I felt claws through my jeans. Freki scrambled up my legs, over my backpack, and onto my shoulders. He was heavier than he looked, but I didn’t kick him off, whether because he really was cute or because I’d grown used to his company, I didn’t know. His fur was soft against my neck.
My arms were nowhere near as strong as my legs. They strained as I climbed. The voices and images faded away. The wall disappeared into the mist below. Dizziness washed over me, and I turned quickly back to the cold stone I was climbing. Apparently I was someone who was scared—terrified—of heights. I remembered falling through empty space, water roaring in my ears. My head swam. My grip loosened on the stone.
Claws dug into my shoulders. “Ouch!” The memory fled and I quickly tightened my hold.
“Thank you, Freki.” I was breathing hard. The fox nudged my neck with his damp nose.
I didn’t look down again, just focused on finding handholds and footholds, on climbing higher and higher, following the blue beam of Ari’s flashlight above me.
The light vanished. My breath caught, but then the light returned—Ari knelt on a ledge, pointing it down at me. I kept climbing. Freki leaped from my shoulders onto the ledge. I followed, shaking out sore arms.
Ari led the way up a low staircase and into another stone room, like the room where I’d slept, only larger. He swept his light around the space, which held no mist at all. There was a small stone bed, covered with furs, and a huge wooden door—a door!—carved with a pattern of arcs and lines. No handle, no doorknob—but a door was a start, right?
Ari’s light moved on, to a stone desk covered with scraps of parchment and more animal skins, a wooden staff—carved with symbols—leaning against it. An old man sat in a wooden chair there, head on his arms, asleep. Ari’s eyes grew large. He quickly shut off the light. I guessed the man hadn’t been here when Ari found this place —or maybe that was one of the “problems” he’d mentioned.
I heard a sound like wood scraping stone. It echoed and re-echoed through the chamber. “Who disturbs my sleep?” a voice boomed.
Heavy footsteps strode across the floor, right toward us.
Light bloomed from niches in the walls. Ari and I whirled around, racing for the stairs, but then we heard wingbeats down below.
“That one is no friend to foxes,” Freki whispered at my feet. I guessed that meant the man wasn’t Freki’s master. The little fox nudged my leg with his nose, then slipped back into the shadows.
The man stepped toward us. Ari edged closer to me. Behind us the sound of wings beat on. “And who might you two be?” The man’s voice was lazy and slow, as if he were used to having all the time in the world. He glanced back at Ari. “Your hair is white for one so young.”
Ari straightened beside me, though his hand was sweating in mine. “I am Ari, Katrin’s son. This is Haley, Gabriel’s daughter.”
“Svan is my name. Bjorn’s son. I guard this place in return for my lodging here.” He took another step toward us. I stepped back and nearly stumbled over the top stair. Ari grabbed my arm, steadying me.
He looked at the man. “Svan like in the saga? Surely not.”
The man laughed, though his gaze didn’t leave us. “Do they yet remember this old sorcerer out in the wide world?”
“Remember is one way of putting it,” Ari said.
Behind us, the wingbeats grew louder. My heart pounded. We had to get out of here. I stepped toward the door, not that I expected it to be that easy.
Svan grabbed his staff and stepped in front of me, blocking the way. He poked my chest with his free hand. I shoved him away, glaring.
Svan laughed again. “Haley. Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to tell him so.
I couldn’t tell whether the words—American or Vinlander, whatever that was—meant anything to Svan. A pair of terns flew chittering into the room, landed on Svan’s desk, and watched us.
“Please,” Ari said, the politeness obviously forced. “We need to leave this place.”
The sorcerer chuckled. “I can see you are the sort of man who would rather bargain than fight, Ari, Katrin’s son.”
Ari hesitated, then squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “A poem,” he said.
I looked at Ari. He shrugged uneasily. “It works in the sagas,” he said in English.
If Svan understood English he gave no sign. He tilted his head as if intrigued. “Very well. Let’s hear your poem, boy.”
Two more small birds swooped into the room and perched in niches in the wall. Ari switched back to Icelandic, looking right at Svan as he recited:
Images flashed through my head at Ari’s words: feet running over gravel, a raven crying out, the rush of water. Svan stared at Ari, as if considering his poem, but then he threw back his head and laughed. “You price your words too high, boy. You’ll have to do better than that!”
I glared at Svan. “
Ari looked down, and his neck flushed red. “I don’t have anything else to bargain with.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” A slow smile crossed Svan’s face. He reached out and grabbed my arm.
I tried to pull away, but he was stronger than he looked. I kneed him in the groin, hard.
Svan grunted and let go, doubling over. His staff clattered to the floor, but he didn’t stop smiling. “A strong woman. I like that.” He winked at Ari. “What do you say? A gift for a lonely old man? Long have I been in this mountain. She’ll more than buy your freedom.”
I tensed, ready to kick him, even as my eyes scanned the room for a weapon. The sorcerer straightened.
Ari shone the flashlight right into his eyes. Svan threw a hand up over his face and staggered back. He wasn’t
