl rumbled in Bjorn’s chest.

“I die if I go back without completing my task, Bearman,” the troll said in its strange voice. “Or I die if you beat Norga.”

“Is that what she’s told you? If I win, you die?” Bjorn and the troll began to circle each other, their focus on the other complete.

“It isn’t so?”

“No. If I win, the balance returns. Nothing more, nothing less.” Bjorn stopped. Eyed his opponent.

Astrid leaned forward in anticipation. The key to his secrets was almost in her hand.

“It is Norga who seeks more than her share. It is she who will kill us all if she wins.”

“I still die if I go back without killing the girl.”

“Don’t go back then.” But Bjorn’s easy shrug belied his posture. Tense. Ready. He didn’t mean to let this creature walk away.

And the girl? Did that mean
her
?

She must have made a movement in shock, because the troll’s eyes locked with hers as she stood loose-armed beside the tree.

“Help me,” it cried to her, and suddenly it went from looming over Bjorn to being a small, wizened man, cowering back from the massive bear, paw raised to strike.

“What—?” Bjorn turned to look, and even on his bear face she registered his horror at the sight of her.

The little dwarf became the monstrous thing again in a heartbeat, its huge arm swinging, the blow lifting Bjorn into the air.

He fell with a thud that made the ground beneath her thin-soled boots shudder, and Astrid cried out, took a step to him.

“Run!” His roar made her jerk, and she saw the massive troll strike out at him with its foot before it turned back to her.

Bjorn lay still. She looked wildly from his strangely huddled body to the sharp black eyes of the monster. She spun on her heel, and ran.

* * *

It was too big to outrun, so she would have to outwit it.

“Can you slow it down?” she whispered to the wind, wondering if it would answer. Wondering if she commanded it or whether it obliged her of its own accord.

Behind her she heard a rush of leaves, the whistle of a strong wind, and turned to look.

Around the troll was a whirlwind of sand, pine needles and twigs, and it was waving its hands in front of its eyes, stumbling as it was blinded.

Astrid turned her eyes back to the path, racing up through the trees toward the mountain.

She could hear the troll’s steps, much slowed but still coming.

“Aaaargh.” The monster screamed in frustration and pain, blundering into trees, swiping at the air.

If it caught her, there would be no mercy.

There would have been no mercy anyway, she told herself. Bjorn knew it, that’s why he’d lied as he prepared to kill the thing.

The thought of Bjorn spurred her faster. She had to reach the palace, wish up a weapon and kill the troll so she could return to help him.

Behind her, the troll shrieked again, and Astrid reached the rocks. She began to scramble up, but her hands were slick with fear, her body heaving with exhaustion. She slipped down and sobbed as she tried again, finding the strength she needed when she felt the first sting of the whirlwind on her back. She managed to get up a little way, then ran out of handholds.

“Help me up,” she begged the air, and at once there was support to her back, a boost just like Tomas used to give her, climbing trees. It was all she needed. Using her fingernails and her feet, she scrambled up to her ledge and swung her legs down the skylight, dropping through as the troll’s hands gripped the rocks just below.

She slid down the ladder, not using any of the steps, her feet slamming into the ground. She stumbled forward to close the shutters, but just as her hand grasped the rod, a little dwarf fell through the ceiling and landed on her bedroom floor.

“Help me, help me,” it laughed, then, with a look of surprise, turned back into a monster.

“I want an ax,” she screamed to the room, but nothing appeared. “A sword.” She looked at her empty hands in disbelief. “A knife.”

Still nothing.

There was no magic in the room.

She made a run for the door, but the troll beat her to it, blocking the way.

“Are you a troll?” She started shuffling backwards to the bed.

“Yes,” it answered. “Who are you?”

“No one.” Astrid felt the bed against the back of her knees. She started edging right, to the side she slept on.

“Bearman’s lady,” it said, with a twisted smile. “And Windlady.” It breathed out the last word almost reverently, and Astrid held its gaze.

“The wind will hound you forever if you harm me. You will never be free of it.” Around her, the air stirred, fluttering her cloak, and she felt a lift of hope. It was here, awaiting her command.

Bjorn’s magic may have deserted her, but her own strange brand of magic had not.

The troll shrugged, not disbelieving her, she thought, but resigned to whatever consequences it would suffer.

Then it leapt.

“Blow the drapes,” Astrid cried out, and the waiting air did her bidding, flicking the velvet into the troll’s face. It came on, shouting as it ripped the fabric away. A few steps and it would reach her.

Astrid threw herself down and grabbed the hidden ax under her bed, then scrambled to her feet, swinging in an arc as she rose.

The troll shrieked as the wide blade buried itself deep in its chest, over its heart. It took a surprised step back.

“My heart,” it keened, and fell over. Stone dead.

Her breath shuddered out her body, and Astrid sank down on the bed, legs wobbly as a fawn.

“Astrid!”

Full of rage and pain, Bjorn’s shout echoed through the passageways, and she turned her head as he burst through the door, the streaks of blood from his wounds shocking against his white fur.

He reeled back at the sight of the troll, lying face up on her floor. The wind was still flapping the velvet drapes, obscuring her view of him.

“Astrid?” There was so much in the question. Relief, disbelief, and still a trace of rage.

Astrid bent her head into her hands and wept.

Chapter Thirteen

H
e came into the room cautiously, skirting the troll, his eyes on the ax, buried to the hilt in its heart. Stopping a troll’s heart was the only way to kill it, and his innocent Astrid had felled this one with a single blow.

The strange wind swirling around the chamber had died, and the only sound was Astrid crying.

He took in the ladder up to the skylight. It was a far more mundane way to escape than he’d thought she’d found. Clever, but hardly mysterious. He hadn’t known what to think since the troll gave chase to her.

He sat down on the floor, his body still clenching with pain where the troll’s blows had landed.

“You are hurt,” she said softly, swallowing her sobs as she lifted her head from her hands and stood. She took a step toward him.

“No thanks to you,” he snarled back, suddenly furious with her, with what her disobedience could have cost him. She could have been killed.

“This is not my fault, it is yours,” she cried—looking just as furious as he felt. “I told you already, if you won’t tell me the truth, I will discover it for myself.”

“What are you?” If the woman who could save him was not the sweet woodcutter’s daughter he’d at first thought, he’d like to know who she was.

She looked at him in disbelief. “What am
I
? What are
you
?” She clenched her fists and lifted her head high. “Who is Norga? Why was a troll trying to kill me?”

He refused to answer, thinking of the small whirlwind of debris around the troll as he’d chased her up the hill. Thought of the constant bombardment the wind had given him since he’d taken her from her parents. Thought of an ax wielded with deadly accuracy. “Are you the Wind Hag?”

He saw her mouth fall open, her eyes widen. “The Wind Hag?” she whispered. “Who is the Wind Hag?”

“The mistress of the wind,” he answered, even more unsure of her than ever. If she was not the Wind Hag—

“Mistress of the wind.” She said it with satisfaction, a smile curving her lips. “I like that. I like Wind Hag, too. It sounds . . . powerful.”

“If you don’t know who the Wind Hag is, then you aren’t her,” Bjorn said harshly. “Why is the wind helping you?”

“Because I ask it to very nicely.”

Her sarcasm made him want to smile for the first time since he’d seen her standing by the trees, watching him fight.

She studied the troll again, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why did the magic in the room stop? If I hadn’t saved the ax from the other night, I’d be dead.”

“I have safeguards in my palace. When the troll entered, his powers were stripped from him, but so was the magic of the room. He couldn’t enchant you, or use the magic of the palace against you, but neither could you.”

“He didn’t need magic, he’s twice my size.”

“I never thought you’d leave the palace. I never thought anything could get in.”
I was a fool.

She stepped closer, as if drawn by the bleakness in his voice. “I thought you were dead, or seriously hurt,” she said quietly.

“I had . . . help. From a friend. He has some healing powers. Enough to get me on my feet.”

She bent forward, touched his fur. “I want warm water, please,” she said to the room. “And cloths.”

“Astrid—”

“Hush.” Her words were an echo of his own last night. “Let’s clean you up before you have to disappear. Will these wounds be on your real body, too?” She dipped a cloth into the basin of warm water which had appeared beside him, and squeezed it over a deep cut.

“They are troll-made, I won’t be able to heal myself as easily as usual.” He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

There was so much he didn’t know, but for now, feeling her hands gently stroking him was all he needed.

“Well then, if they do, tonight, I will kiss them better,” she whispered.

Bjorn closed his eyes, let his whole body relax.
Please
, he prayed to the deities.
Let her truly be mine. Let me not be my father all over again.

* * *

“I think we should visit my parents.” Astrid rose up on an elbow, gently tracing the lines of Bjorn’s chest in the darkness.

“You want to go home?” He spoke warily. “You can’t even step into the forest at the bottom of this mountain without being attacked.”

“Exactly.” She’d spent the last five days since the troll attack thinking of nothing else. Of how she was unable to walk free, imprisoned here forever. “I do not want to spend the rest of my days trapped within.”

“It . . . won’t be forever.” He hesitated as he spoke.

“Well, how long then?” Could it really make such a difference if she knew how long? Did he trust her so little?

“A year.”

Her heart sank. Even a year trapped within the gloomy confines of a mountain seemed like a death sentence.

“And this Norga? Will she stop trying to kill me now her troll is dead? Or will she try again?”

“Oh, she’ll try again. She has everything to lose.” His voice was grim. In the dark, she imagined what his face must look like; serious, a frown creasing his brow.

“Then let’s go. My mother knows something that can help us, I’m sure of it.”

“What would your mother know of this?” Despite his words, he sounded relieved, and she realized he’d thought she meant to leave him, not seek out answers. And it struck her that leaving him had never entered her mind. All her thoughts, plans and ideas involved them both.

“The night you first came knocking on the window, she told me she’d once seen a troll. It had killed a hag, and there was a small boy there, too.”

His big hands shot out, gripped her shoulders, moving so fast he frightened her. At her cry of surprise, he let her go and fell back.

“Tell me all she said.” There was an intensity to his voice, a wildness.

“Nothing else. Except I was with her that day, but I was too young to remember it. My father made her stop the tale.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“He didn’t want her talking about it. It seemed to disturb him.”

“If we go, we take the risk Norga will try to kill you on the way.” His words came slowly. Considering.

“Whoever she is, will she not try to kill us both?” Why was he not worried for his own life?

“Never mind that. Is the risk worth it?”

“It is to me.”

She had won him over. She could hear he was seriously considering the journey. But a new question niggled at her.

If Norga did not want to kill him, then it was because she needed him or was bound by some oath not to. And once again he’d avoided her questions.

His oath to his enchanter frustrated her beyond measure, but no matter what else lay between them, they opened up completely to each other in this bed. Skin to skin.