He had helped the others to heave Gullbringa up the rest of the slope without incident, while I’d kept watch as Hereward had ordered. Nothing had moved in the forest while I waited there. It had been strangely peaceful after the sudden violence. The sounds of the forest were hidden by the distant roar of the falls. The cascading water was much quieter up there. The mist hung, damp and cool over the calm water before it tumbled down over the ledge of rock.

I scrubbed Gersine’s blood from my hands, then, when they were clean, dipped them into the water and drank from them like a cup. Looking at my hands, I thought back to waiting alone at the top of the falls. My hands had trembled for a time as I’d relived the fight. I had revelled in my prowess with a blade and the joy of besting my opponents, but worse than that was something that I barely admitted to myself. I had enjoyed the act of killing itself. I told myself that I was merely exalted at not having been killed, but deep down, I knew the truth of it. And so did God. I prayed for forgiveness, and not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, I wondered whether I was truly repentant. If I was, the Scriptures said that the Lord would forgive me. But could I continue living this life without becoming lost to the thrill of battle and the ecstasy of spilling blood?

As I stood there, waiting for the others to haul the boat through the forest, a sound and a sudden movement startled me. For a heartbeat, I thought an arrow was arcing overhead towards me and I flinched. But looking up, I saw a great white swan, wings wide and beating forcefully. It flew over the falls and soared upriver. It flew low to the water, its reflection mirroring its flight, until it vanished round the bend, lost behind the trees. I wondered at the sudden appearance of the white bird. Had it been a sign from God Himself? Had He sent the swan to show me that He forgave me?

I had thought about that swan several times that afternoon, as we’d rowed further up the river until Ingvar found the place he was looking for.

“It would be better if we did not stop,” he’d said. “That log boat won’t have been able to reach Ljósberari yet, but he might reach him tonight, if he doesn’t halt. If not, he will be there by tomorrow.”

Hereward had consulted briefly with Runolf.

“We will make camp here. Gersine needs to be treated, and Leofstan needs a fire.”

Ingvar had shaken his head.

“We’re dead already,” he’d grumbled under his breath. “What difference does it make if the boy lives one more night?”