Wolfskin

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t think I can tell you, not if you want me to stay here. If I tell you this, I must leave. It would be impossible for you to shelter me.” Now his hands were shaking again; with a muffled curse, he thrust them under his armpits, frowning ferociously.

  “This is what I meant,” Nessa said quietly. “Some sorts of courage are far more difficult to find. Putting some things into words can be very hard. You must know, by now, that I have guessed the truth about this. I understand, at least partly, what you have done, and I will not lie to you, the thought of it appalls me. I shrink from it. But I do not shrink from you, Eyvi. I’m here now, aren’t I?” If he had not been so tall, she would have put her arm around his shoulders for reassurance. “Give me your hand again, that’s it.” She moved closer, so he could feel her warmth. “Tell me, Eyvi.”

  He drew a deep breath and released it, shivering. “I believed your people had killed Hakon, and his small family by him. I saw their charred bones; I set them in the earth. I thought Engus’s folk had done that. Then Grim came, and told us the islanders were on the march, coming to attack the settlement. I had waited so long for a battle, all summer, all through the autumn. I did not even want to come here, I had my work back home with Jarl Magnus’s Wolfskins. There I excelled; I was a favorite, trusted, there was always a purpose for me, you understand? Scarce seven days would go by without a call to action, and in between, we had sports and good fellowship. And…and there was a woman, too. I have missed her. But I came here. Somerled made me come. It was a long wait; my axe lay silent many moons, my sword slept in its sheath. Now, at last, there was a chance to show what I could do. And he put me in charge. He said, look after this for me. It was my first mission as leader. I was determined to do it right, to do it perfectly. I chose my men, a balanced troop, not too many, for it should be a fair fight. Enough, for we needed to be confident of victory. I wore the helm Jarl Magnus had given me, a chieftain’s prize, fair and strong. And…and…”

  She stroked his hand gently. “So, you went out, and you found the enemy was not as you expected?”

  “Why didn’t I see? Why didn’t I see before it was too late? Thor’s voice, stilled so long, now rang loud and clear; we answered the call. We cut them down, every one. My men did exactly as I had told them to do. But…”

  “Go on, Eyvi. You have come this far.”

  “Something changed. I was standing there, and the red mist cleared, and I could see them. Not as warriors, not as the enemy, but as real men, men who walked the land and fished the seas, men who had wives and mothers and babes at home who depended on them. And…and when I looked further, I saw that most of them were old graybeards or mere boys, not seasoned fighting men like my own. We had slain a troop of grandfathers and children. Still my men were hacking, stabbing, clubbing the living flesh. And…and there was a boy, a boy who drew his bow with trembling fingers. My axe left my hand before I saw how young he was, how frightened. I split that child’s head in two, Nessa. Then I ran like a coward. I ran and ran, and when I could go no farther, I hid. Thor stepped away from me; his voice was gone. You see what a sad remnant of a man I am? I am become so weak and hopeless that my own mother would disown me.”

  “His name was Taran,” she said, working very hard to keep her voice steady. “Her brother—Ara’s little brother. They didn’t want him to go, but he wouldn’t stay back. He was angry. The Folk are all angry. I heard what was done to him. When I took your axe, when I put it away, I did not know it was fresh from that ill deed. This is…it is very hard for me, I find it hard to…to look at you and…” It became impossible to keep control; tears began to spill helplessly from her eyes, and she let go his hand to brush them aside, fighting the tumult of feelings within her.

  “Now I have made you weep. And you do shrink away from me. For all your good intentions, you cannot hide your disgust. I disgust even myself. This is not one error but many; not one ill deed but hundreds. I have a shield, I do not bear it often now. It is marked with little notches, row on row, a count beyond counting, of all the men I have killed. Many were warriors, taken in fair combat. But who is to say whether, among the myriad slain, there were not other ancients, other innocent youths? I will never know. It was not until that day at Ramsbeck that I ever saw them.”

  “Oh, Eyvi,” she whispered. “Oh, Eyvi.” Then she got up and stirred the coals to life, and began to heat water again, for the familiar brewing of tea helped her maintain a little longer the pretense that things were all right between them. She sprinkled herbs, fetched the cups. He watched her, unmoving. When she had poured the tea, she put his cup by him and moved away to sit alone, staring into the fire.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said flatly, his eyes empty of expression. “Every waking moment I long for Thor’s call; without the god’s voice, my life is nothing, and I am nothing. The Warfather has been my vision and my purpose all these long years. Yet now, as well, I…I fear his voice, I shrink from what I have done, and what I may do again. There is no path forward, Nessa. No matter what you say, I think, now, there is no way for me to follow. I see the horror in your eyes; you cannot hide it. As Thor’s warrior, I earn only your loathing. And yet, without that calling I am a failure in the eyes of my people, and in my own eyes: a craven coward, crippled by war fetter. I am a lost man: a lost cause.”

  Nessa said nothing. She felt as if she were being pulled in two directions at once, and it hurt; it hurt as if her heart were breaking.

  “You should go,” he said, setting down the cup. “It is not right that you should be here alone with me. Take your lantern and go back to the cottage.”

  “If that’s what you want.” By all the powers, it was a terrible hurt indeed, and everything he said seemed to make it worse. She should not have come here; she should have listened to Rona, who was a wise woman, after all.

  “What I want doesn’t matter,” he said.

  Nessa got up, leaving her tea untouched by the fire. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I need some time.”

  Eyvind nodded. His face was ashen white, the eyes like dark holes. It seemed a terrible thing to leave him now, but how could she stay? She could not look at him without imagining young Taran facing up to him, and the axe whistling through the air on its mission of death.

  “Good night.” His voice was the merest thread of sound. “Really, I think it best if you forget me, as Thor has done. I deserve no more than that.”

  There was no more sleep that night. Nessa lay wide-eyed on her bed, listening to the small creatures rustling in the roof thatch, until she judged it time to rise. It was still dark; the winter days were short indeed on the islands, and one became accustomed to doing what must be done by lamplight. She made up the fire; she brewed tea but could not drink it. She swept the floor, made dough for bannocks, fed Rona’s scrawny chickens. Then she packed her little bag with the few possessions she had brought from home, and sat waiting for the old woman to wake.

  “I’m leaving this morning,” she said as soon as Rona was sitting up on her pallet, steaming cup in hand. “I’ve made your breakfast. And his. You’ll need to take it to him. I have to catch the tide.”

  “I see.” Rona sipped at her tea, pebble-gray eyes sharp on her student. “I thought it was tomorrow Kinart was coming.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Mother needs me.”

  “And the big fellow doesn’t? Your mother doesn’t know one day from another, that’s what I’ve heard. Why the rush?”

  “I thought you didn’t care if he lived or died,” Nessa said in exasperation. “This is hard enough, without you arguing the point.”

  “It’s not him I care about, it’s you, child. Why lose a day if you don’t have to? Why rush off home if you don’t want to?”

  Nessa pressed her lips together; she would not cry again. She was behaving like a silly girl, and not the priestess she was.

  “What do I tell him?” asked Rona quietly.

  “Nothing.”

/>   Rona looked at her.

  “Tell him I’ve gone home because my mother needs me. It’s the truth. I was foolish to spend so long here, I can’t imagine why I…just say that. I’ll come back and see you as soon as I can, Rona. I hope you will be safe.”

  Nessa took up her small pack and put it over her shoulder; already she wore her light cloak and boots. Her outer cloak, the warm one, was still in the cairn, and she was not going to fetch it.

  “What happened, Nessa?”

  “Nothing. I have to go now or I’ll miss the tide. Farewell; be careful. I’ll be back as soon as I can get away.” Nessa bent to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “You might have to…you might have to watch him.” She could not stop herself from blurting this out, and Rona’s eyes narrowed sharply. “I think he might…I’m worried that he may try to—” She could not bring herself to put it into words.

  “Oh, yes?” Rona pursed her lips. “But you’re still off and away without another word?”

  “I think I’m only making things worse,” Nessa whispered, then turned away and went out into the morning, blinking hard. The sun was struggling up; the wind was fresh from the west, full of the sharp scent of the ocean. One of the dogs stood waiting for her by the cold remnants of the outdoor fire, ears pricked, head up, alert as if on guard. Her heart like a leaden weight in her breast, Nessa turned her back on the tower in the earth and set her steps for home. Her mother needed her. Her uncle needed her. The Folk were in peril. She must be with them, not here; she had been foolish to think this might end in good. She had never misread the signs before, but this time she must have been wrong. She would put this behind her. She would not even think of it. Of him. Of him waking alone and finding she was gone. Of him knowing she had run away. Of him walking into the sea and swimming steadily westward until the waves swallowed him, or wandering off across the winter hills and into cold oblivion. By the ancestors, the pain in her heart was fierce indeed. And yet…and yet there was the axe, fresh from the killing of a child, the axe that had slain and slain again, swinging in final, bloody judgment through years of heedless service to the god. That was alien; it was unthinkable. Tears began to fall, and this time she let them flow, hot and painful, for the only one who could see her was the dog, padding steady and silent beside her, all the way home to the Whaleback.

  EIGHT

  Somerled had a certain style. When at last he came, he strode across the narrow causeway in his billowing cloak and braid-edged tunic, his dark hair held neat by a red silk ribbon, and his men marched behind him with their burnished helms and their fine, sharp weapons. It was noted that this new chieftain bore a round shield, fresh-painted with a black horse on a red ground. It seemed he was not displeased with the name his comrades had bestowed on him. Kinart cursed under his breath, hands white-knuckled on his spear. The men of the Folk discussed the range of their bows, and whether they might pick one fellow off cleanly among so many. But Engus said, let them come. Now was the time for diplomacy, not assassinations. He had invited Somerled to make a treaty, and Somerled had come. It was a little late maybe, since the winter was almost over, but at least the man was here. They must assemble in the hall and hear what he had to say.

  Before, the women would have been excluded from such a gathering. In particular, Engus had not wanted his nieces on show. But it was different now. The sickness and a season of fighting had decimated the Folk and weakened their resolve. Now the king wanted Nessa by him, as royal princess and wise woman of his household. Her presence would moderate his own men’s behavior, and Kinart’s in particular. It would take but one rash outburst to destroy this slender chance of peace.

  They waited. Nessa sat on Engus’s right, Kinart on his left. Tadhg, newly arrived from Holy Island, stood behind. The men of the household were all gathered there, spears and knives to hand, their faces a study in anger, resentment, frustration, fear. They were weary; they were sick at heart. Yet they were not without hope, for why else would the fellow come here, save with an overture of peace?

  Nessa felt Somerled’s eyes on her the moment he entered the hall. The nightmare came to her, the cutting, the falling, the hand sweeping with confidence across the board. Oh, dear. Now those same dark eyes traveled up and down her body, assessing, admiring, and a little smile played on his lips. He seated himself opposite Engus and folded his hands together on the table. He wore a fine silver ring, wrought with the heads of strange beasts and set with gleaming red stones.

  “King Engus,” he said pleasantly. “It’s been a long time. I trust you’ve been well?”

  Tadhg’s voice was steady, translating.

  “I am well, thank you, and hope you are likewise, though it seems a strange question to ask in view of what has occurred,” the king said gravely. “It cannot be unknown to you what losses we have suffered at the hands of your warriors this winter. You must forgive me if I am blunt. But we had hoped for better, after the promises your brother made. Have you forgotten the words Ulf spoke at the Great Stone of Oaths?”

  “Ah,” said Somerled. “Straight down to business, then. I like that. No point in beating about the bush, is there? You think me forgetful. You misjudge me. I never forget. I do not forget my brother’s murder. I do not forget that your folk burned one of my warriors alive with his woman and children by him. I do not forget their brazen attempt to ambush our settlement, nor the many times they have carried their spears and bows onto my lands with no purpose but to stir up trouble. You speak of promises. Those promises were invalid the moment your folk laid hands on Ulf.”

  Nessa felt the anger that ran through every one of the king’s men as they heard these words translated. Engus’s jaw tightened. Kinart’s eyes blazed with fury. As for Somerled, he sat calmly, hands relaxed before him, expression bland. He could have been speaking of a fine day’s fishing, or discussing what to have for supper.

  “I wished to speak of this before, soon after your brother’s untimely death,” Engus said, keeping his voice steady. “You made that difficult. I understand your grief, your anger at what occurred. It is not easy to lose one so close.”

  “If you say so.”

  “But your information is wrong. My men did not kill your brother. We respected him; we admired what he did and were grateful for his help. I had come to regard Ulf as a friend. I must tell you I have made extensive inquiries; I have spoken personally to every one of my men who traveled to High Island that day, and to all who live in the settlement there. Whoever murdered your brother, it was not one of the Folk.”

  “What are you suggesting? That one of our own would carry out such a barbarous act?”

  “I suggest nothing. I simply point out that these accusations are false. So are those concerning the death of the widow, Ara, and her man. It is not the way of the Folk to carry out hall-burnings. We do not kill children. For that, too, you must look closer to home for a culprit.”

  “Where’s your evidence?” Somerled raised his brows.

  “Where is yours?” Engus’s voice had an edge to it now, as if he maintained control with some difficulty. “And what of the slayings at Ramsbeck, a rout so savage there was little left of our men but shattered bone and bloody crow-pickings? What kind of a warrior fights like that, as if death itself cannot satisfy his lust for blood, but he must gouge and pierce and crush until he makes of his opponent no more than a lump of carrion? That was the act of madmen.” He glanced at Nessa, as if remembering her presence too late. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

  “Your men attacked us,” Somerled said. “And I too suffered losses that day: two men killed and another missing, my finest fighter, my personal bodyguard. Slain, I presume, or he would have made his way home by now, since no prison is strong enough to hold this particular warrior. Where is Eyvind? Does his corpse lie rotting untended on your land? He was my dearest friend, my companion since childhood. It is as if two brothers have been torn from me. Now I cannot even lay his bones in earth; I cannot bid him farewell. Your men have done this.” A
flicker of real emotion passed over his pale, impassive features, and was gone. Nessa shivered.

  “I know nothing of this,” Engus said. “We carried home only the broken remains of our own. We saw no such warrior in that place, dead or alive. I will make inquiries for you. Nobody would deny you the right to lay your friend to rest, no matter what he has done: no matter what he was.”

  “Thank you. And now to business. I cannot stay long,” Somerled said, leaning back and folding his arms. “I’m hoping we can reach some sort of agreement today, so my visit won’t have been for nothing. We’re busy men.”

  “Your words hearten me,” Engus said cautiously. “I, too, wish for a treaty, perhaps a renewal of that I struck with Lord Ulf. We might discuss initial terms here, and the details in private. I’m grateful for this opportunity. Indeed, I would have welcomed it earlier.”

  “Really?” Somerled raised his brows again. Nessa watched him and felt the dream, dark as a shadow, lingering somewhere in her mind. He looked so affable, so confident, so relaxed. It was the look of a man who sees no possibility of failure.

  “Most certainly,” Engus replied. “And we have a gift for you in token of our good will. There have been some difficulties between us since your brother died. We offer this small treasure as a gesture of amity, a symbol of our desire to begin afresh. These are old and quite rare, the only examples of their kind.” Engus gestured to one of his men, who brought out a box fashioned cunningly from carven whalebone, a fine piece that had lain long in the king’s storehouse awaiting such a moment. Any monarch worth his salt must keep ready a supply of goods suitable to please a dangerous neighbor, a visiting dignitary, a chieftain who might turn from loyal friend to bitter enemy on the merest whim. Such gifts are an essential part of diplomacy.