“Not yet.” Her voice was very small, and wobbled. “Eyvi?”
He waited in silence.
“I feel so lonely,” she said in a whisper. “They are all gone: my family, my people, all of them taken. And I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep, not here in the dark; I don’t want to see their dead faces in my dreams.”
He clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to move.
“You remember that night, the first night you woke up, in the tower in the earth? We sat by lamplight then and talked about dreams, and you put your arm around me and held my hand. It was a different sort of time, a time when hurts could be salved and secrets spoken and understood as if…as if…”
“As if the two of us were one.” He said it, despite himself.
“Could we do that again?” she asked him. “Will you stay by me and keep away the visions, just for a little? If you would do that, this might be easier.”
Not for me, he thought grimly, cursing his own selfishness. What kind of man was he, that he could not suppress his body’s urges in order to help a friend? How weak was his self-control, that he could not trust himself to touch without taking?
“Would you, Eyvi?” He could hardly hear her soft voice, and yet he felt it in every corner of his body.
He did not speak, but moved to sit as he had that first night, close by her with his arm around her shoulders and his other hand clasped in hers; her sweet scent filled his nostrils, her warmth flooded into him, and his breathing quickened, despite his best efforts to keep it steady.
“Mmm,” Nessa said, and laid her head on his shoulder. “That’s good, Eyvi; that’s so good. I did not know how much I had longed for this.” Then she fell silent, and he could tell she was weeping, but he dared not hold her closer, he dared not reach to brush away those tears with his finger, to stop them with his lips, to…no, he would not think of that. His hand clasped hers tightly; he felt his breath escape in a great sigh. The gods were kind, and cruel. They had delivered her to him, safe and well, when he had thought her lost; it was his own fault that he was no longer contented with what he had.
“I’m sorry,” Nessa said after a while. “I didn’t know I was going to cry. I’m all right now. Perhaps we should try to sleep.” Still she held his hand; even when he made to get up, she clung to it.
“Perhaps we should,” he said. “You stay here; the wolfskin is the warmest place. I’ll go back to the other side.” He got to one knee, seeking to rise, but her hand held him fast.
“No, Eyvi,” she said quietly. “Here, by me.”
His heart lurched. “You don’t understand,” he said. “It shames me to say it, but I see I must. I cannot lie here by you, so close, and not—and not—I’m sorry, I wish I could hold you and comfort you and not want you so much, but I have dreamed of you every night since we parted; I have thought of you every waking moment. So now, you see, I must sleep elsewhere…”
She released his hand. He didn’t seem to be able to move. He knelt where he was, staring at the ground, full of shame at his own weakness, full of sorrow at what could never be. Nessa was silent a little. When she spoke, her voice was both gentle and sure.
“Eyvi,” she said, “listen to me. There’s no saying what tomorrow may bring for us. Maybe flight, maybe captivity, maybe death. I can’t tell you about that. All I can tell you is what I’m feeling now. I have never lain with a man; I thought I never would. But my body’s aching for you, it has been this long time. I don’t want to die without holding you in my arms, flesh to flesh; I don’t want to leave this world without doing what a man and a woman do when they love each other. That’s all I can say, dear one. Of course, if you think it’s better that we don’t—”
A sound came out of him, somewhere between an agonized groan of pent-up desire and a snort of astonished laughter. An instant later, she was in his arms, her lips soft on his, parting for him, hungry for him, her hands were making patterns of sweet fire against his skin, and they lay down together on the wolfskin and forgot the world for a while in the fierce joy of coming together. She was new to this, and Eyvind’s desire so strong it threatened to rob him of all control. He had thought Signe beautiful, with her lush figure and her fair wholesomeness, and so she had been. But this girl, birch-pale, willow-supple, her long brown hair a tantalizing, silken shawl half-revealing the sweet small curves of her, this lissome woman was his heart’s delight. She was his Bright Star, his joy and fulfillment. And he blessed Signe now for the skills she had taught him over those long nights in Freyrsfjord: how to be slow and careful, how to wait, how to make sure he did not hurt her. Such restraint took strength; he found that strength within himself, and it was only when Nessa cried out beneath him, her body trembling in the moment of fulfillment, that Eyvind let himself plunge over the brink into the darkness of his own pulsing release. They slept close-folded, arms wrapped around each other, legs entwined, breathing as one. Once or twice in the night they stirred, each moving a hand across the other’s skin, stroking, touching softly, making quite sure this was not just another cruel dream. And once Nessa whispered,
“Eyvi?”
He stirred, not fully awake. “Mmm?”
“I think this is the first day of spring,” she said, and slept again.
His eyes snapped open. In an instant body and mind were aware of danger. Here, inside, was the warmth of Nessa still sleeping, folded in his arms. There, outside, Guard was barking a frenzied warning, and men were raising their voices to be heard over it.
“He’s got to be in there! We’ve tracked him down at last!”
“Good work, lads! Who’s going in to fetch him out?”
“Going in? You must be joking.”
No time; he woke Nessa quickly, silently, his hand over her mouth to warn her. She, too, was instantly alert, moving to dress herself, to hunt for her few possessions in the half-dark, to slip her feet into her boots. Morning light came dimly through the tunnelled entry. Nessa’s eyes met his, wide with shock, recognizing that this time there was nowhere to run to. Eyvind struggled to keep his expression reassuring. The voices came again.
“What do you suggest, then? We’ve got to get him out somehow. There’ll be a handsome reward in this, boys. Go on, Thorvald. You’re a big, strong fellow. It’s only a dog.”
“Anyone got a thrusting spear? That thing’s no dog, it’s a fiend from the Underworld. Take it from a distance, you might have half a chance.”
Nessa’s fingers moved to touch Eyvind’s in the shadowed silence of the howe. Their hands clasped tightly together. Even if it had been possible to speak, there were no words for this.
“Hang on,” said another voice. “Don’t be so ready with your talk of spears. That’s Ulf’s dog, don’t you recognize it? Shouldn’t think Somerled would be too pleased if you ran it through like a pig on a spit.”
“Here, give me that hammer of yours,” said another man. “Let me take a shot at the creature.” There was a shuffling followed by a dull thud. The barking ceased abruptly, and Nessa drew in her breath in a little gasp.
“Right. Now let’s see you go in, Thorvald. You’re the biggest. Fellow’s quiet enough; maybe he’s still sleeping.”
“Very funny.” Thorvald sounded anything but amused. “Great way to get us all killed. We creep in one by one and he finishes us off one by one with his little knife the moment we come out the other end of that tunnel. This is a Wolfskin, lads, not just another miscreant on the run. You won’t see me crawling in there, reward or no reward.”
“Why don’t we just wait?” offered somebody. “He’s got to run out of food sometime.”
“Stay out here in this place overnight?” This voice was incredulous.
“Smoke,” someone said suddenly. “Make a fire at the entry; there’s no hole on top, place’ll fill up quick as a flash. He’ll have to come out then; if he doesn’t, he’ll soon fall unconscious and we can go in and get him trussed up before he knows what’s what.”
Eyvind bent to
touch his lips to Nessa’s brow, to stroke her soft hair with his fingers. Farewell, Bright Star. My hand in yours. His heart was thundering in his breast. It was apparent to him that there was only one thing he could do.
“Good idea. You’ve more wit than I gave you credit for, man. Right, let’s do it quick. Look around for what’ll burn. I see that reward coming closer and closer. Might even be one of those handsome little islander girls in it, who knows?”
Eyvind relinquished Nessa’s hand and took up his stolen sword, his small dagger. He motioned again that she must keep silent, pointed to the back of the howe, where she would be least visible to anyone looking in from the entry. Go there. Hide. Wait.
Her eyes were frantic, though she kept her silence. “No!” she mouthed. “Eyvi, no!”
“I love you.” His lips made the words without a sound, and then he turned his back on her. “Thorvald!” he shouted. “Gudbrand, is that your voice, old scoundrel? I’m coming out; I’m weary and hungry, and I’ve no desire at all for a lingering death by choking. I’ll hand my weapons out before me, no tricks.” He crawled into the narrow passage as the men’s voices rose in startled reaction. Behind him all was silence. He came out into the light of morning, on his knees, half-blinded by the brightness, proffering sword and dagger hilt first.
“Thor’s hammer, Eyvind,” someone remarked in tones of disgust, “you’re not the man you once were, that’s for certain.”
“Tie his hands quick,” another man advised. “Can’t trust his kind.”
Eyvind put up a slight struggle; it was best that this be done quickly, yet to give in too meekly was to invite suspicion. The dog lay prone near the entry, perhaps dead, perhaps merely stunned. Eyvind did not look back at the howe itself.
“This all you’ve got?” Gudbrand, who seemed to be leading the expedition, stared hard into Eyvind’s face as the others bound his hands tightly behind his back. “No axe, no spear? No supplies?”
Eyvind shook his head. “I came away in haste, as you know,” he said. “My own things are gone.”
“Still,” Gudbrand mused, scratching his chin, “maybe we should have a look inside. Could be a trick. Not like your kind to give up so easily. Thorvald? Why don’t you go in and take a look?”
“Me?”
“Why not?”
“Ever heard what happened to that fellow from Hafnarvagr that went in one of those and scratched his name-rune on the stone? Spent the next three days babbling about ghosts and then jumped off a cliff into the sea. Come on, let’s go back. There’s a good pot of ale in this at least.”
“What about the dog? Didn’t you say the thing was Ulf’s?”
“Anyone volunteering to carry it? I say leave it where it lies. Offering for the spirits, keep them off our backs. Come on, then. Move, you!”
These men may have been his comrades once, but it was clear he was now no more to them than another captive to be harried forward at spear-point. Eyvind did not look back. He set his eyes ahead, northward to Somerled’s hall, blessing each step that took them farther from the place where Nessa still hid in shadows. They had not found her; she was safe for now. He must hope that she could go on alone and complete the mysterious task she had spoken of. At least, now that he was recaptured, there would be no need for Somerled to send warriors out in great numbers scouring the countryside. Nessa had at least some chance of evading the few who would still patrol what had once been the borders of Engus’s kingdom. As for himself, despite the terror of seeing her so close to capture, his heart was whole again: he bore the sweet memory of last night within him, and it seemed to him that talisman had the power to arm him against much. It would be back to the little cell, he supposed, back to the darkness and the company of his own thoughts. So be it; if he must break out again, he would, no matter what guard they set on him. He’d have to let them hold him a few days at least, so Nessa had time to get away, time to do the thing she had to do before his own escape drew forth pursuit once more. Then he would go back to the old plan, to seek out Eirik. Perhaps he would find Nessa again, drawn to her side by whatever ancient power had sent the two of them to find refuge in the selfsame hidden place, on the selfsame night. That could hardly have been chance. If those forces were kind enough to lead him to her again, he would not leave her. He would do all that was in his power to keep her safe from Somerled. Time, that was all he’d need, enough time. As they marched northward, his guards now grimly silent, Eyvind planned it out in his head, imagining the musty outhouse where he’d been locked up before, picturing where they might deploy an increased guard, working out how long he would wait, this time, before making his move, and what path he would follow to come back to the south undetected.
But it seemed they were not taking him to the isolated farm hut that had held him before. The group was passing to the west of that place, skirting wide around the fields that fringed Ulf’s burial mound, then curving northeastward again to make their way straight toward the settlement and Somerled’s hall. Eyvind held his silence. It was clear to him from the disapproving scowls of his escort that useful information was unlikely to be forthcoming. He knew what was in their minds. To defy your chieftain’s orders and turn against your own forces was bad enough. But what sort of warrior surrenders with no resistance at all, merely for the sake of a warm bed and a joint of mutton? Their eyes told him their opinion. He whom they had once admired, envied, even idolized, was now sunk as low in their estimation as a worm beneath the boot heel: lower, even, because of what he had once been. His shame had robbed them of words.
The sight of the settlement wall, the calls of sentries, brought light back to their eyes and grins to their faces soon enough. Gritting his teeth, Eyvind let them drag him into the enclosure with more than a few glancing blows to ear and jaw inflicted on the way. They tied him to a post while Thorvald went ahead into the hall; it was not long before this new captive attracted a crowd, folk muttering and whispering at first, then jeering and shouting insults as confidence grew. Someone spat in his face. Eyvind held himself still and quiet. His mind showed him small images: Nessa sleeping, a standing stone, dark under the moon with the glittering lake water beyond, a lone, pale beach where slow waves washed the sand. He breathed carefully; there were parts of him that hurt from blows received during that long walk north, blows he had chosen not to return. It was important to stay alert and save what strength he had. These men did not matter. Only Somerled mattered. At the back of the group that now surrounded him, their taunts increasing in the face of his own silence, he saw Grim, a tall, broad figure clad in wolfskin and woolen tunic, the hammer slung on his back. A clever blow, that had been; Grim had known just how hard to strike, to stop but not kill him. He thought neither Holgar nor Erlend had shown such judgment. Still, one could not know who was a friend and who an enemy. Good and bad had become blurred on this island since Ulf’s death. And Grim, too, had charged across the causeway that morning to hew men limb from limb, to part head from shoulders.
Someone threw an egg; it cracked on Eyvind’s cheek and splattered across face and neck.
“Enough!” Grim’s voice was deep and rough like the growl of a bear; folk fell silent. “What are you, some rabble starved of cheap entertainment? Take this man inside; get him cleaned up before Somerled sees him. A fellow’s got the right to be heard before you set him up as a figure of fun, hasn’t he? Now get out of here; I feel the itch in my fingers for a little hammer play, and right now I’m not particular who’s in my way.”
The enclosure cleared as if by magic, leaving Eyvind and his captors. Grim looked on with a heavy frown. He wasn’t talking now. He stared at Eyvind, and Eyvind glanced back at him, and thought he saw the smallest of nods from the bearded warrior before Grim turned on his heel and tramped off indoors. Then Gudbrand was tugging on the ropes that bound his prisoner, and he was hauled away.
Inside, he was conveyed none too gently to the quarters where he had once slept with his fellow Wolfskins, but nobody seemed to be prepared
to unfasten the tight bonds that tied his hands behind his back, nor to tend to the cuts and bruises on his face, nor to offer a clean tunic or a bowl of fresh water. He waited, standing very still in the center of the room while his captors conferred in low voices. A hearing, he thought, that would be the next thing. They’d lock him up for a while, and then he’d have to walk out in front of everyone and say what he had to say with neither evidence nor witnesses. This wasn’t how it was meant to be; he’d just have to do his best. At least he was buying time for Nessa. He wondered where she was now. He wished she would slip onboard a fishing boat and go off to the outer islands, where Somerled’s hand had not yet tightened its grip on her people. This new king would be busy enough establishing his realm of Hrossey without turning his attention to the far-flung remnants of the Folk on Sandy Island or West Island or the smaller, remoter places. But Nessa wouldn’t go; he knew her. She was a leader. She would not rest until she had completed the task she had spoken of. He hoped it would not bring her here to the settlement. He did not want her to be here, so close to Somerled.
“Right,” said a voice from the entry. “The king wants to see him straightaway. In his own quarters. Alone.”
“Alone?” Gudbrand scowled. “That’s hardly wise. A guard or two inside the chamber, surely?”
“Alone, and now,” said Thorvald, who had brought the message. “That’s what he said.”
At the entry to Somerled’s private quarters, which had once been his brother’s, stood Holgar and Erlend, one on either side of the doorway. Erlend stepped forward, seizing Eyvind by the arm, and jerked his head at Gudbrand in dismissal.
“That’ll be all,” he snarled.