Blinding light!
The daylight was a burning brightness in my eyes. The sunlight which reflected off the snow shone with a dazzling white. The cold, frigid air filled my lungs as I gasped for breath, each breath stinging deep inside my chest. My breathing came fast and frantic, the icy crystals of snow were like red hot needles burning into my bare flesh.
Pushing myself up onto all fours, I screwed my eyes shut tightly against the intruding light. I tried to steady my breath, tried to calm the heart that was pounding manically against my ribs. My ears strained, listening for the slightest sound, the smallest hint that he was coming after me. It wouldn’t be long, I knew that I couldn’t have much time. It would be perhaps only moments before he would be in pursuit of me. I would not let him catch me, I would not let myself be confined in that basement again.
There was no sound, just a shrill ringing in my ears which cut through the deathly silence of the sleeping, frozen world that surrounded me.
A fire of hope seemed to flare inside of me, a warming heat deep inside myself that seemed to push back against the searing cold that bit at my naked body.
Scrambling to my feet, I lunged forward, feet stumbling and tripping as I pushed myself onwards through the deep snow.
Through tightly squinted eyes I could just about make out the shape of dark trees silhouetted against the bright sky. Trees that fringed the far banks of the lake which sat behind my Grandfather’s house. The frozen waters spread out in front of me, they gleamed brightly like the surface of a well polished mirror reflecting the light of the sun.
I knew this area well, I had spent many happy days staying up here with Grandfather. We would explore those forests together and often go for hikes in the mountains. When the months turned warm, I would paddle his old canoe out across the waters of the lake. Sometimes I might even go for a swim when it was particularly hot. It was here that he had taught me to ski. Together we would glide through the many trails that crisscrossed the forest, weaving in and out of the tall pine trees, laughing and chatting as we went.
It was then, in that moment remembering Grandfather that the idea hit me. Up until that point, I hadn’t given much thought to where I was going to go, all I knew was that I had to get away from my brother’s clutches. But those ski trails were the key to my escape! There was a cross country trail that skirted the banks of the lake. Following that trail around and then north for a few kilometres would bring me to the Skyggespor Ski Resort. It was only a small resort, in reality it wasn’t much more than a handful of wooden huts, but it was run by Magnus Larsen. Magnus, my godfather, an old friend of my Dad’s and his former teammate on the Norwegian cross country skiing team.
Magnus would help me.
A sudden light flickered in the gloominess of my mind, a fragile warmth that stirred deep inside me. For the first time in months, I felt a tingle of hope as the embrace of optimism wrapped around me. It brought with it the belief that there might be a way out of the hellish reality that had become my life. An escape from Lars, an escape from the dark things that haunted my thoughts.
I couldn’t afford to delay. There was no time, I had to move quickly. The warning bells clanged loudly in my head. He must have noticed the open bedroom door by now, he must have heard the window frame breaking, the old rotten wood splintering as I threw myself through it.
With a freezing breath that hitched and clawed at my throat, I surged forward. Forcing myself forward through the knee deep powder, which bit savagely at my raw, bare legs. Thousands of icy barbs stabbed and scratched at me. Yet the promise of Skyggespor, the hope of rescue and freedom drove me onwards. It was a relentless battle. Roots, hidden beneath the surface grabbed at my ankles, each one sending jolts of burning pain through my already numb limbs, my arms windmilling desperately to keep balance. Occasionally an unseen ditch would unexpectedly pitch me waist deep, forcing me to scramble on my hands and knees through the bone chilling snow. Every centimetre of my body was raw, red and burning as the ice stung at me.
I forced myself to ignore the pain, to block out the cold. I dared not look back to the house behind me, to where I was sure that Lars must be in pursuit.
Forwards, always forwards I pushed until suddenly I broke free of the deep, confining snow and stumbled onto the hard packed surface of the ski trail. The trail was seldom used, it was remote and poorly connected to the rest of the network, but like all the trails around Skyggespor, it was meticulously well maintained, Magnus would never allow anything else.
Standing there, a cold breeze sent a violent shudder coursing over my body, a stark reminder of my nakedness, of my vulnerability.
I hesitated for a moment. Clothes! I desperately needed cover. My eyes had become accustomed to the light now, it was still dazzlingly bright, but I could see. With a gaze that swept the bank of the lake, my eyes came to rest on a square, dark, squat shape. A shape stark and contrasting against the gleaming white that surrounded it.
Around two hundred metres down the trail stood Grandfather’s old boathouse. It was in there that he used to keep all of his ski equipment, skis, boots and jackets. It was a fleeting hope that evaporated almost as quickly as it had risen. As with the cabin, we had cleared out that boathouse after he had died. There was nothing of use to me left in there, it was empty.
Although the boathouse was in the opposite direction to Skyggespor, it would make for an obvious hiding place, too obvious. It would be the first place that Lars would think to look for me. I had discounted it the moment that I’d first considered an escape for that very reason. I couldn’t afford to let myself get trapped there, not after all that I had endured to get this far.
No, even in the critically vulnerable state that I was in, I couldn’t risk going back on what was surely a hopeless mission to find clothing. Not unless I wanted to end up back in the horrific confines of that basement and at the mercy of whatever cruel and tormenting punishment Lars would deal out this time.
There was only one choice, my only hope was to press on. I had to reach Skyggespor, and quickly. Perhaps if I was lucky, I would come across a skier who could help me. I knew that the chances of the latter were slim though, being such a remote trail it was seldom travelled. The only people who tended to use it were the inhabitants of the handful of scattered huts, cabins and cottages close to its length. And even then, it was only ever used as a route to the main runs on the other side of the lake.
I wanted to run, every fibre in me screamed at me to charge down that trail, to get to the resort as quickly as I could, to put as much distance between myself and Lars as possible. But I halted, Grandfather’s voice echoed loudly in my head. A former soldier, he taught me many things. Fishing, sailing, bushcraft and survival.
“Walk, girl. Conserve your energy, be strong.” The warm, kindly voice was clear and vivid in my mind. I turned my head, expecting to see the grey haired old man walking beside me. All that was there, however, was the wide expanse of the lake and the dark pine trees beyond.
A lump rose in my throat at the memory of Grandfather, of happier times. My eyes blinked away the tears that formed in them. With a slow, deep breath I settled myself, and wrapping my arms around my body for warmth I took my first step forwards.
The trail, around three meters wide, stretched out in front of me, a white road of hard packed snow hugging closely to the banks of the frozen lake before disappearing into the dark shadows of the forest in the distance. Just inside that forest was freedom, all that I had to do was get there.
The sun shone down on me as I walked, but at this time of year it never reached high in the sky, doing nothing to warm the bitterly cold air that surrounded me, air that grabbed at me with its frosty fingers. With my breath leaving a grey mist hanging, I began.
Step after step, the soles of my bare feet stung and burned with every impact on the bitterly cold ground beneath them. Swollen and bright red I willed them to move. Even as my ankles grew stiff and resistant I forced myself forward.
Step after slow, agonising step I laboured onwards. Arms wrapped tightly around myself, a futile attempt to conserve heat, to protect myself from the harsh Norwegian winter that bit at me, gnawed at my bones. Teeth chattered and my body convulsed uncontrollably, wracked with endless shivers.
With shoulders hunched and head hanging low, I battled on. The only sound that broke the shrill ringing in my ears was the crunching of hard packed snow under my battered and tormented feet.
I tried not to think of Lars, I tried desperately to push him from my mind, to convince myself that he wouldn’t catch me. How could he not catch me in the state that I was in? Huddled, freezing, exposed and naked, I trudged along that ski trail in a desperate, final search for safety. Yet, I had heard no sign of his pursuit. Perhaps he hadn’t left the house, perhaps he believed that I had hidden myself somewhere inside. Or maybe he was searching the boathouse. Either way, the longer he spent preoccupied with those places, the more time that I had to put distance between us. The more chance I had of reaching those trees, of getting to Skyggespor and to safety.
My progress felt agonisingly slow. The landscape was bleak and unchanging. On one side, the lake stretched like a frozen white desert reflecting the pale sky and on the other, deep snow drifts, beyond which rose up thick, dark pockets of trees.
My numb, frozen feet stumbled on the smooth packed surface, a raw pain flaring hot and searing within them. Falling forward, my knee struck the icy ground, hands landing just moments later.
I was cold, I was exhausted, I couldn’t carry on. I couldn’t carry on, but I couldn’t turn back. Perhaps I’ll just lie here and sleep. It was a chilling thought of surrender and defeat that crossed my mind. If I just let myself sleep, I knew that all the pain would simply go away. It was a tempting thought and for a few moments it was something that I considered, but cutting through those thoughts once again came the voice in my mind.
“Keep walking, girl. Keep going.”
Images of Grandfather once again passed in front of my eyes, memories of sitting with him and listening to his stories. Stories of his time in the Norwegian resistance fighting back the Nazi occupiers. Tales of days spent trekking through the Arctic wilderness to sabotage a fuel depot or intercept a freight train.
If he could endure, then so could I.
“Keep going, girl.”
My teeth clenched tightly, I forced myself back to my feet. I was no longer shivering, my joints were stiff with frost, my toes and fingers blue and senseless, my skin red and burning. I had to press on, I had to continue. I hadn’t come this far to simply give up.
The world around me seemed to shift and sway, the ground tilting one way and then the other. The trees bending in the corner of my vision as I staggered on. Desperately I fought every instinct that just told me to stop. I had to keep going, I couldn’t stop.
The trail bent to the right, turning away from the banks of the lake and into the woods. I barely registered the change, my mind had long since become fogged and confused. Thoughts coming and then slipping away from me like water between my fingers before I could really grasp them. Reality itself was evaporating. The solid, firm trees seemed to turn soft and malleable, the ground under my red, cracked feet, once hard packed and cold, now felt pliant and giving. Even the pain and the cold had left me, all sensation was gone.
My mind barely registered the sound, the high pitched whine rising from down the trail or noticed the dark shape that approached me.
As the dark object drew closer to me, it began to take form. The shape of a figure upon a snowmobile gradually came into focus.
Who was this? Was this the rescue that I’d been so desperately seeking? Or could it be Lars? Had he finally caught up with me? They were questions that should have sprung into my head, but my fuddled mind simply couldn’t grasp them. There was only the dim awareness of something approaching me.
Time seemed to lose all meaning to me, moments stretched out or vanished in an instant. How long did I stand watching that ominous shape approach? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
A voice? Was someone talking to me?
“Heidi? Heidi?” I desperately tried to focus my addled mind, the voice was soft, deep and kindly.
Blinking I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. Was someone talking to me? Who? A man? There was a man standing in front of me. Did I know him? Did he know me? He knew my name.
His face seemed to materialise before my eyes, drifting in and out of focus before finally solidifying. His blue eyes were wide, mouth drawn tight in worry. A man of around fifty years old. A grey, bushy beard covered his chin and a blue woolly hat puled low on his head. It was a familiar face. Did I know him?
Magnus Larsen, the name whispered softly in my mind. Had I been looking for him? Why? Why had I been looking for Magnus? What was I doing out here? Was this the trail to Skyggespor?
My mouth opened and although my cracked and chapped lips tried to form the words, my tongue refused to move. All that I could manage was an incoherent, drawn out slur.
“Oh, thank God, I’ve found you! What are you doing out here, Heidi? You know better than this, you know that it’s not safe out here like this. Come on, let’s get you back to Skyggespor. We’ll get you warmed up and get a nice hot dinner inside you. You really need to make sure that you’re eating properly.” Magnus’ voice drifted into my consciousness, his words were like a spectral whisper.
With a hand on my elbow, Magnus began to lead me towards the snowmobile. I pulled the blue ski jacket that I was wearing tightly around myself as he led me. A blue ski jacket? The thought of it slipped in and out of my mind. There was something about that ski jacket which seemed strange, wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what. A nagging thought in the back of my mind. The colour perhaps?
“How are you doing, Heidi? You really don’t look like you’ve been well. We’ll get you right again though, I’ve got a lovely reindeer stew bubbling away ready for you.” Magnus spoke as he led me around the back of the snowmobile to where there was hitched a low sled.
“Lay yourself down in there and we’ll get you back.” Magnus gestured to the blanket lined sled.
Helping me down into it, he proceeded to cover me with thick, bright orange blankets before securing me with three black straps.
Then, climbing up on to snowmobile he started the engine. A steady ticking as it spluttered into life.