Wolfskin

  “We said our good-byes. There are no expectations between us.”

  “Rona will be back soon, and I must go down for the ritual. Eyvi, there is another puzzle. It is a strange and difficult one. It concerns a man hung up in a fishing net and left to die between land and water, a good man whom we welcomed to these islands. Have you a solution to that puzzle, too? I think I have, and mine is the same as King Engus’s.”

  He nodded slowly. There was a look of misery in his eyes. “The manner of it suggests only one answer. Yet, at the time, Somerled was distraught. His shock and grief seemed entirely real.”

  “Still, you said yourself, he made himself into the kind of man some folk admired. Perhaps, on that day, he made himself into the sort of man who mourns his brother’s death. Another game.”

  “But there’s no proof,” Eyvind said. “Only that, because I know him well, I see something in the execution of it that points to one man only. A clever killing, all tracks covered, and the prophecy accounted for down to the last detail. I don’t want to believe I’m right, for this is a crime against blood, against kinship, against natural law.” His tone was hushed.

  Nessa inclined her head. “But you do believe it,” she said. “This is what keeps you from going back, even now that you are regaining your strength. You fear to confront him with the truth.”

  “How could any man perform such an act? It was surely a vengeance far too great, even if Ulf did use Somerled’s birthright to help pay for the journey here. After all, Somerled is well equipped to make his own way; indeed, that is what he prefers. I asked myself, would he do such a deed, take such a risk, simply to punish his brother for not loving him? And I remembered…”

  “What, Eyvi?” She saw his hands shaking again and, without thinking, put her own out to take and steady them.

  “I remembered another time when his vengeance was terrible indeed, another time with no evidence, no proof. When we were young, back in Hammarsby, there was a girl hurt—taken by force, and got with child before she was ready for it. She killed herself. They never knew who was responsible. I knew, but I denied it to myself, I refused to believe he was capable of it. There was a lad, Sigurd, who was fond of the girl; he left Hammarsby soon after she died. Later, on the voyage here, we met Sigurd again, a man still consumed by rage after all those years. He tried to kill Somerled; I stopped him. And then…then there was a terrible accident. Or it seemed like an accident. Sigurd was killed. He was gored by a bull. It was Somerled’s little knife that goaded the creature to charge. But…but I stood there too, on the other side. Somerled had no way of knowing if the bull’s horn would pierce Sigurd’s breast or mine. That made me think. It made me think more than I wanted to.”

  “He, too, swore a blood oath,” Nessa said. “But you cannot expect loyalty from such a man. Your brother was right to warn you. Somerled is only interested in winning. He doesn’t care who falls by the wayside.”

  “He has been kind to me.”

  “Can such a man understand kindness?”

  “I told you he saved my life once, when we were boys. That day, he was heroic, strong, altogether admirable. I owe him a great debt for what he did. And he helped me, at the Jarl’s court. I hated the clever talk, the game-playing, the need to summon ready words in order to avoid ridicule. I was respected as a warrior, but I never learned to be a courtier. Over and over again, he got me out of trouble, stood up for me. He could always find the words I needed. And he was kind to Margaret, Ulf’s wife. When she was lonely, he made time for her. She is, I think, the only other to whom he reveals himself, and then but rarely. I cannot believe he is all bad, Nessa. If only he could stand in the other man’s shoes, if only he could understand that it is not a game he plays, but his own life, a precious thing to be lived well and fully: his chance to get things right, to prove his worth. If he knew that, he would have much to give.”

  Nessa’s hands tightened around his. She felt curiously close to tears again. “It seems to me you judge him by your own measure,” she said a little shakily. “It’s clear you have not wasted your time here.”

  “Really?” he asked softly. “But I still don’t know where to go or what I should do. How can I turn against him? How can I walk away from a vow of lifelong loyalty?”

  “I cannot tell you that,” said Nessa. She was aware of the door opening behind her, and Rona coming in. No doubt the old woman was looking at her unbound hair, and her hands clasped around Eyvind’s; the two of them sat quite close. Nessa did not snatch her hands away. “But tonight I will seek answers,” she told him. “So much hangs in the balance here, it seems impossible that we may influence it, Eyvi. A terrible task, a task demanding so much courage, so much strength. I don’t rightly know how it can be done. But we must do it.”

  “We?”

  She looked into his eyes and nodded. Then she withdrew her hands and got up.

  “Is everything ready?” she asked the old woman.

  “You did the right thing,” commented Rona. “Gave him your forgiveness. You can move on now, and so can the big fellow. Yes, I’ve set it out. Pity I can’t do the whole of it for you, but the old bones are too stiff for a Calling now; it takes a lot out of you. Ready?”

  “Yes,” said Nessa. “I’m ready.”

  It was cold and dry. It was dark, a place enclosed in stillness. The lamps Rona had lit conjured looming shadows on the walls. By the steps leading up, the seven small skulls regarded Nessa unwinking from their stone shelf. By them was set a helm, a fine, glittering object with a spike on top, a curtain of delicate metal rings, and a masklike eyepiece. The Hidden Tribe have a fondness for shiny things. That made eight faces looking on as Nessa settled cross-legged on the earthen floor.

  The nightlong vigil of a Calling was too much for an old woman, so Rona had stayed in relative comfort in the topmost chamber, with the dogs. She would remain awake; a watch was essential for the seer’s safety. Eyvind had been instructed to stay in the cottage, as far away as possible. Many rules had been broken by his presence in the women’s place. He must not come near this most secret of observances. Nessa had never done it before, not on her own, and it was vital that everything be right, or she might wait the whole night and still find no answers.

  Layer by layer she sank deeper into trance. First was the calm, the quiet, the slowing of the breath, listening for the ancient heartbeat, the deep pulse of the earth. Then the gradual withdrawal from the clay self, finger by finger, toe by toe, from soles of feet to crown of head, leaving the body behind: a shell seated there in the dim light, with her back straight and her dark hair flowing over her slender shoulders. That took time; the wisdom of the earth has not been gathered in a year, or a hundred years, or a thousand, but over an age man’s mind cannot encompass, a span greater than the arch of the heavens, deeper than the ocean at world’s end. Long and longer she sat there into the night, until her mind began to merge with an ancient mind that was rock and earth, seeping water and probing tree root, chill air breathing in the underground chamber, a voice that was both within and without. The empty vessel that was Nessa leaned forward, obedient to her will; her hands moved the ritual objects, sprinkling water, letting ash trickle between her fingers to make a pattern, casting the fragments of bone. When the voice spoke, it was her own and not her own. The seer and the vision were the same.

  Where is the Wolf?

  “The…the wolf…the dog? Upstairs, in the outer chamber.”

  Where is the Wolf who shadows the steps of the priestess? Where is the chieftain?

  “Not far away. He is a man. He cannot enter this place.”

  His helm gleams there in the shadows, another mask of death. He will wear it once more in battle; I hear his axe blade ringing in the chill wind from the sea. He will go down fighting, as befits his kind. He does not know surrender.

  “Are you telling me he will die?”

  He is a warrior. You need a warrior.

  Silence. The husk that was Nessa inclined her head to lo
ok at the pattern on the ground before her, the alignment of the bones, the subtle markings of ash and water. Shadows flickered past; whispers haunted the air. The eye of the spirit watched unblinking.

  What is to be seen?

  “I see death, Mother.”

  You see true. But you do not see all. Drink of the cup the wise one set for you, and look again. Your voice trembles. Do not let fear blind you to what is there. That is not the way of the seer. Make yourself empty.

  Nessa sipped from the cup; the brew was strong and bitter, herbs used to deepen the trance and open the pathways of the mind. She forced herself to finish it. Now there was no sense of time passing. There was only the earth above her, and the voice inside. The bones, the ash shifted and stirred of themselves; now she could see an image there, fire, men running, and somewhere in the shadowy corners of the underground chamber there was a terrible screaming that went on and on, and behind it the sound of the sea. There was a vision of the islands, but the islands were changed. The Kin Stone was cast down, the great circle was laid waste, there was burning and destruction and hatred. She could not see herself or Rona. She could not see Engus or Kinart or any man of the Folk. She could not see Eyvind. It was a place empty of spirit.

  What do you see?

  “I–I cannot say…”

  You called me forth from my sleep, daughter. This is no time for cowardice. A wise woman does not shrink from the truth.

  “This cannot be the future! It cannot be! We must be able to stop this!”

  Is the Wolf faithful?

  “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.

  Is the old woman strong?

  “Yes.”

  And what of you, priestess? You flinch away from these images. But there are no easy answers for you. You think you have seen sorrow, but you face a sorrow far greater than any your mind can imagine. You will see all that is dear to you hanging by a thread fine as a single filament of cobweb. Are you strong enough to lose all you have, and still go on?

  “This is…it is a true vision, then? This is what awaits the Folk, as Somerled threatened?”

  The answer is within you, daughter. In ash and bone you seek the truth, in the shards and dust that are man’s destiny. In ash and bone shall you find the truth, hidden deep. Summon your courage, for tonight’s dark vision shows you the path to come. Follow it steadfastly, or all fails.

  “Or all fails? Then…there is some hope to be found in this, a chance? The single strand? Tell me. Tell me, can the Folk be saved? Or are we—are he and I destined to fight and fail, each of us alone in this dark time to come?”

  The Wolf does not know surrender. A cruel god binds him.

  “He’s changed. He has learned what it means to take a life, and what it means to live one.”

  He will go unarmed into this battle. His adversary has all the weapons.

  “I should send him away, then.” The chill deepened. The lamps flickered, the shadows moved. “I would not bind him to me, and have him go before me to be vanquished, to die for me, for us. I would not throw him at Somerled’s feet. Better that he go home: that he sail away and never return.”

  Too late for that. The Wolf follows in your steps. He will be loyal to the end.

  “My uncle…my cousin…what about Rona? None of them were there, none…”

  How strong are you, daughter? Are you as strong as the standing stones? Can you endure as the deep caves endure, does your heart keep time with the heartsong of the islands? How strong are you, Nessa?

  “Strong enough. I must be.”

  Ahhh…The sound rang through the cavern, a sigh, a sob, a whisper, a great call, a deep prayer. Nessa covered her face with her hands, and felt the darkness close in around her.

  She stirred, half-waking. Her head swam; her limbs were heavy, her mouth dry. To go from trance to sleep is not kind to body or mind. It is best to come out step by step, through the misty layers of thought, until the mind attains full consciousness again. Only then can one surrender to sleep in safety. She had not done that; exhaustion, despair, and denial had claimed her, and now she felt drained, deadened, unable even to run her tongue over her parched lips. Slowly her awareness grew. She was warm; she was lying somewhere soft, in bed, with a pillow under her head. It was no longer dark; though her eyelids were heavy with slumber, she could feel the light streaming in…If she was in the cottage, and it was as bright as this, it was not only day, it was already afternoon…It was nearly low tide…

  Nessa’s eyes snapped open. The warm fingers that had encircled her own were abruptly withdrawn. She tried to sit up and collapsed back with a groan as her head began to throb, an insistent drumbeat starting up somewhere just behind her eyes.

  “It’s so late…why didn’t you wake me?” she whispered. “Kinart will be waiting…I have to go.”

  “Water.” That was a command, in Rona’s voice. Nessa turned her head very cautiously to the side. There was Eyvind sitting by the pallet with jug in one hand, cup in the other; he was getting plenty of practice at this. He held the cup for her; she propped herself up on one elbow and drank. Why was he so pale? Why did he look so anxious? She had not even told them yet. They did not know what she had seen.

  “Good,” said Eyvind, “good. Not too fast. That’s it. Now lie down again.”

  “No!” She struggled to sit; gave up and lay back on the pillows. “It must be time for me to go. The sun is already low in the west.” There were knives prodding into her head.

  “Kinart can wait a bit longer,” said Rona, coming into view behind Eyvind’s shoulder. She, too, was looking pale and tired; a night without sleep takes its toll on an old woman. “You’re worn out, you look like a wee shadow. Take your time. If needs be, I’ll go out and have a word with your cousin. You’ve time to rest a bit, and tell us what you’ve seen. Then you can go, if you must.”

  “My uncle made me promise. Rona, he wants you to come with me. And I think he’s right. It’s not safe for you here, not anymore. There is…” A shiver coursed through her body, for all the warm blanket. “There is a bad time ahead, the darkest of times. Will you come?”

  Rona shook her head. “Me, settle on the Whaleback? Hardly. I’m not afraid of dying, Nessa. I’m an old woman, I’ve done what I have to do here, and I’ll go when I’m called. You’re the priestess now, lass. The ancestors will watch over me, and I over them, as long as it’s meant to be.”

  “That’s just it,” Nessa whispered. “I don’t think you’ve done it yet, not all of it. I was asked if you are strong. I think there is another task for you, Rona, but I fear for you if you stay here unguarded. There is…there is an empty future for us, for the Folk and the islands, if we cannot be strong enough.”

  “We?” queried Rona, eyes shrewd.

  “You, and me, and…Eyvind.”

  “Ah,” said the old woman. “We were right about him, then. Will you tell him?”

  “I don’t know how. It sounded as if…it sounded as if by helping us, he would sacrifice himself. I don’t want to send him to a certain death, Rona. How can I do that? He’s not even one of us. It’s like using a warrior whose only part in a battle is to rush in first, and die.”

  “Tell him. I’ll go out and have a word with Kinart. I’ll let him know you’ll come as soon as you’re strong enough.”

  The door creaked open and shut. She must sit up, must summon her strength, for all the piercing pain in her head and the leaden weight in her heart. Now she felt bile rising, she was going to be sick. Curse it, this wasn’t fair at all…

  “Here,” said Eyvind. He held a bowl for her, one hand on her brow as she retched helplessly. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s all right. You’ll be better soon.”

  And, remarkably, she was. With her stomach empty, the headache receded to a dull throb. Eyvind wedged the pillow behind her back so she could sit upright. He cleaned up; he returned with a wet cloth, and held it to her brow.

  “I was worried,” he said. “You seemed so far away.”
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  “It’s the trance. And–and what I saw was bad. It was so bad I couldn’t come out of it properly; I went to sleep instead. Running away again. That’s why I’m sick now. It will pass. I must go soon, the tide will be at its lowest. How did I get here? How did I get out of the chamber?”

  Eyvind smiled. “Well, the old woman didn’t carry you, that much is certain.”

  “But…you mean she let you go down there and fetch me? You brought me back?”

  “She gave me permission, with instructions to keep my eyes down. You were freezing cold; breathing as slowly as a man left out in the snow at night. We might have lost you.”

  “Thank you for bringing me back.”

  “It was quite awkward. That passageway is narrow, and you’re tall for one of your kind. Almost up to my shoulder.”

  “When we were little, my cousin used to call me Beanpole,” Nessa said dryly.

  Eyvind said nothing for a while; she began to wonder if she had got the word wrong in his language. Then he said, “I would not give you such a name.”

  She glanced at him. There was a look in his eyes that seemed new. It troubled her, for she felt its reflection in herself, something fragile and lovely, so painful she could hardly bear it. “What name would you use, then?” she asked him, not sure what he meant.

  “I would call you Pearl, for your beauty. I would call you Dove, for your sweetness,” said Eyvind softly. “I would call you Bright Star.” He would not look at her now, but stared with apparent fascination at the ground by his feet.

  Nessa’s heart seemed to turn over, and steady, and beat again. Men did say such things, of course, she knew that. But they never meant them; her sisters had told her it was only a trick to make women give them what they wanted. She drew a breath to rebuke him, but could not find any words. It was quite plain to her that Eyvind was not that kind of man. Indeed, she doubted very much if he had ever spoken thus before. He seemed to be blushing.

  “Men do not say such things to me,” she told him, not managing to keep her voice steady.