Wayland sighted behind the bear’s shoulder and released. In the same moment the bear veered off and the arrow skimmed its rump. The bear made for the fjord at a hump-backed lope, harassed all the way by the dog. It reached the shoreline and plunged in, cutting a V in the water. Wayland propped himself on his grounded bow and slid to his haunches. After a while he raised his eyes. Syth was still standing where he’d last seen her. He had to use his bow as a staff to climb to his feet. Very slowly he and Syth moved towards each other, as if each doubted the existence of the other.
‘Thank God you came,’ Wayland said. ‘Another moment … ’ He filled his lungs and stared blindly at the sky.
‘It wasn’t me. I was looking for firewood and the dog was with me, then its fur stood up and it rushed off.’
Wayland bent over, wheezing.
Syth put her arms around him. ‘Don’t cry. The bear’s gone now.’
Wayland waved one arm and went on making strange mewing sounds. ‘I’m not crying.’
Syth crouched so that she could see his face. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You,’ he sobbed. ‘Throwing snowballs at the bear.’
XXV
Wayland lay outside the cave watching the waterfall descending in slow veils.
‘I’m going to give it one more try.’
Syth jumped up. ‘You mustn’t. The bear will come again.’
Wayland spread his hands. ‘The falcon was this close.’
She grasped his wrists. ‘So was the bear. What if it kills you?’
‘It won’t. I’ll take an axe and spear.’
She released him and walked away, hands clutched across her shoulders. ‘If you loved me, you wouldn’t risk your life for a falcon.’ She stamped her foot and whirled. ‘You don’t need to catch it. You’ve already found more falcons than you need.’
‘This one is special.’
‘More special than me?’
Wayland knew that logic wouldn’t win this argument. He stood and took hold of Syth. ‘The falcons aren’t the most important thing. They’re not even mine. When they’re gone, I’ll still have you. You’ll still have me.’
Syth looked at him. ‘For how long?’
Wayland experienced the hollow sensation he’d felt before climbing down to the first eyrie.
‘For ever.’
She looked towards the hide and shivered. ‘Wayland, if you don’t catch the falcon today, will you promise to give it up?’
‘I promise.’
They used levers to reconstruct the hide. Wayland hadn’t seen the falcon since the bear put it to flight. He took a last look at the lookout rock and wriggled into the shelter.
‘What if the bear comes back?’ Syth said.
‘It won’t.’
Syth bobbed up and down. ‘But what if it does?’
Wayland patted the axe.
‘What about me? What if it creeps into the cave while I’m inside?’
‘The dog will give you plenty of warning.’ Wayland was more nervous than he sounded. ‘Stay outside and keep watch. If I trap the falcon, I’ll need your help.’
She looked down at him, her hands bunched at her throat, and then left him to settle into another cold watch. Axe and spear lay to hand and he kept touching them for reassurance. A pair of ravens alighted on the glacier, walked about with no apparent purpose and flew off again. A black-and-white bunting sang from a crevice a few feet from the trap. He looked at the empty sentinel post. The falcon probably had several vantage points and it might be days or weeks before she returned to this one. He poked fingertips into his eyes to keep from falling asleep.
He blinked. Between one moment and the next the falcon had taken stand on her lookout. She shifted position and Wayland’s excitement died. He could see from her bulging crop that she’d already killed.
Now what? If he left the shelter she would see him and be suspicious of the place. He’d have to wait for the falcon to fly off or Syth to relieve him. The day stretched long and dreary before him until he realised that it didn’t matter if he abandoned the hide now. He’d given Syth his word that this would be his last attempt. That rankled. If she was frightened of the bear, she could go back to Red Cape with Glum. He was going to stay and catch the falcon no matter how long it took.
A fox placed its front legs on a boulder in front of the hide and stared at the pigeon. It began a wary stalk. Wayland hissed. The fox cocked its ears and resumed its approach. Wayland drew the pigeon into the hide. The fox was puzzled. It came on. Wayland reached for his spear. The fox broke into a stiff-legged trot. Wayland thrust out the spear and the fox flung itself into a reverse somersault and streaked away, looking back over its shoulder with such an aggrieved expression that Wayland laughed.
He stopped laughing and thrust the pigeon outside. The gyrfalcon was gliding towards him. Once again she alighted in the snow some yards from the bait and looked around before running towards it with the comical gait that reminded Wayland of Raul. A yard short she stopped again and made another survey. Her eyes fixed on the pigeon and she made another sally and stepped onto it with one foot. The situation was strange and her helpless victim didn’t trigger her killer instinct. Wayland rolled his fist. Absent-mindedly the falcon bent and broke the pigeon’s neck. She was still uneasy. Wayland saw her focus lift and lengthen and he tightened his grip on the pigeon just in time to prevent the falcon from carrying it off. She looked down in puzzlement, looked up, lowered her head again, looked up. Wayland had stopped breathing.
The falcon gave a flaccid rouse, tightened her grip on the pigeon and began plucking it. In her attempt to carry her prey, she’d dragged Wayland’s left hand outside the shelter. If he tried to grab her with his free hand, she’d see it coming. He waited until she’d plumed the pigeon’s breast and broken into the flesh, then he began to draw her towards him. She didn’t seem to realise what strange forces were operating and went on eating. Wayland was worried about foxes. Even at this stage one of them could show up and frighten the falcon off. His right hand was poised at the entrance less than a foot from the falcon. He rolled his left hand, forcing her to adjust her stance so that she stood squarely on the pigeon.
Now!
He shot out his right hand and grasped her around both legs. She screamed and thrashed. Wayland held on and wormed out of his hideout. His main concern was to secure her before she injured herself. He hoisted the falcon over so that she lay spread-eagled and flapping on her back. A faint shout reached him from the direction of the cave.
The falcon stopped screaming and lay still and looked at him with wild black eyes. Her breast heaved at an alarming rate. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the dog with Syth following, jumping from boulder to boulder. The falcon convulsed and arched forward far enough to bite a wedge out of his knuckle.
The dog skidded into a prone position behind him. Before Syth reached him, the falcon took another bite of his hand.
‘The stocking. In my belt.’
Syth threw herself down beside him and pulled out a woollen tube open at both ends. ‘What should I do?’
‘Pull it over her head.’
Syth eased the mouth of the stocking over the falcon’s neck.
With his left hand, Wayland folded the falcon’s right wing against her side. ‘Do the same with the other wing. Gently.’
