Chapter 7
With thumbs hooked beneath the straps of her backpack, Liz gazed up as she entered the lodge.
She breathed in the pine scent of new wood.
Traditional timber walls met a huge glass expanse that stretched across the south-facing wall.
The glass framed the jaw-dropping view of the lake and surrounding mountains.
A large woodstove was positioned in one corner of the lodge; low seating surrounded it, draped with furs.
Near the entrance, a tall man who looked to be in his late fifties was sitting alone at a wooden bench, wearing a faded plaid shirt buttoned to the collar. A dark peaked cap cast his eyes in shadow. At his feet, a wire-haired dog was licking its paw.
“Hello.” Liz beamed, elated to have arrived.
He responded with a nod, eyes following her as she moved toward reception.
The reception desk, carved from a single trunk sanded smooth, housed a slim laptop, a red folder, and no staff.
An open door led into a small office, where Liz could see the profile of a broad-shouldered man dressed in shorts, socks, and hiking boots.
His thick, sandy-brown hair was pulled into a topknot, revealing a square jaw and neatly trimmed beard.
He stood with a hand slung in a pocket, face set as he listened to someone speaking rapid Norwegian out of sight.
Not wanting to interrupt, Liz pulled off her backpack, glad to be free of its weight, and propped it against the desk. She stepped toward a hiking map pinned to a noticeboard. She loved maps. It was the combination of precise organization married to the promise of adventure.
Using a fingertip, she oriented herself from the lodge, noting the array of day hikes circling the lake or cutting deep into woodland. Her gaze traveled beyond those to a longer, red-dashed route that marked the four-day Svelle trail.
She felt the creases of the map as she traced the path west of the lake, passing through a valley, then alongside a river, near which she planned for the group to spend their first night wild camping.
After that, they’d cross the foothills of a mountain that would deliver them to a remote stretch of coastline where they’d camp on the beach.
She let her gaze swim out across the Norwegian Sea, where nothing lay on the horizon as it swept north toward the Arctic.
She swallowed as she tracked the final—and hardest—leg of the hike: a steep ascent up the north face of Blafjell, followed by a ridgetop crossing connecting to a second peak.
They would need to make the ascent in a single day to ensure they were safely off the ridge and camping lower down the mountain on their final night.
After that, it should be a straightforward return to the lodge.
Hearing raised voices from the office, Liz turned. The broad-shouldered man with the topknot was still listening, palms opening. There was a long silence. Then he exhaled, pushed his hands deep into his pockets, and gave a firm nod, eyes lowered.
A moment later, a second man, with white-blond hair cropped close to his head, exited the office.
His skin was even and deeply tanned, setting off ice-blue eyes as he smiled at Liz.
He crossed the atrium—the wirehaired dog leaping to its feet to receive a pat—before he disappeared through a doorway leading into a dining hall.
Liz glimpsed a group of people gathered around long tables, the boom of voices and laughter competing against the scrape and clink of cutlery.
She caught the warming smell of potatoes, meat, and something salted, before the door swung shut.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man with the topknot said, stepping out from the office.
He was her sort of age—early thirties—but with the tanned skin of someone who spent their days outdoors.
He looked preoccupied, running a hand over his jawline as he said, “I am Leif. Welcome to the Svelle Lodge. How can I help you?”
She took in his full height and the muscular curvature of his body. He had strong, generous features—a heavy brow, a straight nose, square jawline.
She found herself standing a little taller as she said, “I have a booking under the name Liz Wallace. There are three of us.” The entrance door swung open, and she turned to see Helena striding in, lipstick on, pack riding high on her shoulders, polished boots clicking across the wooden floor.
Maggie trudged behind, her yellow dress creased by the straps of her backpack, her spine curved beneath its weight. When she reached the reception desk, she flung down her pack and peeled off her cardigan.
Liz saw Leif staring at Maggie wide-eyed. His brow was stretched in surprise as he stood rooted to the spot, as if he recognized her.
Maggie, seemingly unaware of his reaction, pulled out a bottle of water from the side of her pack and took a drink, the skin of her throat flushed.
“You have the booking?” Liz prompted.
Leif blinked quickly, gave a sharp shake of his head, and cleared his throat. “Yes. Your rooms are ready.”
“Is this us?” Maggie asked, stepping closer to the hiking map. “The Svelle trail?”
Liz nodded.
Maggie bit down on her lip. “Looks like a long way.”
“It is a beautiful hike, but challenging in places,” Leif told them in perfect English.
“Do you think we can manage it? It looks so far,” Maggie said, glancing up at him, hands worrying the pockets of her dress.
It irritated Liz that Maggie was always ready to hand over her autonomy to any person with so much as a whiff of authority.
Leif considered his response. “It is not the distance that causes problems. It is the elevation. The challenging terrain. The possibility of poor weather. The river crossings. People’s fitness. You’re setting off tomorrow, ja?”
They nodded.
“Check the weather. It is changeable in the mountains. And sign the logbook, too,” he said, placing a palm flat against the red folder.
“We like to know when to expect hikers back. The route is meant to be well marked,” Leif went on, “but the markers aren’t always reliable by the end of season, and it’s walked so infrequently that I’ve not had any recent reports about the state of the tracks. You have a map and compass, yes?”
“Yes,” Liz answered.
Maggie asked, “Will there be mobile coverage out there?”
Leif shook his head. “The mountains are problematic for coverage. Expect to be out of range most of the time.”
When Maggie’s face fell, Leif added, “You might be in good luck and find reception on a peak—but only if the weather is clear.”
“It’ll be fine, Mags,” Liz said with a reassuring smile. “It’s just a few days.”
Outside, a group of young, athletic-looking men passed the lodge, arms laden with firewood and crates of beer.
One splintered from the others, shouldering open the lodge door.
He was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt and a thick leather cuff around his wrist, and dragging an amp by its handle.
He loped toward Leif, high-fiving him, before shouldering through to the dining hall, where a crowd of voices rose in greeting.
“It is our end-of-season party tonight,” Leif explained. “It’ll be busy. Climbers, hikers, seasoners. Plus, the locals will come up from the village. We are setting up for some music later. If you will like to eat, the kitchen shuts in half an hour.”
As Leif handed them their room keys, an older couple entered the lodge, arm in arm. The woman had deep shadows beneath her eyes, her shoulders rounded.
The man in the peaked cap hadn’t moved from his watch on the bench, the dog still sitting obediently by his side, and he greeted the couple as they passed. “Bj?rn. Brit,” he said, nodding at each in turn.
Then Leif came forward to welcome the couple.
The woman smiled warmly, placing a hand on his bare forearm.
He dipped his head a little, face solemn.
They were speaking Norwegian, but Liz could sense an intensity in the greeting.
Leif shook the older man’s hand, clasping it between both of his.
After a few more words, Leif indicated the dining hall and began to lead them toward it.
As the woman followed, her gaze skirted over their group—and then froze on Maggie. Her eyes widened. The color seemed to drain from her face.
Maggie looked back at her, uncertain.
Noticing, Leif began to speak to the older woman in a low voice, placing a hand on her arm and gently steering her toward the dining hall. But even as she walked away, the woman kept glancing back over her shoulder, sad eyes on Maggie.
“What was that?” Maggie whispered as the dining-hall door swung shut behind them. “Did you see the way she stared at me?”
“Leif did exactly the same when you walked in,” Liz said.
“You look like their daughter,” a voice said from behind them—and they looked up to see the man in the peaked cap rising from the bench, followed by his dog.
“I’m Vilhelm.” Then he looked at Maggie with a thoughtful, considered expression.
“It is your hair,” he said slowly. “And your eyes, too, I think.”
Maggie blinked. “Oh. Right . . .”
“But it was like they’d seen a ghost,” Liz said.
Vilhelm nodded sadly. “Last year Karin disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Liz repeated, voice hushed.
“She was hiking in the mountains.” He glanced toward the line of dark peaks, his gaze turning distant. “Never found her way back.”
Liz shivered, as if a cold breeze had just traveled over her skin.