“Wolfskin,” he said suddenly. “Where’s my wolfskin?”
She did not know wolf, but she understood. “Safe,” she told him as he lay down once more, eyelids already closing. “It was wet; I’m drying it. You can have it in the morning. A beautiful skin. That must have been a fine animal, a great hunter of some kind.”
“Once, maybe,” he said. “Not anymore. He can’t hear it anymore.”
“Hear it? What?”
“The call. Thor’s call.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not understanding what he meant. “Maybe I can help. But sleep first.”
“Cold,” he said, sitting up again and grasping her hand as she tried to tuck the blanket over him. “Cold. Lost. I dreamed that, only it was real. What did you dream?”
“I…” Nessa hesitated. The nightmare was there in her mind, not so very far away; it could not help him to hear it. “I don’t—”
“Tell me.” Perhaps he was not so weakened after all, for he drew her down to sit by him again, close enough to share the blanket’s warmth, close enough to feel the trembling of his body against hers: too close. “Tell me,” he whispered.
“I–I was climbing up, the boys were climbing up the tree, helping each other. It was exciting, it was a big tree, so high, so high, the tallest tree in the world. When they got to the top, they felt like kings. They could see a whole land down there, villages, farms, little cows like dots on the green fields. And then…and then…”
His arm came up and around her shoulders; curiously, this did not alarm her. She felt safe.
“Go on,” he said.
“Then the boy pushed him—pushed me—and I fell down, I couldn’t hold on. He was my friend, and he cut me, and I fell down, right down, all the way to the ground. But he was my friend.”
Why had she blurted it out like that? The man was a complete stranger, an enemy. Yet here, in the darkness of this little space, there was a strange sense of rightness to it. The usual rules did not seem to apply tonight.
“Nessa,” the young man said, trying out her name. “Nessa, why did you dream my dream?”
That shocked her. “I don’t know,” she said. “Was it the same?”
“One of them.” The shivering suddenly grew more violent, great tremors that shook his whole body. Perhaps he had an ague, or some other malady new to her. “Cold,” he said again. “Sorry. They come, the dreams, they come over and over. They won’t go away. Set me shivering like a…like a stupid, weak—”
“It’s the ancestors speaking to you,” Nessa told him. “When you have a dream you cannot forget, even a bad one, they are trying to tell you something. It’s up to you to make sense of it, to work out what it means.”
“Ancestors?” His teeth were chattering, bone music, death music. “What ancestors?”
“You might call them gods, or spirits.” The blanket slipped down, dislodged by his involuntary shaking. Nessa tucked it around the two of them again. They sat a while in silence, and slowly the trembling subsided, and she could feel the shared warmth seeping into her.
“If they are gods,” his voice came haltingly, as if with a great effort, “what are you? Are you not a goddess or spirit? Isn’t this part of another dream, a good one this time?”
That explained a certain amount, Nessa thought wryly. “No, Eyvi,” she said. “I am a wise woman, a priestess. You stumbled into a forbidden place, a place where men cannot come, not even our kind.”
“I saw you,” he said. “By the sea. I didn’t think you were real. Maybe this is not real either. None of it, none of the dreams, none of the memories, maybe I will wake and Thor will be there as if he had never left me, and…” He had begun to shake again for all the warmth, a fierce tremor that was perhaps not cold, but fear. She remembered how he had looked the first time she’d seen him on the path between land and sea, an island of quiet among the others. That tall, still figure had not seemed a man who would be easily frightened.
“It is real, Eyvi,” she told him. “Perhaps that’s bad for you, I don’t know. I don’t know what has happened to you. But you are awake, and so am I, and in the morning we will both still be here. And because I am a real woman, I cannot stay here with you tonight. I have another place to sleep, and I must go there. In the morning, I will bring food, and I will make a little fire to keep you warmer.”
“No. Please.” His words were the merest wisp of sound; his arm tightened around her shoulders. “Cold.” And he was right, it was dark and windy outside, and the warmth of his body felt good, as if it would keep away unwelcome thoughts until tomorrow. The dogs slept, a bundle of limbs, tails, whiskery muzzles, a faint sigh of breath.
“Just a bit longer, then.”
“Your name is like the sea, like a little wave on the pebbles, or a sigh,” the young man said. “Nessa. I never heard that name before.”
She heard this as a soft whisper, so soon gone, she decided she had imagined it, for surely a warrior with a big axe would never say such a thing. Surely she was the only person in the world who thought about names that way, as if they could tell you something about their owners. She waited until his breathing quieted, and the shivering stopped altogether, and she thought he was asleep. In a little while, she would slip out from under his arm and creep across to the passageway, and go back through the dark to Rona’s cottage. She’d go in just a moment…
Old folk need little sleep. It was as well, then, that Nessa woke very early, before the wise woman was stirring. She lay in a tumble of blankets and dogs, and the young man was stretched out behind her with his arm comfortably around her as if it had every right to be there, and his breath gentle against the back of her neck. It was completely inappropriate. She could not believe she had been so foolish as to let herself fall asleep here. Imagine if Rona had come wandering in. As for how good it felt to wake thus, sheltered by his arm and warmed by his body, that she would not even begin to think about. Nessa slipped carefully from under his arm and went out into the dark morning. Today, her dog did not stir, but lay close-folded with his mate in blissful slumber.
By the time Rona rose creakily from her own bed, Nessa had the cottage fire made up and flatcakes cooking in a pan. She sprinkled dried herbs into a cup, added a scoop of honey, filled it with hot water and set it by the wise woman’s side.
“Mmm,” Rona grunted, easing her joints. “Perhaps it’s not so bad having company here after all. Big breakfast. Hungry, are you?”
“He woke up,” Nessa said.
“What?”
“He woke up in the night. Some of this is for him. He seems…confused. Frightened even. He thought I was a spirit.”
Rona’s gaze was sharp. “Oh yes? When did all this happen?”
“In the night. I left him sleeping. The dogs are there.”
“Oh yes,” said Rona, which could have meant anything, and she watched through narrowed eyes as Nessa bore a platter of food and a jug of tea out of the cottage.
Nessa had wondered what the young man would say and how she could reply. It might be a little awkward. As it turned out, he wasn’t saying much, not now. He was sitting with his back to the wall, the blankets tossed aside, despite the chill. When she came in, he started and blinked, as if returning to himself from far away. Nessa put the platter down by him, fetched the cup, and filled it from her jug.
“You’ll be hungry,” she said, dividing a flatcake with her fingers and offering him a piece. It smelled appetizing, warm from the fire and flavored with parsley and dried mushrooms. The young man shook his head; closed his eyes.
“You should eat, Eyvi,” Nessa said, settling herself on the ground, not too close this time. The dogs hovered, noses twitching eagerly. “It’s good. I made it myself.”
There was a noise from outside, the creak of the cottage door as Rona made her way out to the privy. The young man’s eyes snapped open. He made an attempt to spring to his feet; his legs buckled under him and he collapsed to the ground, muttering something under his breath.
“T
oo weak to stand up,” Nessa commented. “You see? Now eat your breakfast.”
“Who is here?” he hissed. “Who’s that outside? Who knows that I am here?”
“Nobody,” Nessa said, alarmed at the look in his eyes, which was the dazed expression of a wild creature trapped. “Just my friend, an old woman, a priestess like myself. She is no threat to you. I told you, this is a forbidden place. None of my folk know you are here, save Rona and myself.”
This did not seem to be the answer he needed, for he had begun to shake again; Nessa could see how he clutched at the blanket, at the rock wall, in a vain attempt to still the shuddering that ran through his body. She made a guess.
“Nobody knows. Not even your own people. You are safe here. Now do as I say. Start with the tea, the herbs will give you strength. Take the cup in your hand, good. Now drink. Just a little at a time. Then the food. Not too much, a small piece, and chew it properly. I hope I won’t have to feed you like an infant.”
His hand was shaking so hard that the tea slopped over onto the ground. He managed a sip, grimacing. He took a scrap of flatcake in his other hand. A start, anyway. This could be laborious. Nessa herself was hungry, for it had been a long night. She started on her own breakfast, throwing the dogs a morsel each. The warrior watched her over the rim of the cup, blue eyes wary.
“You don’t like my cooking?” she ventured. “It’s all you’ll be getting while you stay here. Best make the most of it. Why have you come here, Eyvi? What were you running from?”
“Nothing,” he growled.
“I want to help you,” Nessa said cautiously. “I can tell something is wrong.”
“Why would you help?” he muttered. “Your folk are killers, destroyers of the innocent. You break your promises.”
Nessa stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “That is not true.”
“First Ulf. He made peace, and your people strung him up to die a slow death. I know; I found him. And a woman was burned with her children, just because she wed one of us. Hakon was a good man. He did not deserve that. If you hate us so much, why shelter me? Why not hand me straight over to King Engus?”
Nessa gaped. “How can you say that? That the widow, Ara, was killed by her own folk? We would never do such a thing, it is against all we believe in. It was your people killed her. A savage, cruel murder, like that of your chieftain, Ulf. How dare you accuse us of such deeds? Would we destroy our own children when we have so few left?”
There was a silence.
“I’m sorry,” she added, watching the play of expressions on his drawn features. “It is the truth. Our people had no hand in this act of evil.”
“You say, then, that it was my kind who lit that fire? I will not believe it.”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
“Our people would not murder a Wolfskin, with his family by him. I saw their bodies. I helped to bury them. It cannot be so.” There was a note in his voice that belied the words; it came to Nessa that he spoke less to convince her than to deny a truth already known.
“What is this word, Wolfskin?” she asked him. “I don’t understand.”
“A special kind of warrior; a man such as I am—was. To pass the test, we battle the wolf. We wear his skin. Thor calls; we answer. Hakon, who was burned, he was such a one in times past. A friend. No man deserves such a death, a death without honor.”
Nessa frowned. She had finished her flatcake; he had eaten only the smallest fragment of his own. “Surely it is not without honor to die protecting your family,” she said. “That was what I heard. It was terrible, but at least they were together. He sheltered them as best he could.”
The young man set the cup down abruptly and put his head in his hands. The dogs moved in on the scattered remnants of the food.
“I’m sorry,” Nessa said again.
“A Wolfskin lives and dies on the field of battle.” His voice was not much more than a whisper. “He is obedient only to Thor’s will; that is his sole purpose. If he is slain thus, he is carried straight to the god’s right hand, a reward unequalled in life. A Wolfskin charges forward, whatever the odds, armed with his own courage, his own strength of will. If he cannot do that, if he can no longer hear Thor’s voice, he is…” His voice faded away altogether.
“Lost?” asked Nessa gently, and when there was no response, she got up and busied herself tidying, and opening the roof slab so they could make a fire, and generally trying to give him a little time. She was not sure she had understood all that he said. He hated his weakness, that was plain. The bleak emptiness in his eyes, the flatness of his voice chilled her. If he had not reached out for her last night, she might have thought he had given up. Still, a man who wants to die does not seek shelter. And there were the dogs, keeping close to him, guarding him almost like—almost like family.
“I do not know wolf,” she said. “Is a wolf like a dog, only bigger?”
“He is very brave. Fierce, wild, loyal to his own. A fine hunter. A leader. Such was the chieftain I killed: a king of wolves.”
“Did you kill him with your axe?”
“With my hands.”
“Your hands?” Nessa thought of that huge skin hanging now in Rona’s cottage, a pelt as big as a pony’s, almost. She knelt down beside him and turned his hands over, palms up, wondering how even such a large man could manage such a feat. “When did you do this?”
He shook his head. “Long ago, in another land. When I was a boy. In my fifteenth year.”
“That is very young. How could you kill such a great creature with your bare hands?”
“I don’t know,” he said tightly.
“What is this?” Nessa asked him, her fingers moving to touch the scar above his wrist, a long line that scored the forearm deep. She had seen it before, when they changed his clothes, and wondered.
His hands balled themselves into fists. “Nothing,” he snapped, trying to pull away from her.
“That is strange,” Nessa said. “When I touch this, I see—” She broke off. Before her eyes was last night’s dream, the climbing, the vista, the cutting, the falling. She shivered.
“What’s wrong?” His voice had changed completely. “What’s the matter?” His big hand came up over hers, and now it was she who snatched her fingers away, backing up to leave safe space between them.
“Nothing. I–I just wondered. I’m sorry, it is not my business.”
“Why do you ask so many questions? What do you want me to do?”
“I told you, I want to help you. Help you regain your strength, and then…and then go wherever you want to go.”
“You will not want to do that when I tell you…when I tell you…” His voice began to shake.
“You should rest again,” Nessa said. “Lie down. There.”
“It’s too much,” he muttered. “You’re only a girl…but I can’t, I can’t even stand up, I’m good for nothing anymore….”
“If that worries you, there is a simple solution. Eat what I give you, rest when I tell you, and get better quickly so you can look after yourself. Even a…even a Wolfskin can’t go without food and drink for so many days and expect to be himself. Lie there a while. Do you know Brother Tadhg? The holy man?”
He nodded weakly.
“Tadhg told me something once. He said, no matter what you’ve done, no matter how terrible it is, as long as you are truly sorry you can be forgiven. That means you can go on, no matter what mistakes you have made. His god is a god of love; he loves all his creatures, no matter what their past may be.”
“Are you a Christian, then?” he asked her. “Is that why you tend to a man whose axe bears the lifeblood of your own folk?”
Nessa shuddered. “No, I am of a far more ancient faith, a darker faith. It is not so easy for me to forgive, and the ancestors do not forget. The shadow of ill deeds lingers in the hollows of the land and darkens the waters. It rustles in the leaves; the wind howls the song of sorrow. It cannot be put aside as if it had nev
er been.”
“Then why do you keep me safe?”
“Because I know I must. I have known it since I first saw you. The signs tell me.”
“Signs? What signs?”
“Shh. You must rest.”
“Will you stay here with me?”
“Only until you fall asleep again. And only if you promise to eat, later. Promise me.”
But he was overtaken by shivering again, and could not answer her. His sleep, when it came, was fitful, brief snatches of slumber ended by sudden, white-faced waking, as if what he saw in his dreams was too terrible to be endured longer. Later, he attempted to eat what she had prepared, but could not hold even the few mouthfuls he took in his stomach long. When he had retched it up into the bowl she held for him, he turned his face away from her.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t think there’s much point, really.”
“Are you telling me I can’t do this?” Nessa asked him fiercely, overtaken suddenly with feelings she could not explain: frustration, fear, and something perilously like what had been there, for a moment, when she woke that morning in his arms. “You think we should just—give up?”
“You don’t know me,” he whispered. “Once I was a man, a warrior. Now I am nothing, not worth your efforts, not worth your care. Thor has abandoned me. I disgust him. I disgust myself. Why should you bother with me?”
“You could tell me about it if you want to,” Nessa said. “Then I could make up my own mind.”
“I would distress you. I would frighten you away.”
“I’m a priestess,” she reminded him. “I don’t frighten so easily. Tomorrow you could tell me. Or the next day. This is a new path; perhaps we must walk it more slowly, until the two of us learn it.”
Progress was indeed slow. He nibbled at the food she gave him, eating scarcely enough to keep a vole alive. He drank the teas she brewed. He spoke less and less as the days passed, responding only when she asked him a direct question, and then as briefly as he could. He was wary of Rona, a sentiment the old woman returned.
Because his sleep was fitful and much visited by night terrors, the two women tried to sit with him in turns and keep the little fire going, since the young man seemed to feel the cold so badly.