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along. The path began to descend. They struggled on until she lost track of where they were. All at once
her heaving lungs inhaled damp air like a newborn babe its first breath. They pushed through tendrils of
smoke now tattered by wind until they came out at the tumbled rocks that faced south, high above the
waves. Those waves could protect them from the fire at their backs.
Black water was laced with white as far out as she could see. The North Sea was alive with the fury of
the coming winter. The wind whistled in her ears. Britta didn't care about the storm. She wanted to feel
the salt spray that broke so angrily against the rocks.
"Come on," she yelled to Karn and shoved herself down from rock to rock. Fenris gamboled after her,
barking.
Halfway down, Britta looked back up to see Karn outlined in the flames, panting and staring at the
slippery rocks. He would never make it with a crutch and such uncertain limbs. Even now the flames
pushed at him from behind. She glanced down the beach to the west. Wasn't there a bank of scree here
somewhere? She waved him left.
"You can get down over here," she yelled and scrambled over the rocks in that direction. He made his
way laboriously along the low cliff edge, the flames chasing him as they made their way from one end of
the island to the other.
The fan of scree started perhaps four feet from the top of the bank. Karn fell to his knees at the edge of
the bank, the flames at his back, the wind tearing at his hair. He sat. Then, holding the axe and his crutch
out away from him, he pushed himself off, bounced onto the scree in a flurry of dust, and scrambled to
right himself as he slid down the bank.
Britta waded into the loose gravel and pulled him to his feet, choking in the dust he raised. He made no
protest as she took his axe and slung it over her shoulder with her bundles. They stumbled into the surf.
The animals of the island scurried down toward the beach. Hares and rodents squealed, a badger, a fox.
A hawk screeched its outrage. There was no hunting. Even Fenris, bedraggled and wet, let his prowess
go untested. The entire island struggled for life.
"Don't you faint on me," she ordered Karn. The water was up to their knees. She recognized the pattern
of huge rocks that hid her second boat. Offa could not know about this one. Karn sagged against a
boulder as she scurried up to the boat's hiding place and began dragging it over the rocks. It was not
much, of course, a leaky little thing she kept in reserve. Could it hold the cargo she had planned for it
tonight in these rough seas?
She pulled its prow into the surf beside Karn, threw in her bundles and the axe, and motioned Fenris
inside. He knew his place and took it in the bow, curling his damp tail around him, his tongue lolling in the
reddish light from the flames above.
She waded out far enough so the stern was afloat and beckoned to Karn. She could hardly hold the boat
as it struggled in the surf. He threw his crutch in and she took her place beside him as another wave
soaked them. They pushed the prow up and over the next huge wave. Karn lost his footing as the water
came up to his chest, and he went under. Britta felt for him frantically in the black and icy water until he
came bobbing to the surface, spewing water and cursing.
"Hang on," she shouted to Karn. The boat lifted on its own this time, thank the gods, and rode the swell.
"Jump with the next wave," she screamed as she pulled at his soaked shirt with frozen fingers. Fenris
scrambled to keep his balance as the boat tilted precariously.
They had drifted out a few feet more on the wave. Britta suddenly found no sand under her feet. She
bobbed in the water as the wave hit and submerged her. Flailing frantically upward, she could not find the
boat. Then a hand clawed at her braid and clutched her kirtle. It was Karn, heaving her up. She grabbed
the side of the boat. It tipped dangerously. He let her go and leaned to the far side. Britta hauled herself,
her clothes heavy with seawater, up over the side.
"Britta," Karn shouted. He pounded her back and she spit up water. "Britta speak," he commanded, his
own voice taut with fatigue. It started to rain.
She rolled over onto her back. "I can't," she complained. Relief glowed in his face. She blinked against
the hissing rain as her breath came back to her.
Karn, his own chest heaving, lay back in the stern. Fenris crouched between his legs. There were
perhaps four inches of water in the boat. It rode low, struggling through the troughs and careening
drunkenly over the crests of the waves. She scrabbled inside one of their bundles for the bowls she knew
were there. Karn roused himself as she raised a bowl in triumph.
He did not have to be told what to do. He took the bowl in his good hand and began to bail as fast as he
could. Britta bent to the oars and put her back into her strokes. The boat pulled out beyond the
breakers. When she was perhaps a hundred yards from shore, she put up her oars, panting. Karn raised
himself up on the stern to look back at the island inferno.
"We will not lie with Hel tonight," he shouted over the din of the waves.
He might be premature. There was still the sea.
Together they watched the island bum as they tried to regain their breath and the boat rose and fell on the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]