Read Online Bracelet of Bones by Kevin Crossley-Holland - Free Book Online Page A

something about Bruni, thought Solveig. There’s bad blood between them.
    Solveig had a lump in her throat. And, quite suddenly, her troubled tears were dropping onto the chicken’s carcass.
    Blood, she thought between sobs. Lifeblood washed away by tears.
    The mood of the crew was sober all morning. And during the afternoon, a light sea mist dipped and rose andshape-changed around them, and everyone felt imprisoned inside their own heads and hearts. Everyone except for Vigot. He whistled like a finch and announced that stillness and mist were bad for fish but good for fishermen.
    “Mist made by Ålanders,” Odindisa told Solveig, who was standing with Torsten in the stern. “They make mist when they want to keep people away.”
    “What nonsense you do talk,” Torsten said. “Hot and cold make mist when they mix too quickly.”
    “How many islands are there?” Odindisa asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Exactly,” said Odindisa. “The magicians raise them and sink them. The number’s always changing.”
    “Odindisa,” said Torsten, reaching out and tapping her forehead, “that’s where the mist is. Nothing but mist.”
    “You’ll see,” Odindisa warned him.
    As it was, Torsten could see well enough to guide the ship in to Åland. While Bergdis and Odindisa hauled down the great sail, the four men—Red Ottar with Vigot and Bruni with Slothi—readied themselves at the oarsmen’s benches and quietly rowed the boat into the harbor.
    It was already almost dark, and not until next morning could Solveig see where they were. It was a mangy, ragged, drafty kind of place, its waterfront peopled by no more than a dozen or so traders and suppliers. A home for shrieking gulls and prowling cats, punctuated by fish guts and piles of sodden, stinking seaweed.
    It’s not what I expected, Solveig thought. Not at all. Or are the gulls and the cats all magicians?
    During the morning, Solveig and the traders busied themselves securing more provisions. Then Red Ottar told the crew they were free to come and go until nightfall.
    “And wherever you go and whatever you do,” he said, “find yourselves better spirits. No ship makes good headway against argument and ill feeling. They’re just as dangerous as floating ice or submerged rocks.” The skipper looked around at his crew so intently that each was convinced he was singling them out. “And you can be quite sure,” he warned them, “if there’s further argument, one of you will be leaving this boat. Even if we’re at sea.”
    Solveig decided to go off on her own.
    Eleven of us, she thought. It’s so cramped, and sometimes I feel as if I can’t breathe. No wonder we keep squabbling.
    I know I should be carving, but I’ll wear my waist pouch. I’ll walk along the foreshore and collect bones.
    Almost as soon as she heard her leather soles slapping against the gangplank and then stretched her long limbs—her legs and her arms as well—Solveig began to feel better. She inhaled great gulps of air, stinking of seaweed and fish guts; then she expelled all the air again until her lungs were flat and empty and she was coughing.
    Solveig left the little harbor behind her and picked her way along the strand. She saw a yellow-breasted bird she’d never seen before. It was hopping, hopping in front of her, looking at her sideways, whistling.
    You’re leading me on, Solveig thought. And I’ll follow you. But then she thought: What if you’re a magician? Are you going to catch me and cut off my hair?
    Solveig was so busy watching the bird and telling herself stories that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.
    “Ah!” said the voice. “We’re heading the same way, then.”
    Solveig whirled around and at once slipped on a slimy rock.
    “Careful!” said the voice, and a pair of hands clamped around her slender ribs and helped her up.
    Solveig looked into her helper’s eyes.
    “Vigot!” she exclaimed. “Were you following