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

me?”
    “No.”
    “Liar!”
    “Well,” said Vigot, “you’re worth following.”
    The young man leaned toward her with his mouth half open, as if he were ready to swallow Solveig’s least response. But she turned her head to one side, raised her right hand, and pushed it gently but firmly against Vigot’s chin.
    “You’ve got strange eyes,” Vigot told her.
    Solveig shrugged. “I can’t see them,” she said.
    “One gray, one violet. Like a changeling.”
    Solveig grinned. “That’s what my stepmother says.”
    “Not young and not old.”
    “That’s what she says too,” said Solveig, frowning. “Anyhow, your eyes are strange too.”
    “How?”
    They’re like fishhooks, she thought. And I can’t help looking at them.
    “How?” Vigot asked again.
    But Solveig just shook her head and kept her mouth shut.
    “Where are you going?” Vigot asked.
    “I’m following that bird.”
    “And I’m following you,” Vigot said, and he laughed.
    “Go away,” said Solveig.
    But she didn’t wholly mean it, and Vigot knew she didn’t.
    “All right,” Solveig said. “If that bird cuts off my hair . . .”
    “What do you mean?”
    “. . . and makes a net to catch a tide mouse, you’ll have to save me.”
    Vigot shook his head and smiled.
    When the two of them had crossed a beach of gritty sand and then climbed a green rise, they were surprised to see almost below them a large group of huts and several longhouses with turf roofs.
    “So that’s how it is,” Vigot said. “The harbor’s just a harbor.”
    “And look,” added Solveig. “See that track? That leads straight from the village to the harbor.”
    “A less interesting way,” said Vigot with a shady smile.
    In the middle of the village, quite a crowd had gathered, and Solveig saw they were watching a wrestling match.
    Almost at once, everyone around her yelled. One of the young men had thrown the other and pinioned him, and that was it: the contest was over.
    Then Solveig realized that Vigot was no longer standing beside her.
    “Wait!” he shouted. “Wait!” And he pushed his way through the crowd. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Solveig. “You’ll see,” he called out.
    No, she thought. What if we’re not back in time? What if . . . I don’t know.
    Vigot walked straight up to the young islander who had just won the contest. He pointed at him and then at himself. Then he fished in a pocket and pulled out a little piece of hack-silver the size of a fingernail.
    The young islander nodded and smiled and for his part held up what looked like a silver thimble, then laid it on the ground beside the hack-silver.
    Vigot stripped to the waist, and the crowd whistled and booed and cheered.
    The moment Vigot and the islander grabbed hold of each other, Solveig could see how lithe and deceptive her companion was. He wasn’t as muscular or sturdy as his opponent, but he made up for that with his speed and his feints.
    All the same, the islander was the first to strike. He reached out and tried to grab the back of Vigot’s neck. Vigot leaned back, but his opponent clawed his right cheek from his ear down to his chin, drawing blood.
    Then Solveig saw how rough Vigot could be. He caught the islander’s arm and twisted it behind his back. The young man bucked and writhed, but Vigot wouldn’t let him go. He forced him down onto one knee, groaning.
    Solveig was dry-mouthed. She wanted Vigot to win, and she wanted him not to win.
    As it was, Vigot did win. He forced the islander onto both knees and then flat on his face. But after the young man had submitted, Solveig saw Vigot give his arm a terrible extratwist. Then Vigot kicked him hard in the ribs so that he lay in the grit, groaning.
    Vigot swept up his own piece of silver and the thimble as well, but the villagers were angry.
    They yelled, and one young man made a dive for Vigot’s shirt. Vigot tried to grab it back, but two more men restrained him.
    “Give it back!” Vigot