Wolfskin
“There is only one such vessel in all of Norway, and that is mine,” Ulf said quietly. “I built her myself; she was two years in the planning, a season in the making. The next will be quicker. In time, there will be many such ships, for men seek to emulate what they admire, and the Golden Dragon is not only fair and swift, but also strong enough to withstand the rigors of long journey in open sea. If I were king of these isles, I would ask that the next such ship to be built would be my own. Timber from Rogaland would make that possible; my men’s skills would achieve it. This could be completed within two summers, I believe.”
Engus only nodded. If there was a question he was meant to ask at that point, he chose to save it. Very wise, Nessa considered, yawning. It was getting late. The tide would be well up over the causeway by now, so the guests would have to stay, whether they wanted to or not.
The beads were lovely; the white fur was soft and pretty. Still, you couldn’t wear such a thing without wondering about the creature that had once lived in it. Those men wore fur, the ones who guarded Ulf: great shaggy pelts over their shoulders, like the skin of some mythical dog far bigger than any that lived in this world. It added to their look of wildness. She yawned again, and slipped away outside, shivering in the night chill as she ran across to the little hut she shared with her mother and sisters and a couple of serving girls.
It was a clear sky tonight; a blanket of stars stretched from one edge of the world to the other, piercing bright against the soft blue darkness. The moon was a sliver, not yet as full as the crescent she had shaped from stones atop that subterranean dwelling, all those years ago when she was still small and had not learned the mysteries. She knew every corner of that secret place now: its three long chambers with the niches to the sides, its precipitous, crumbling inner steps, the shelf partway down, which held seven tiny skulls set out in a row, right at eye level. The bottom-most chamber was a place of utter darkness. Back then, when she was still a small girl, Nessa had asked Rona what it was, but even Rona did not know, or would not say. So Nessa, with the confidence of childhood, had told Rona what she thought.
“I don’t think it’s an underground house at all. It only looks like one. I think it’s a tower.”
“Interesting,” Rona had observed. “A tower in the earth.”
“It wasn’t always like this,” small Nessa had told her, warming to the story. “Once there was a fisherman lived here, a good place, not far from the bay but quite sheltered. It started as a cottage, but he wanted to look out to sea, far out, because he always thought, if he looked hard enough, he’d catch a glimpse of the people of the Seal Tribe swimming and playing in the foam, as the old folk said could happen.”
Rona had nodded, saying nothing.
“In those days it really was a tower, high up above the top of the dunes, and there was a little window looking out to the west. That was where he used to stand and watch for them. He was very patient, and in the end he got what he wanted. One moonlit night, the Seal Tribe swam up to the rocks at the north end, and climbed out of the water, and danced there naked as newborn babes, each one of them more beautiful than the last.”
“What, even the men?” the wise woman had asked with a gap-toothed grin.
“These were all girls,” Nessa had said with six-year-old confidence. “The fisherman crept along the shore and tiptoed across the rocks as the strange creatures sang and chattered and combed their long green locks, and quick as a flash he grabbed one of them around the wrist, and held on as hard as he could, for all her entreaties, until the dawn began to break and the others slipped silently into the sea. The sun rose, and the sea-woman had to go home with him, because once day has arrived, they can’t go back anymore. He kept her a while. But it’s true what they say about the Seal Tribe. Such a pairing can end only in sorrow. One night her menfolk called to her, and when she came down to the shore, they held up those wee pearly shells to catch the moonlight and guide her back home. She broke the fisherman’s heart.
“I think he died alone, here in this house. Perhaps his ghost is still here somewhere, hiding in that bottom chamber by day, wandering the shore alone at night, calling out to her, a call that’s never answered. It was a long time ago. Great storms came, and the sands covered up the cottage, and then the bottom of the tower, and at last came up over the window and left it all in darkness. So you see, you can have a tower in the earth. That’s what it is.”
“What about the skulls?”
Nessa had pondered this for a little. “I suppose the Hidden Tribe come here sometimes,” she’d replied. “Maybe they use them for drinking bowls.”
“Tell me,” the wise woman had said. “Tell me why you sealed the entry so carefully. Are you afraid of the Hidden Tribe?”
“I don’t think so,” Nessa had answered, considering. “Folk do fear them, but they belong here on the islands just as we do, almost as if they are a kind of ancestor, a rather odd one. What they do is only mischief: stealing a jug of milk, or putting your fire out. It’s the Seal Tribe who are dangerous. They’re the ones who take your child or steal your spirit; the ones who leave you lonely forever, like that fisherman. Of course I’m careful. Nobody’s ever going to do that to me.”
“Of course,” Rona had observed dryly, “your fisherman could have chosen to forget it and get on with things. He could have married and had children and moved away from the tower. He didn’t need to waste his whole life just because he didn’t get what he wanted.”
Nessa could remember her own grave answer. “The Seal Tribe care nothing for us, only for what we can give them. His mistake was to fall in love, and think she could return his feelings. He gave away his heart. After that, he was no good to anyone, not even himself.”
Now, so many seasons after, Nessa recognized the wise woman’s patience. Rona had been a kind teacher, as well as a hard one. She had set tests of endurance and tests of will, and had guided her student with strength and love. She had taught Nessa how to dream, how to move into that other place where there were tales as numerous as the stars in the sky, wondrous stories that were patterns of wisdom for the taking, provided one could hear them. Rona said storytelling was a kind of healing, and that Nessa should remember that in times of trouble. It was interesting; Brother Tadhg said much the same thing. There was no doubt in Nessa’s mind that his stories of the boy born in a stable and nailed up to die were learning tales. As she settled to sleep, she wondered what gods these strange fierce men from the snow lands followed, or if such folk felt the need of gods at all.
Engus offered the strangers shelter until the end of summer and the right to travel across his land. In return, they promised to refrain from any acts of violence, and to respect the local people, both men and women, and not to take what was not theirs. They might buy flour and meat and whatever else they needed from his farmers, but must offer a fair price. Engus even suggested a trip to High Island later in the season. Hares could be found in abundance there, and many birds. It was understood, without needing to be put into words, that this short voyage would allow the Golden Dragon to display the features that made her outstanding among longships: indeed, the first of her kind.
The strangers settled into their new quarters in a tranquil spot some distance to the southeast of the tidal brough which was the king’s stronghold. Their stone-and-turf dwelling houses were set close by one of the island’s rare groves of trees, on level ground beside a small, peaceful lake. To the north and east lay hills and moorlands, to the west, verdant pastures for grazing. One could hardly have chosen a spot better to demonstrate all the beauties of spring in the Light Isles. The days grew longer, the air warmer, and the newcomers’ hair was bleached gold-white by the sun. Their fair skins glowed pink; wolfskins and woolen cloaks were discarded, and well-muscled bodies applied themselves to fishing or hunting, to mending a roof for a widow or helping a farmer butcher a steer. Their women were tall and strong like the men, and seemed just as capable, setting their hands to baking and brewing and t
ending chickens.
Ulf was everywhere: inspecting the results of his men’s toil, walking by Engus’s side as the king showed him his stables or his grain stores, and often enough, deep in conversation with Brother Tadhg, though what the two of them spoke of, nobody knew. It did not take long for Engus to learn that these men from beyond the sea had a plan, a plan that went much further than a summer of toil in the fields and a journey home at harvest time. They had a mind to settle, Ulf said, to be granted some land for farming, perhaps some corner as yet untouched by the plow, untrodden by oxen. If Engus allowed this, he could expect friendship and cooperation. And another thing: they had among them some of the best fighting men in Rogaland, and many of these wished to remain in the islands, though some would indeed sail home in the autumn. With that kind of support, Engus’s own position would be much strengthened. Should his neighbors in the lands of the Caitt or the northern isles take it into their heads to pay an unfriendly visit, he would be more than ready for them.
“And if I do not agree?” Engus had inquired.
“Then all is as before.” Ulf’s manner was forthright; one could not doubt his honesty. “If you say no, we will return to Rogaland before the autumn gales sweep these hills, and we will not return here. We would not stay where we were unwelcome.”
Engus told Ulf he would think about it and give his answer when he was ready. And he watched them. As spring became full summer, as sheep and cattle grew fat on rich grasses and barley ripened in the sun, he watched and listened, assessing what manner of men these were, and how this decision might weigh upon the future of the Folk.
The visitors showed a great capacity for hard work. They also knew how to play. Indeed, they had a passion for sports and games, and on many a day the labor of the fields would be succeeded by contests of various kinds among themselves: running, wrestling, swimming. Sometimes, there was combat with weapons. Occasionally, there were injuries: a black eye, a torn ear, a sprained wrist or ankle. Once a man broke his leg, and Engus’s own bonesetter had to doctor him. Nessa stayed away from these activities, wishing neither to see nor be seen by the newcomers, but she could not avoid her sisters’ chatter.
At midsummer, Ulf played host to the king’s household, offering a feast of sorts on the flat sward by the lakeshore, preceded by an afternoon of games. By that time, a wary sort of trust had replaced folk’s initial reservations, and some of the local men had started to form friendships with the foreigners. As for the local women, what dealings they had with these fair-haired giants were their own business, but it had been whispered that by next spring the island’s population might be swollen by one or two particularly strapping infants. At Ulf’s feast, Engus watched a game called Battlefield, in which each team was made up of both locals and visitors, and in which all participants acquitted themselves with the combination of courage and insanity that the rules of the game seemed to demand. There were no major mishaps, beyond a dispute about which team had actually won that was carried on late into the night over the ale cups. And still the king watched them, assessing.
That season the brothers did not see much of Tadhg on Holy Island. Tadhg was very busy, his services as translator in high demand. For three reasons, Nessa could not assist the cleric in these duties: she was a girl, the king’s niece, and a priestess of the Folk. Still, she practiced the Norse tongue whenever she could. She could not see the future, but the unease she felt still lingered, and it seemed to her this knowledge could only give her strength to fight what might come. When Tadhg could spare the time, they would sit on the rocks together, watching the changing patterns of the sea, observing the seals sunning themselves on the haul-ups where reef met water, and they would practice new words and sayings, or exchange stories, or simply be silent as sky and sea moved through their great dance all around them. The Norse tongue was harsher than the lilting language of the Folk. Even the names had a different ring to them. Nessa had always thought she could tell, from a name, what kind of person its owner really was. She did not talk about this much, because it was something people found odd. Brother Tadhg was different. She could tell him anything.
“I mean,” she said to him, “what sort of a name is Ulf? I can make sense of your name, Tadhg: that speaks of courage, like a flame burning. And Kinart, there’s a meaning in that, too, a quick sort of purpose. But Ulf? It sounds like a dog barking.”
Tadhg smiled. “In his own country, I believe it is a suitable choice for a nobleman. I have revised my opinion of the fellow, I must admit. This is a man of balance and fairness, one who speaks his mind and knows how to listen. He has been much interested in what I have to tell. It’s hard to believe he means your uncle any ill.”
Nessa nodded. She was watching a rock pool. Small creatures like drowned stars clung to its underwater crevices, and tiny glinting fish darted among fronds of impossibly green weed. “But you’re still worried, aren’t you?” she asked him. “You feel what I feel: a shadow, a danger.”
Tadhg sighed. “I can’t say, Nessa. I’ve seen them put aside the instruments of war, and demonstrate they can work hard and live in harmony with the folk of the land here, at least while times are good. There may be many worthy men among them.”
“But?”
“It seems to me this is a little like making an agreement with some wild beast. The creature comes down from the hills and sits by your door, and you feed him. He behaves like a well-trained dog. Maybe he even guards your house. Then something changes, some small thing, and suddenly he remembers what he is. One night he hears the call of his ancestors, the summons of a pagan god. On an instant, this is a savage beast of the wild again, and you are at his mercy. I’ve no wish to see that visited on these islands. Your uncle is a great and wise ruler. The Folk are not aware, perhaps, of how rich they are in God’s blessings. Maybe they will not recognize what they have until it is lost.”
“Don’t say that!” Nessa turned to stare at him, alarmed by these words. “How can you even think such a thing? It cannot be lost! Anyway, if your stories are true, then there’s supposed to be good in everyone. Doesn’t your god love even sinners?”
Tadhg regarded her gravely. “Indeed. God is in all of us. Some are clothed in the brightness of the Holy Spirit, and goodness shines from them, a goodness which has its source deep within. Such a sweet wellspring never runs dry. No force of evil can pollute its clear water. But some are weaker vessels, and that small spark of the divine is hidden far within them. It takes a brave man or woman, Nessa, to open up his very being and examine what is there: to lay his soul bare to that burning light. Such a choice is fearful indeed, for one must recognize the fear and anguish, the deceit and duplicity, the lust and the violence, all the wretchedness that mortal man bears in his essential clay. Yet, if a man dare open himself to God’s love, his sins are forgiven and the path made new. That is the wondrous truth of which our Lord Jesus told. It is the way of light. And even a savage warrior may be touched by grace. God loves all his creatures, the strong and the weak alike, and rejoices in their difference.”
Nessa was silent a long time, gazing at the long gray form of a seal as it rolled lazily, scratching its back on the reef, exposing a pale belly to the sun.
“I like that idea, about being forgiven and able to start again, even if you’ve done really evil things,” she said eventually. “Still, I have never understood why this god of yours resembles a man. There are forces so much more powerful than men and women, binding everything together. That is our faith, to observe the rituals for the turning of the year, to honor the power of moon and sun, the spirits that send rain and warmth to make our barley grow lush and fair and to nurture sweet grasses for cattle and sheep. We respect the forces of earth and ocean, binding and eternal. We open our hearts to the voices of the ancestors. If we do not heed those powers we are nothing, less fit to live on this earth than the wild creatures, who understand this wisdom in their very being. It seems to me there can be no more potent gods than these.”
T
adhg was smiling. “Perhaps, at heart, they are the same,” he said.
Nessa was ill at ease, and took to spending more and more of her time in the women’s place. It was safe here. Here, between the folds of the land, close by the tower in the earth, sweet water welled from the ground, and low bushes grew to fringe the edges of the pool it made. In spring, primrose and celandine brightened the grassy banks; in summer the air was alive with the calls of meadow birds, and in the distance was the great soothing music of the sea. Here Nessa could carry out her work in peace. There were divinations to be performed and signs to be read. There were the times of trance, when one might hear tales. These tales were maps and warnings, lore and guidance. What they told was past and future, the way of the Folk. When the women gathered for the earth feast, at the time when the year turned dark, Rona would tell them of what she had heard, and what the season to come might hold for them. When Rona was gone, this task would be Nessa’s.
In the sanctuary of the women’s place, she could make the patterns: smooth pebbles, tiny bones, feathers and shells laid out on the smooth-raked earth by the spring. She could chant invocations and sing songs and whisper secrets with only the wild creatures of the island to hear her. There was Rona, of course, but Rona often seemed less a woman than part of the fabric of the place itself. She was increasingly silent these days, not teaching in words or demonstrations, simply sitting, blotched hands folded in her lap, watching and listening as Nessa did what must be done to keep the Light Isles whole and the Folk safe and wise. And when Nessa told her she was worried, for since the men had come from the snow lands there was a shadow on the moon, a darkness in the water, a wrongness in the sigh of the west wind, Rona simply nodded, as if she understood all too well, but there was nothing she could do about it. That made Nessa still more anxious, and she began to fear returning home lest some ill news await her. But Rona would not let her stay in the women’s place for good, not yet.