Bracelet of Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

weightless.
    But then she launched herself at the little mast and grabbed it. Standing with both arms wrapped around it, Solveig stared around her, and as her boat lifted again, shecould see in the distance behind her the blue-green stone malt houses and granaries of Trondheim.
    While she had slept, tight as a clam, she had been swept right past them.
    Solveig was aghast. Aghast and terrified.
    If my boat weren’t so light, she thought, the waves would have broken right over us. From in front. From behind.
    She clenched her fists until her knuckles were white.
    Then Solveig knelt down and cautiously grasped the steering paddle, eased the skiff around toward land again, and gripped the oars.
    But as she did so, a wave swept under its bows and lifted and carried it.
    I don’t know whether I’m making any headway at all, she thought. But what else can I do?
    A few drops kicked up and splashed Solveig and streamed down her face. She licked her salty lips.
    “Heimdall!” she cried. “Son of nine waves. Son of nine mothers. Guide me. Save me from Ran and her drowning net.”
    Solveig’s mouth was dry and her tongue felt too big, but she didn’t dare stop for a moment to gulp down some water. It was a long time before she was sure she was coming closer to land and at least an hour before she was able to make her way back into calm water. She was completely soaked and shivering. She knew she had kissed fingers with death and escaped with her life.
    Solveig sat to her oars. She braced her shoulders and pulled the skiff away from the mainstream, looking overto the bank until she saw a little staithe where she could come in.
    A very old man was standing there beside a wreck—its ribs were slimy green, slimy black—and he watched as Solveig beached the boat on the gravel waterfront.
    Solveig stepped out of her skiff, and at once she reeled sideways and fell forward onto her hands and knees.
    The old man kept his distance. His white eyebrows were bushy and had lives of their own.
    Slowly Solveig uncurled herself and looked up at him.
    “You fool!” he said angrily.
    “I didn’t mean to.” Solveig shuddered.
    “Madness! In an oozy old skiff.”
    Solveig’s skin was blue, and her teeth began to chatter. “I fell asleep.”
    The old man spit into the gravel. “Who are you, anyhow?”
    Solveig didn’t reply.
    “Your name.”
    “I . . . I . . . It got left behind.”
    “Where from?”
    “A day back. All day yesterday and last night.”
    “That long!” exclaimed the old man. “You’ve been in the boat that long?” He glared at Solveig. “Human, are you?”
    “Of course I am,” Solveig replied.
    The old man hoicked his thumb over his right shoulder. “Come with me.”
    “I’m all right.”
    “I’m telling you. You’re bone cold.”
    Solveig’s shaking legs nearly gave way when she dragged herself after the fierce old man as he led her to his shack—it was really little more than that, nothing like as roomy as Solveig’s farm. An old woman was sitting by the fire.
    “Bera!” barked the man. “Look at this!”
    Bera didn’t need asking twice. She put an arm around Solveig, sat her down in her own place, and draped a loosely knitted scarf around her shoulders.
    Solveig shook. She couldn’t stop shaking. And for the first time, her eyes filled with tears.
    “Carried right out, she was,” the man told his wife. “In an oozy old skiff. I saw her just after sunrise.”
    Bera, the old man’s wife, put a bowlful of warm turnip soup between Solveig’s trembling hands.
    “Levanger?” croaked the old man. “Is that where you’re from?”
    Solveig jerked her head sideways.
    “Thought I’d seen the last of you. That’s what I thought.”
    “More soup?” asked Bera, and she gave Solveig a knowing smile.
    Solveig was still shaking so much that she had difficulty holding the bowl without spilling it.
    “Well, she’s not come down from Asgard,” the old man said. “The gods always complain about