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  "Let me go," the witch whispered. "Right now. Call for a horse, and food, and send me on my way."

  Helvig gave her best defiant look.

  "Shan't."

  Gerda’s lip wobbled. She was gripping the knife so tightly her fingers shook.

  "Go ahead," Helvig pressed. "Cut me. I’ll scream so prettily for you, and give you plenty of blood to remember me by."

  Tempests swirled behind Gerda’s eyes, but she didn’t relent. They would be at this all night if neither one of them did anything about it, and Helvig, for one, was very much looking forward to a little peace and quiet.

  Helvig lunged forward and shoved Gerda onto her back with a speed that knocked the wind out of her. In a flash, she had clambered on top of the smaller girl and was pinning her down with her knees, both hands clawing for the knife in Gerda’s deathgrip.

  At first Gerda thrashed and writhed, grunting like an animal trying to escape the hunter’s trap. But then her body went slack beneath Helvig and her hands opened.

  Helvig retrieved the knife quite easily then, and stowed it safely on her side of the bed.

  "Lesson for the wise," she panted. "There’s no shame in not having the stomach for murder, but if you’re going to hold a dagger to someone, you had better be ready to use it."

  Gerda’s face had crumpled, but she didn’t cry. She just lay on the bed looking wrung-out, her eyes unfocused on the ceiling.

  Helvig unwound her fingers from Gerda’s wrist and sat back on her haunches, studying the witch's face. Helvig had been raised to fight for her life down to the last, and had never seen someone give up and slip out of their body in the middle of a tussle like this. It concerned her.

  Didn’t Gerda realize they were only scrapping, and that Helvig would forgive her for pulling a knife as quickly as she would forgive a beloved pup for nipping at her when it got scared?

  "Gerda?" she asked softly. There was no response. "Please, won’t you tell me what happened to you?"

  Gerda turned her face towards Helvig. She wore her mask again, mildly irritated but placidly calm.

  "If it’s all the same to you, I’m very tired. I would like to go to bed."

  Helvig scowled. She wanted to twist Gerda’s arm like when she wrestled with Rasmus to make her tell all her secrets, or to kiss her hard white mouth so she couldn’t say anything at all.

  In the end, she clambered off the other girl and left her to her side of the bed in peace.

  "I’ll not tolerate another scene like that. If you pick a fight with me again, I’ll be sure to finish it. And when that lantern goes out you are not to leave this tent, understand?"

  Helvig bent down to extinguish the lantern with a terse puff. Then she threw herself back into bed beside Gerda and curled up with her back to the other girl, a bundle of rabbit pelts pressed to her chest like a child’s poppet.

  "It was a nightmare, you hear me? Nothing else. I’ll thank you never to speak of it in front of me again, or you’ll find yourself sleeping on a sled out in the cold."

  Gerda said nothing, and Helvig seethed in silence with only the weight of things unsaid for company. It sat inside her like a stone, shapeless and cold.

  Helvig could not place the moment where rage faded to apathy and apathy to exhaustion, but she was asleep before Gerda had any further chance to argue or explain herself.

  SEVEN

  Helvig woke alone, with one arm sprawled across the side of the bed where Gerda should have been. It took a few minutes for the warm delirium of sleep to clear and the events of the previous day to come flooding back into her mind. Then she was up like a shot, hair flying in wild corkscrews around her face.

  The witch had fled.

  Helvig dressed in a panic and yanked her hair back with a strip of castoff leather. Her father was going to murder her if Gerda had gotten into any trouble while Helvig’s back was turned.

  She could have robbed us blind and made off with our spoils. She could have stolen a horse. She could have—

  Helvig darted out of the tent, one arm threaded through her coat sleeve, and found Gerda sitting with Rasmus by one of the fires. He was holding up his shirt, chatting away as blithe as ever as Gerda prodded at a wound festering in his bony chest.

  Helvig thought she might swoon from relief, but her gratitude that Gerda was present and accounted for was quickly replaced by prickling irritation.

  She yanked on her coat and stamped on through the snow.

  "The bullet ricocheted right off the tree and grazed my side. Jakko didn't even notice he had shot me at first, he was so shaken up about having to shoot at anyone at all. He couldn't hit the broad side of a moose if it lay right down in front of him, I tell you."

  Gerda daubed at his skin with a strip of cloth she had boiled until it steamed.

  "You're very lucky you were only grazed. A few more inches to the left and you would have ruptured your spleen."

  "That's bad, is it?"

  "Quite bad."

  "What's all this?" Helvig asked, rubbing her fingers together briskly to ward off the cold. In her haste to find Gerda she had forgotten her mittens.

  Rasmus looked up at her, a smile splitting his battered face. He had always managed to keep his boyish charm and even a passing semblance of good looks, despite that unfortunate nose that hadn’t been handsome even before several fists had become well-acquainted with his face.

  "She's using her magic on me, Helvig! Just like in the stories!"

  "Is she now?"

  Helvig approached the tiny cauldron simmering over the fire, hoping for some oats and milk or maybe a bit of meat. But all she found were pungent herbs steeping down to nothing in a frothing boil. Helvig pulled a face.

  "Don't tell me this is breakfast."

  "It's a potion," Rasmus said. "Any idiot can see that."

  "Old man's beard and devil's nettle," Gerda said. "To ward off sickness and fester."

  Helvig peered down at the bullet wound on Rasmus' side. She had of course seen it when it was fresh; she had stripped Rasmus of his filthy shirt and wadded it up to staunch the bleeding while she screamed a blue streak at Jakko. The merchant they were targeting had fled without dropping a single silver piece, and Jakko had sulked for three days.

  But now, the jagged tear was swollen and painted an angry shade of red, with pustules full of yellowish infection spread across the area.

  Helvig hissed through her teeth and spat over her shoulder.

  "Christ on the cross, Rasmus! That looks bad. You told me it was getting better!"

  "Well it was and then it wasn't. I didn't know what to do about it, so I just tried not to touch it or sleep on it."

  "That'll kill you, boy."

  "She's right," Gerda said. "You're lucky the infection isn't already in your blood. You would have been dead in a week."

  Rasmus paled, but he soldiered on as Gerda drained his sores and wiped them clean with her cloth.

  "Lucky me then, to have found such a wise and beautiful sorceress to take pity on me."

  "You didn't find her Rasmus, I found her."

  "As I recall," Gerda said mildly, swirling the herbs around in the cauldron with a wooden spoon. "I was the victim of an incompetent group ambush. And the last time I checked I still belonged to myself, so I'll allocate my magic as I wish."

  "Of course, miss witch," Rasmus said, and winked at Helvig. "Where did you learn your craft, anyway?"

  "I apprenticed with a cunning woman. She taught me how to mend bones and sew up knife wounds, how to deliver babies and cure them of colic. I assisted her with many a healing." Gerda cast a sparkling glance to Rasmus, lowering her voice to a whisper. "And many a dark rite."

  Rasmus beamed as though Christmas had come early. Despite her best efforts, Helvig couldn’t help but smile too. Rasmus always had an incorrigible weakness for tales of valor and sorcery, and if he wanted to go on believing that Gerda was a mistress of magic, Helvig wasn’t going to stop him.

  Gerda spooned out the nettles a
nd twisted bundles of lichen onto a clean cloth and began to pat them dry.

  "This poultice should take some the swelling down and relieve a bit of the discomfort. No matter what you do, don't try to change the dressing yourself or scratch at the blisters. That will just make them spread. In the meantime, try to eat as much raw garlic as you can stand. It will help you heal."

  "That's it then?" Rasmus asked. "No magic words or anything? I figured you would have to sacrifice a chicken, at least."

  Gerda raised her eyebrows and glanced down at her hands. Helvig spied she was thinking something up, quick as a flash.

  "Of course there are magic words. You must say the Lord's prayer three times over the injury at sunrise and sunset for nine days. Put your trust in the magic, and you will be healed."

  Gerda scooped up a fingerful of hot herbs and pressed them to Rasmus' side. He yelped in pain, but pulled a brave face as she worked with nimble fingers to cover the infected area. Then Gerda wrapped a length of clean cloth tightly around Rasmus' middle, taking great care to press the layer of greenery flush against his skin.

  "Where did you get those dressings?" Helvig asked. Their camp didn't have much in the way of medical supplies, and those with rudimentary skills in wound care and bone-setting tended to guard their tools jealousy.

  "I asked nicely."

  "Witchcraft," Rasmus said, laying a finger aside of his nose.

  "Done," Gerda pronounced. "I'll try to see if I can't make you a tincture for the pain, but no promises. People around here seem very unwilling to part with their vodka."

  Rasmus took up Gerda’s hand and planted a hearty kiss on the back of her wrist.

  "Thank you, Gerda, for showing your favor to this poor wretch. I shall say my prayers every morning and night and thank God for your witchcraft."

  He hopped up and clapped Helvig on the shoulder, then bounded off to whatever dirty deeds the day had in store for him.

  Helvig whistled lowly.

  "Amazing. Getting the prince of rubbish and lies to say his prayers, as easy as you please. You could have told him to do anything for you and I bet he would have. Next time tell him to do my chores for me, will you?"

  Gerda chuckled as she cleaned up her supplies.

  "I'll see what I can do. He's not a bad lad, really."

  Helvig watched him stride up to some of the men and start gabbing, probably boasting about the powerful rites he had just borne witness to.

  "S'pose not. Just reckless and a big of a braggart, but who isn't around here?" She worried at her thumbnail with her teeth. "Certainly seems to have eyes for you, though."

  Gerda shrugged.

  "He can look all he likes; it won't kill either of us."

  "No, of course not, it's just..."

  Gerda's eyes flitted up with a question behind them, and Helvig’s words dried up. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, desperately hoping she looked casual.

  "What did you mean last night, when you said you were immune to the charms of men?"

  The same slow, pleasured smile that had appeared when Helvig had been flustered and babbling about her men spread over Gerda’s face. It was becoming plain how much she enjoyed getting under Helvig’s skin.

  "I meant just what I said. I don't fawn on boys like some girls do. As a matter of fact, no male of our species has ever managed to catch my eye, though I have seen some valiant attempts."

  "Ah." Helvig worked a furrow into the ground with the toe of her boot. There was another question she wanted to ask, loitering just out of her grasp, but she couldn't bring herself to reach for it.

  Gerda watched her fidget for a moment, then dipped her chin to her chest to disguise a laugh.

  "Listen to me Helvig...I’m sorry for my conduct last night. Truly."

  Helvig wasn’t sure if she was talking about running out into the snow or threatening her with a knife, but she was willing to accept the apology on either account.

  "People do funny things when they’re afraid. I won’t hold it against you. And, ah..." Had she always been such a squirmer? She couldn't stay still when Gerda’s eyes were on her, and now she tugged at her fingers. "I stand by what I did, not letting you leave in the middle of the night. But...I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. I would like to keep you, and I would like to not see you freeze on some roadside...But I won’t force you to stay."

  Gerda looked her over with those relentlessly searching eyes. Then she said,

  "Good."

  She rose to her feet, prim and self-assured and so very different from the half-mad creature Helvig had dragged into her bed last night. She wasn’t sure she would ever understand Gerda, but she still felt compelled to try.

  "Well we'd ought to get going, don't you think?" Gerda said. "Don't want to lose too much of the daylight."

  "Go? Go where? You’re staying?"

  "For another day or two? Yes. I’m too badly injured to make another long journey right away, you were keen enough to say so last night. And we're going out on the hunt, of course. I told your father of my intentions this morning and he gave you his permission to accompany me into the forest. It seems he doesn't want you to let me out of your sight."

  Helvig could hardly believe it. She bothered her father for gifts and gold as much as any other girl, but most people had the good sense not to assert their right to demand favors from him without first proving their loyalty.

  "You just sauntered up to the Robber King and told him what for, did you?"

  "That's right. He said you would know which horses to take."

  Gerda began to walk briskly across the snowy ground to the patch of trees where the many horses that Helvig's father had stolen were tied up. A skinny youth had just finished giving them their breakfast and was combing out their coats with a wiry brush. Helvig jogged to catch up with Gerda and waved the youth on to his next task.

  "How on earth did you convince him to let you take out the horses? He hardly ever lets me go riding."

  "I asked nicely."

  Helvig untied a sleek black mare, her favorite mount, and a stocky cream stallion for Gerda. The animals looked beautiful together, a perfect pair of opposites.

  "Well no matter how nicely you ask me, don’t think I’ll be giving you a bow and arrow. I don’t fancy the idea of getting shot in the back, sorry for saying so."

  "After last night? I don’t blame you."

  Helvig ran her hand down her horse’s glossy neck and gave him a loving thump. As much as Gerda’s boldness shocked her, she was happy for it. It had been too long since she was let loose on the world on a horse with no simpering boys to slow her down or draw her into asinine conversations. She craved the whip of wind through her hair, the racing rhythm of a powerful animal beneath her.

  "Speaking of which, how do I know you aren’t just going to make off with one of our horses and leave me for dead in the middle of the woods?"

  "You’ll be mounted too; you could chase me down. Alternatively, we could just learn to trust each other."

  Helvig tried and failed to read her expression.

  "Hmph. I s'pose."

  Gerda let her stallion snuffle at her hand, and the same tenderness that had appeared on her face when she met Bae softened her features. She raked her fingers through his mane and cooed at him like a baby while Helvig tightened a saddle to his back.

  "You certainly seem to love animals."

  "I do. And I haven’t ridden a horse in ages."

  Helvig smirked as she swung herself up onto her mare. The cold December wind filled her nostrils with the scent of spruce, and her skin prickled with excitement at the thought of getting far away from camp with Gerda at her side.

  "Good. Then you shouldn’t have any problem keeping up."

  EIGHT

  Snow flew up in great white splashes as the horses galloped through the forest of birches and fir. The doe in front of them careened forward, tripping lightning-quick across the icy terrain. More than once her slim dappled body almost disapp
eared in the rolling hills of snow, but Gerda shouted her horse on, never once losing sight of her quarry. Her hair flew behind her like wheat rippling in a field.

  Helvig kept close pace, kicking her black mare on over field and fen. Svíčka winged circles overhead as they ran the deer to the point of exhaustion, their horses foaming and steaming at the mouth. The crow's eager cries pierced the clear blue of the sky.

  Every sound and gust of wind made Helvig feel more than alive. Gerda’s charm thumped against her chest, and she found that even though she didn’t believe in witches or their charms, it made her feel a little stronger, a little safer.

  The deer banked hard around a boulder in an attempt to shake off her assailants, but lost speed in the process. Helvig snatched an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back and threaded it into her bow, firing at the animal.

  Her arrow shattered against the boulder. Helvig roared a curse, her arm aching from countless failed shots.

  "Missed again!" Gerda cried, almost manic with glee.

  "You're enjoying this far too much!" Helvig shouted back, yanking her horse on after their quarry.

  Gerda threw back her head and laughed. Her ringing laughter had haunted the deer for the last few miles, and the sound had a quality that made Helvig shiver with delight. The gold around Svíčka’s ankle glinted in the thin sunlight, flashing a bright slash across Gerda’s face. She looked wild as a pagan goddess and bright as an icon of Mary, sanctity and sin all shining together as one.

  "I thought highwaymen were supposed to be good hunters," she said.

  "I'm still learning to shoot from horseback," Helvig replied, pulling her horse nearer to Gerda's. She could see the sheen of sweat on the stallion's flank. "I’d like to see you try it!"

  "Fine!"

  "What?"

  Gerda thrust out her hand for Helvig's bow and an arrow. Helvig glared at her and pulled ahead, just in time to guide her horse into a leap over a fallen log.

  She wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.

  Helvig skittered down an embankment towards the doe, who bleated with fright. She thought with the high ground she may be able to land a clearer shot, but she overshot by an easy three feet and the animal bounded away unharmed.