But as we drew near to the island, it was clear that the log boats were heading away from us, travelling north in the direction of our quest.

“They didn’t pass us on the river,” Ingvar said, scowling and distractedly stroking Ulf’s ears. “And nobody has headed upriver for weeks.”

“They might be Ljósberari’s men,” said Runolf. “Could we catch them?”

Ingvar thought for a moment.

“Perhaps,” he said at last, “but they are far off, and it would be a long hard row, if they do not wish to be caught. And I am not sure your friend would survive the race.”

Runolf looked over at Sygbald. The injured man lay with eyes closed, his pale skin sheened with sweat. Runolf nodded.

“Let us see what this woman has to say. Perhaps she can tell us who is in those boats.”

Ingvar nodded, his expression doubtful. Soon we had pulled Gullbringa up onto a small beach, not unlike the one where we had spent the night. It too was shadowed by willows and alders, but where the island we had slept on had been uninhabited, the ring of stones around the ash of old fires the only mark that anyone had been there before us, this island bore evidence of people’s passing everywhere I looked.

Colourful strips of cloth hung from many of the trees’ lower branches, and I could make out small straw figures, and carved figurines dangling from the limbs. The trinkets were thickest where a path led into the darkness beneath the canopy of the wood. Two posts stood at the entrance to the forest path. They were the height of a man and atop each was the skull of a horse.

I crossed myself.

“We should not have come here,” I said. “We cannot trust one who places her faith in magic.”

Some of the others copied me, also making the sign of the cross.

“If anyone can heal your friend,” said Ingvar, “it is Gudrun.”

“But at what cost?” I muttered.

“You will have enough silver to pay her, I am sure,” he said.

I did not reply. I had not been talking of precious metals or wealth.

“I will watch the boat,” said Eadmaer, after he had helped Bealdwulf lift Sygbald down from Gullbringa. Eadmaer was almost as pale as Sygbald, his eyes constantly roving across the trees, the rattling tokens hanging from their branches, and the sightless sockets of the horse skulls. I could not blame him for being afraid. I felt the scratch of fear down my spine as I thought about walking between those skulls and into the gloom under the trees. I’d had the same sensation when I had first spoken to Leofstan about The Treasure of Life, and again when Audun had told us of Ljósberari and how he had burnt those he believed had lost their battle with darkness.