Page 2

It wasn’t enough.

Ivarr grew gaunt and grim, and even when he smiled at the children, there was not much joy in it. The lines of fatigue in his face grew deeper. Hlif and Gytha ate very little, and they took turns walking the upper town asking for work. Their lodge was in the great forest, looking down upon the upper town through the trees from a slight elevation. There was not a proper road, of course; there were not enough people to need a road. But Gytha’s family all knew the path well, for they had walked it a thousand times.

In the summer, it was a pleasant, pine-scented walk of an hour or so, with the mountains far away to the west sometimes visible between the trees. The path to town was roughly parallel with the river, and many smaller paths ran into the whispering forest to the best fishing locations. The shoreline itself was rough and rocky, and in many places not easilytraversed, but Gytha and her siblings had explored it for many miles in both directions in warmer months.

Now, with snow thick on the path and the icy wind whispering and snarling through the trees, the walk took much longer. Gytha had an unsettling sense that she was being watched, and she looked for eyes among the trees and brush. Wolves prowled the woods, along with enormous brown bears, wolverines, lynxes, and even foxes, though it would be strange indeed for a fox to stalk a human. Gytha kept a tight grip on her walking stick; it was not much of a weapon, but she was skilled with it.

The feeling of being watched did not fade until she reached the little village, but she saw no sight of any predator. Hunger fogged her mind and dragged at her limbs, and she was exhausted before she reached the village.

Few people offered any work, for they had little food or money to spare. Gytha had almost lost hope when Hildr Hilmarsson, the widowed younger sister of Torvald, took pity on her and offered her a little embroidery work.

The wind cut through Gytha’s coat as she trudged home. If a predator watched her, she did not perceive it. Perhaps she was too tired to notice.

For a week, Gytha sat near the stove hunched over the work. A vague sense of crawling unease snuck over her, and it took a full day before she identified the sensation as a fever. Her skin tingled but her bones were cold, and she could not sleep at night. Nevertheless, she had work, and she was grateful for it.

When she presented the tunic to Hildr, the woman paid with a whole chicken, five potatoes, an onion, and a little salt.

“Thank you!” exclaimed Gytha. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

Hildr pressed the bag into her hands. “I have a jacket, if you’d like to do it?” She smiled warmly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The walk home was frigid. The wind picked up and swirled snow around her feet in sparkling whorls. Gytha’s stomach felt sour and empty, but it was foolish to think too much of it. Focusing on the discomfort, on the trembling weakness in her knees and the way her heart skipped unevenly sometimes when she strode too quickly up a hill, only made her fearful. It was better to think of courage and strength, of her father’s great love for them and the quiet generosity of her mother.

Hunger had stolen the strength of their bodies, but it had not weakened their love.

When she looked up from the snow, she sucked in a sudden breath. Mere steps ahead of her stood an enormous white bear. It stared into her blue eyes with its huge black ones.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She trembled, cold to her bones. The wind cut through her thin coat and snuck through the seams of her worn boots.

The bear took a step toward her, and she closed her eyes. Perhaps she would die now. Perhaps it would eat her and get a thin, bony meal from her body.

Without her, there would be enough food for her father and mother to eat every day. Not much, but enough to survive the winter.

Eight children! Was it any wonder winter was hard?

When she opened her eyes, the bear was gone.

She stumbled into the lodge and presented her earnings to her mother.

“Are you all right?” her mother asked, frowning worriedly.

“I’m just a little dizzy.” Gytha blinked as her mother wavered before her. “I’m sorry, Mamma.”

“Go lie down. Thank you for this, Gytha. Get a little rest. Your father will be back soon.” Her mother kissed her forehead and said, “You’re burning up!”

Gytha stumbled to the bed in the corner that she shared with Sigrid and Solveig and drifted into a feverish darkness.

She woke to her mother’s cool hand on her cheek. “Eat a little, darling.”

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, and she turned her back to her mother’s worried face.

She slept until noon the next day.

“I need to work.” She sat up and the room danced and spun.

“Eat, Gytha.” Her father held up a bowl of soup. “Can you hold it or shall I feed you?”