haunted valley.
Despite this prayer, and despite his trust in Ari, who was so sturdy and quick, Rigg wished now that they had also brought Tyrkir along. In the face of any mystery, the rune master would know exactly what to do. But Tyrkir had shown no interest in wolf-hunting. He was occupied enough in trying to make peace between Freydis, with her magic and her pagan ways, and Grandmother Thiodhild, who wanted to convert everyone to Christianity.
A few times Rigg had seen his grandmother make the Christian sign of the cross and he had often heard her talk about the Christ. So, just to be on the safe side, he crossed himself quickly and made a short prayer to the God from the east who had also hung on a tree. With both Odin and Christ on his side, it seemed that he could hardly fail.
Just then, however, the slope grew steeper, and Rigg had to pay attention to the path. The sun had already melted small patches of snow, and the earth underfoot was soft and treacherous. Loose boulders rimmed a ledge, and beyond that a rift in the rock face revealed some natural steps that Rigg was sure he could climb. By this time he had lost sight of Ari, but he knew that his friend was armed and capable, and that a mere signal could bring either of them to help the other.
Inch by inch at first, Rigg climbed up the natural rock chimney toward the higher ridge. Although all the ledges were covered with moss and lichen and were very slippery, he was an agile climber and, with his bow and arrows stowed away again, he made good progress. The blazing sun made him sweat, and his fingers inside his gloves seemed about to melt, but anything, he reminded himself, was better than a sudden Greenland blizzard.
Near the top, he stopped to catch his breath, then emerged on a narrow track that led toward a shelf of rock, a smooth platform of stone and moss that projected some distance out over the valley.
Rigg peered over the edge of the precipice at the land below. He could see the birch grove and the ditch they had stopped at. A stream must run there in summer. Gazing down the rock face, he was surprised at how high he had already climbed, and surprised too that he could hear nothing of Ari. He didn’t want to call out just then, lest his friend think he was in trouble. He would climb just a little higher and try to signal to him by hand.
Rigg retreated a few steps and found there was a path behind the boulders near the rock wall. The path sloped upward, concealed by some fallen rock and a few scrub alder and dwarf willow plants.
This would make the ascent to the higher ridge much easier. He was wary, however — a little edgy at losing contact with Ari — so he readied his bow and an arrow and made his way cautiously up the slippery incline.
He climbed up the smooth, narrow slope, a natural rock ramp leading to the top of the cliff. The path was so steep that Rigg almost felt as if he was ascending into the fierce blue sky. The dark rocks around him glittered, and sunlight painted the lichen, moss, and scrub plants a bright green.
Rigg was a good climber, but the steep path had slowed him down, and the sunlight dazzled, so that when the quarry suddenly flashed white on the clifftop some way above him, he reacted too slowly.
Rigg’s bow twanged and the arrow sped upward. The wolf had stopped for an instant in full flight and the arrow must have grazed one foot, for he spun around, yelped like a tortured demon for a few seconds, and then disappeared.
Rigg shouted and scrambled up the slippery rock path as fast as he was able. At the top, to his surprise, he found himself on another narrow ledge. The valley lay far below. There was no sign of the wolf.
Behind the ledge, however, was something unexpected: a cliffside broken and gouged by time, with hollow spaces in the rock itself and a large opening into the hillside, one that seemed to reveal a cave of sizable proportions.
Sweating and gasping from his exertion, Rigg stopped to fit his bow with another arrow. He walked hesitantly forward — he had no love of caves or caverns. No doubt the wolf was hiding in there. But where was Ari?
He thought of retracing his steps to find him — but that might mean losing the wolf track. Rigg stood in some doubt until his glance fixed on a smooth, dark patch of stone near the entrance to the large cave. He approached it and found that it was covered with runic writing. There he read the name of his grandfather, Erik the Red, and of his father, Leif, as well as those of several other Vikings. Freydis, too, had her name inscribed on the smooth stone.
This must be the cave where the Norse stayed overnight at the time of the sacrifices! Perhaps Freydis had visited here when she did her magic in the valley.
Suddenly, the unknown had become the known, and Rigg felt much better. He would signal Ari, and then they would make some fire and go into the cave after the wolf.
The boy scrambled back to the cliff and began shouting. He shouted for a few minutes at the top of his lungs and then listened. But all he could hear was the echo of his own cry.
Rigg lay on his belly at the edge of the cliff and peered over. The rock facings, the approaches to the hillside, and the valley itself were all silent. The only hint of motion was the glitter of the sunlight on the melting snow.
Perplexed, Rigg moved back to the cave entrance. He looked into the darkness and decided no; he would not go in there all alone. He would go down and find Ari and they would come back together and stalk the wolf. If the wounded animal escaped in the meantime, so be it. He would not go alone into that darkness.
As he stood there, however, peering into the shadowy cave, he heard something unexpected. It was a soft splashing, coming from the darkness inside, the sound of water striking stone.
Curious, he took a single step forward and noticed something else: a faint light that flickered in the cavern’s depths.
How could there be light in there? Was it a fire? Had Ari arrived there before him?
He called out the name of his friend a few times, but no one answered.
Was there a crack in the roof allowing the sunlight to enter? Was there another entrance at the rear of the cavern? That was very likely, since the Vikings did not like places that might turn into traps.
If there was light enough to see, there was light enough to shoot — Rigg decided he would advance just a little farther into that gloomy place. If the wolf was indeed hiding there, he would be able to get a good shot off before the beast could attack.
Rigg took a step forward, then another. Some distance ahead, light glittered on the wet cavern walls. The ceiling was lower at that point and there seemed to be no exit, but a side passage was just visible — a narrow turning perhaps leading somewhere. The source of the light must be there.
Rigg decided that he would go forward only as far as that junction. He couldn’t afford to be surprised from behind. He heard no telltale animal sounds, however — no growls or barks or heavy breathing — and this reassured him. He would merely take a look, then retreat into the sunshine. Ari could not be far away.
He advanced one, two steps and listened. Nothing but the sound of dripping water. The light flickered brightly ahead. Another two steps. Still no sign of the wolf.
One more step and he would be able to get a look down the right-hand passage. He inched forward.
Rigg’s sudden cry filled the cave. Straight ahead, hanging up by his legs above a big fire, was Ari. He was bound and gagged and twirling ever so gently at the end of a thick leather thong. The fire crackled a few feet beneath his head. Gigantic shadows moved on the cave walls.
Rigg
