Giants of the Frost Page 25

  A loud noise from the trees made me jump to my feet, my hand over my heart. “What’s that?”

  He took my wrist and pulled me gently to my seat. “Don’t be afraid. It’s only Arvak.”

  “Arvak?”

  “My horse.”

  “You have a horse in here? How did you . . . ?”

  He touched a gentle finger to my lips, then withdrew it reluctantly. “Once more, I can only say that I will explain everything to you, but not now.”

  A horse. Then it was obvious that he had never left, that he must have been on the island all along, living in the forest unnoticed. “When will you explain?” I asked.

  He tilted his head as though considering. His black eyes gleamed in the firelight. “That depends on what happens next.”

  I laughed. “This is crazy. You say crazy things but I keep letting you get away with it. Why do I feel that way? Why do I feel like I know you?”

  “You do know me. We met last month.”

  “No, no. Like I know you from before.”

  “How long before?” he asked, turning to the fire.

  “Before . . . I don’t know.” I watched his profile. “Before everything,” I whispered, feeling myself falling out of time again. It didn’t matter that the bright lights and humming instruments of Kirkja Station were just twenty minutes away. With Vidar, I felt as though I were somewhere dark and silent and lush; in a place that had long been banished from the busy, chattering world. Anxieties and questions and calculations melted away, became profoundly insignificant.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt before the fire and added another log. I could see the muscles in his shoulders through the red-brown cloth of his tunic. Desire caught my breath on a hook, yanked it out of my lungs.

  “Did you bring the blankets for me?” he asked, without facing me.

  “Yes, I thought you might be cold. Or wet.” I looked up at the roof of skins above us. “But I hadn’t reckoned with your Boy Scout skills.”

  He gave me a bemused look. “What’s Boy Scout?”

  “I’m sorry, you speak such good English that I assume you know everything.”

  Vidar settled in front of the fire and pulled one of my blankets over his knees. “Will you stay for a while, Victoria?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” I replied, and spread out the spare blanket next to him. I lay on my side and gazed at the fire. “But it’s going to be a long evening if you don’t tell me anything about yourself.”

  He nodded slowly. “I can tell you some things,” he said. “But there are important things that I—”

  “Can you tell me about where you live?” I asked. “When you’re not here in the forest, that is.”

  “I live at a place called Gammaldal.”

  Finally, something to hang on to. Something to know him by. “Go on. What does it look like?”

  He closed his eyes to conjure it in his imagination. “It’s a tiny farm two miles from a calm bay. A colony of gulls lives amongst the rocky cliffs which lead to the headland. Some mornings it’s very misty, as though the clouds have grown weary of staying in the sky and have descended to sleep on the land. My home is behind a deep slope. The grass is lush and green, and in the warmer months wildflowers spring up all over it. On summer days, the sun spends a long time on that slope, and the shadows of clouds race over it, and the birds come from inland, and bees hum and catch the light on their wings. Over the other side is a still fjord. Trees grow all around it, so it’s often in shadows. There is a shallow shelf if you enter the water from the east, but it’s deceptive. For when you step off the shelf the ground slopes away to a terrifying depth. The water is very dark, still but not serene. I sense there are things moving many fathoms below the surface. It’s a mysterious place.”

  “And what kind of house do you live in?”

  “It’s just a small house, made of wood. I built it myself.”

  “You built your own house? Wow. I couldn’t even knit myself a pullover.”

  “I like to be busy. I like to work with my hands and body. Otherwise, I think too much.” He sighed. “My mind betrays me.”

  Moment by moment, he was becoming a person. As he opened up, I felt myself opening up to him. “What do you do all day?”

  “There are many tasks to be seen to. Mending the fences, milking cows, sowing in spring and reaping in autumn, fishing and hunting.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “I have no neighbors for many miles. But I have a . . . friend living with me. Her name is Aud.”

  I held my breath. He had hesitated over the word “friend.” Was she an ex-lover, an ex-wife? “Tell me about her,” I said.

  “Aud is very beautiful, and very accomplished, but she is very sad. She’s a long way from her home and family, and she has come to rely on me very heavily. I think she has feelings for me that I can’t return . . .” He leaned forward to poke the fire and I sensed that he was embarrassed. “I can’t bear her sadness sometimes, and I try not to see it. Instead I try to be kind to her, but sometimes my kindness hurts her.”

  “Because she wants more?”

  “I think that if she were back home with the people that she loves, she would soon forget about me. She’s young.”

  “So why doesn’t she just go home?”

  Vidar shook his head and dusted his hands off. “It’s too complicated to explain.” He nodded toward me. “What about you? Where do you live when you’re not on Othinsey?”

  I talked a lot. Maybe I talked too much. I told him about the upstairs flat at Mrs. Armitage’s, with its peeling floral wallpaper and noisy pipes; I told him about my best friend Samantha and about the mad holiday we’d taken once to Paris; I told him about my years of hard labor toadying to rude tourists at London Bridge Café. I even told him about Patrick and Adam and how I’d agreed to marry each of them simply because everyone around me expected it.

  “But you didn’t love either of them?” he asked.

  We were on dangerous ground, and I chose my answer carefully. “Perhaps I did. But . . . not enough.”

  “How much is enough?” he asked, his dark eyes holding mine steadily. The rain intensified overhead, dripped mournfully off the sides of the skins.

  “I never felt lifted out of my life with either of them,” I said. “I never felt as though I were anything more than a collection of flesh and bones named Victoria, wandering about the planet like everyone else. It wasn’t enough.”

  A long silence ensued. Vidar watched the fire, I watched Vidar.

  Finally, he said, “Enough love touches your soul.” He took a deep breath and his voice sounded sad. “It’s older and brighter than the sun, and it’s ancient and always new.”

  “Exactly,” I said. Or at least I think I said it. An image laid itself over my vision; another hallucination, but this time it wasn’t frightening at all. In it, Vidar and I stood at the edge of a stony beach, the sun setting on us, deep orange and dazzling. My hands were in his and I felt an intense and profound sense of connectedness: to Vidar, to myself, to the sun, to the earth, to time and the tides. Then the vision was gone and I was back in the drizzly forest. I pressed my fingers into my eyes.

  “Victoria? Are you unwell?”

  “Weird things have been happening to me ever since I arrived here,” I said. “It usually frightens me but tonight I’m not frightened.”

  “Why not?” he asked, though I sensed he already knew what my answer would be.

  I met his gaze. “Because you make me feel safe,” I said.

  His brows drew down and his eyes grew intense. “While we sit here in the forest together, you are safe,” he said. “But, Victoria, I can’t protect you from everything.”

  A cold fear touched me on the toes. “What do you mean?”

  There was a sudden thump and rustle which made me gasp and snap my head around. A chestnut stallion emerged from the trees. “Oh, God, he frightened me,” I said.

  “It’s only Arvak,” Vidar said, rising to go t
o the horse.

  “I’m afraid of horses,” I said.

  “Why?” he said, stroking Arvak’s nose.

  “They’re just so big and smelly.”

  Vidar gave me an amused smile. “Not so loud, Arvak’s very sensitive.” He beckoned to me with his free hand. “Come here. I’d like you to meet him.”

  I rose warily and made my way over to the edge of the cover. Arvak was wet and, I swear, giving Vidar a mournful look. I touched his nose tentatively. “He doesn’t look happy.”

  “He’s used to a warm, dry stable.” Vidar rubbed the horse’s ears. “Aren’t you, old friend?”

  “Have you had him a long time?”

  “Since I was a boy.”

  I didn’t know much about horses, but this didn’t seem to add up. Arvak was not one of those saggy old horses with grey whiskers. “How old are you?” I asked.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “I’m a little older than that.” He smiled, his eyes twinkled.

  “You’re being all mysterious again,” I said. “What’s your star sign?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “I don’t remember.” He patted Arvak on the neck and sent the horse back into the woods.

  “What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Her name is Gríd.”

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  All smiles were withdrawn. “I cannot tell you.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t tell you my father’s name either. Mum’s determined to keep it a secret, even though I keep trying to frighten her with the possibility of me accidentally marrying a relative one day.” I sat back on the blanket. “I’m a Virgo, September 3, by the way. I don’t believe for a second you don’t remember your birthday.”

  “Where I come from, only children celebrate birthdays.”

  “What about Christmas?”

  His face darkened. “Nobody celebrates Christmas.” He sat on his log again and considered me in the firelight. “Nobody would dare to mention Christ.”

  The possibilities raced through my head. Religious cult? That would explain the clothes.

  Vidar leaned forward and touched my knee lightly. “I can see you guessing, Victoria. And I can tell you for certain that whatever you’re guessing is wrong.”

  I glanced at my watch. “I should go,” I said reluctantly. “I’m working tomorrow, and I’m already in trouble with my boss.”

  “You’ll get wet if you leave now,” he said, as the rain intensified overhead. “Stay until the rain eases. If you need to sleep, you can curl up there by the fire.”

  I needed little persuasion. “If you don’t mind me staying . . .”

  His voice was very soft. “Victoria, I would have you by me all through the night.”

  A warm flame of longing ignited within me. I was gripped by a desire to go to him, press my mouth against his, slide my fingers under the rough cloth of his shirt to find the hot skin beneath. “I will stay,” I said. “Right here. And sleep by the fire.”

  “Good.”

  But I didn’t sleep, and neither did he. I talked, and he talked too, carefully but warmly. He told me stories from his childhood, stories about his mother, recited me some poetry in his own language, told me how much he despised his brothers, and explained how to build a house. I told him nearly everything that was important about me, and many things that were unimportant. We talked until our voices seemed to detach from our bodies and echo between the trees. We talked until my eyes were gritty and my head ached from tiredness. Strange feelings found paths through my body and mind, and I wondered, cautiously, if I were falling in love.

  Pale light streaked the sky and I had to go.

  “Tonight,” I said. “I’ll come back.”

  “I’ll wait for you,” he replied.

  I reluctantly headed back to the station, hoping to catch a couple of hours’ sleep before breakfast.

  I slept for four hours; I was late for breakfast. Nobody was in the galley to mind, however, and I still had fifteen minutes before I was due to start my shift. I smeared my toast with marmalade and slurped my hot tea, reliving the night’s sweet moments in my imagination.

  “Vicky? You’re up late.”

  I turned around to see Gunnar, with four empty coffee cups, making his way to the sink.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Couldn’t sleep last night. I only dropped off around five.” I indicated the cups. “Cleaning out your cabin again?”

  “Yeah,” he said, opening the dishwasher. “You missed all the excitement this morning.”

  “Excitement?”

  “Maryanne’s lost her mind,” he said, without humor.

  I smiled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Now she sleeps in Magnus’s cabin, she swears she hears noises in the forest all night. She says she’s being haunted.”

  I thought about Vidar and Arvak out there. “Wouldn’t it just be the wind making noises? Or animals?”

  “I think she’s become a little obsessive. She doesn’t sleep, she sits up at the window, watching.” He sat down at the kitchen table with me. “She told us this morning that she’s seen monsters in the forest. She looked insane. Her hair was unbrushed and her eyes were . . .” He did an impersonation of Maryanne, paranoid glance darting all over the room. “She says that she’s heading home next time the Jonsok comes. Magnus looked positively devastated.”

  “Do you think he loves her?”

  “I think he loves shagging her.”

  “It’s not quite the same thing.” I checked my watch. “I have to get to work. I’m in hot water with Magnus.” I took my plate and cup to the dishwasher and headed for the door.

  “Vicky,” he said.

  I turned to him. “Yeah?”

  “You look nice today.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, and left as quickly as I could.

  The rain poured down all morning but had lifted by the afternoon. One or two brave stars even managed to peek through after dinner. I made my excuses and went to my cabin, grabbed the extra blankets and sneaked off into the forest.

  When I arrived, Vidar was saddling Arvak.

  “Are you going somewhere?” I asked, dropping the blankets by the fire.

  “We are,” he said, adjusting the bridle and patting Arvak’s flank. “I’ve decided to cure you of your fear of horses.”

  “I can’t ride a horse.”

  “You don’t have to ride him. All you have to do is hang on to me.”

  An ache moved up my ribs. “I can do that,” I said.

  He turned to me and smiled, put out his hand. “Come on.”

  The saddle seemed a long way up, but once I had my arms around Vidar’s middle and my cheek pressed against his back, I decided the fear was worth it. Vidar pressed his hands against mine on his stomach.

  “Hold on very tight,” he said. “Don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t.” Ever.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  His hands withdrew, he picked up the reins and we moved. I held my breath.

  “We’ll leave the forest slowly,” Vidar said. “We can pick up speed when we reach the beach.”

  Pick up speed? It already felt as though the world were moving past in a blur. I closed my eyes and tightened my hold on Vidar. A few minutes passed like that, then Vidar’s hand patted my own again. I opened my eyes. We were emerging from the trees. The ocean was hammering the beach, a pale blue half-moon hung in the sky between silver-rimmed clouds.

  Vidar leaned forward and said something to Arvak in his own language, and we took off.

  I shrieked, but it was lost behind me. The wind roared in my ears, the tangy air froze on my lips and nose. The ground beneath us seemed to give way, then catch us again. Overwhelmed with sensation, I opened my mouth and laughter poured out of me. Vidar said something to me, but I didn’t hear it. The motion and the cold and the sea were exhilar
ating. We sped through the night like souls escaping the gravity of living.

  Finally, reluctantly, we slowed.

  “We’re about to run out of beach,” Vidar said, indicating the rocks a quarter mile ahead of us. “Let’s rest and make a fire.”

  I nodded, heedless of the knowledge that he couldn’t see me nod. Arvak stopped and Vidar helped me down. He had brought kindling and firewood, and in a few short minutes had a fire going. Clouds had moved back over the sky and I watched them nervously. Rain would ruin everything.

  “You look worried,” Vidar said, settling on the sand next to me. Arvak wandered back toward the trees.

  “It might rain,” I said.

  “It might not.” He smiled at me, and I sensed that he was growing much more relaxed in my company. He stretched his arms above his head and heaved a sigh. “I love to ride. It fills me with wild feelings.”

  “Wild?”

  “Wild and melancholy. Like happiness.”

  “You think happiness is wild and melancholy?” I asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  I considered for a few moments. Then said, “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been happy. I mean, it’s more than just the absence of sadness, right?”

  Vidar took my hand in his and turned it over, palm up. “Of course it is. It’s wild. And it’s melancholy.” He traced a tiny circle on the inside of my wrist. “Your skin is so soft.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but my voice seemed to come from a long way away. I wondered if he would kiss me. I was convinced that if he did, I would probably die.

  He didn’t kiss me. He dropped my hand gently and wrapped his arms around his knees, almost as though he regretted touching me in the first place.

  “Why melancholy, though?” I asked.

  “Because anything that causes deep joy casts the shadow of its possible loss.” His gaze was far away to sea. I knew for certain one of those shadows preoccupied him at that moment.

  I watched his face for a long time: his straight nose, his broad forehead, his serious eyebrows, and his soft dark eyes smudged with some weary anxiety he wouldn’t disclose. I felt wild feelings, and melancholy ones too.

  He turned, saw me watching him, and an expression crossed his face: intense, desperate, lonely. I was certain he was about to say something to me—something profound and familiar that might reveal a hidden truth about the universe—but he said nothing.