Bloodsong

  But she hadn’t finished yet. “Gunar came down into Crayley while Sigurd waited up here where it was safe. Odin would never let any but the best of all come down and get me.”

  Well, I could have told her a thing or two, but why bother? It was so pathetic! You don’t love someone because they’re better than anyone else. You love them because you love them. Because you love them and they love you back.

  “Gunar’ll be back soon, why don’t you run home and jump into bed with him, if he’s so fantastic?” I said. I knew perfectly well they hadn’t been sleeping together. “If you love him so much,” I said. It was a bit wet, but I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. She was coming out of the water now. She was losing her calm face.

  “I don’t sleep with him, that’s true. But at least it’s my choice,” she said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s not your choice that you don’t sleep with Sigurd. You don’t sleep with him because he doesn’t want to. That’s how much he loves you. No, Gudrun—you don’t have anything I want, believe me.”

  I stood there feeling the blood drain out of me. How dare she! How dare she! And how dare he tell her that!

  She looked at me with that nasty, crooked little smile on her face. “You’ve seen the way he looks at me, Gudrun,” she said. “You know who Sigurd loves, I think.”

  I started to nod. “Oh, so that’s it.” I was shaking. So they’d been sleeping together—is that what she meant? I didn’t dare ask. “No one loves you, Bryony, not even Sigurd. I don’t know what happened between you two when he was down there, but I can tell you, you don’t make him happy. So he loves you, does he? Yes, I’ve seen him look at you. If that’s your idea of love, you can keep it. He loves me. And if you could see him when you’re not there, you’d know it.”

  My heart was going like a drum. I thought, Oh, no, she’s going to tell me, she’s going to tell me that they’re having an affair. I didn’t want to hear that, but I couldn’t tear myself away, I had to wait and hear it. It had been so long. . . .

  I hadn’t even realized I’d let the cat out of the bag.

  She was looking at me like a hawk. She started to come toward me. I glanced over toward the house. Suddenly I felt very unsafe.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What do you mean about when he was down there with me? You know that? What has he told you?”

  “About what?” But even as I spoke, I realized what I’d said. She didn’t know that he’d been down there with her; she thought it was Gunar. It was a misunderstanding, you see. I didn’t do it on purpose. I was so hurt, so angry. Even then it wasn’t too late, but I didn’t know the full story either. I only learned he’d been down there before much later on. I didn’t know that we weren’t talking about the same time.

  “I . . . didn’t know you knew about it,” I said. Just for a moment I felt sorry for her again. So she knew! For how long? No wonder. I held out my arms. “Bryony, I’m so sorry.”

  “How do you mean? What do you mean?” She was right up to me. Suddenly she leaned forward and seized me by the arm. “Tell me what’s happening!” she hissed. I was so scared. You should have seen her face. I thought she was going to kill me. That’s why I told her—only because I thought she’d kill me. It wasn’t what I wanted.

  “But don’t you know? You said . . .”

  “Never mind what I said.” She was grinding her teeth. Her face—I never saw anything like it. She’d been so dull for so long. Suddenly she looked like the devil. “Tell me,” she hissed. “Tell me what you mean or I will kill you here, Gudrun. I’ll pull you to pieces with my bare hands.”

  She meant it. I understood that. And she could do it, too. Her grip was like a dog’s jaws on my arm. “That . . . that Sigurd changed shapes with Gunar. Bryony, it wasn’t Gunar who came down to Crayley. It was Sigurd in Gunar’s shape.”

  I felt sorry for her even as I was saying it. She loved Sigurd, that much was clear, but at least she’d thought Gunar had been brave enough to go down and fetch her out. Now she didn’t even have that.

  “It wasn’t Gunar. It was Sigurd,” I repeated. “Gunar could never do it. He tried and failed.” I put my chin up and looked her in the eye. “Only Sigurd could go down there.”

  She’d turned as pale as ash. She was looking like murder; I thought I was going to die. She let go of my arm, gripped my shoulder, and forced me to my knees. She stood bent over me, all twisted up and bent like an old woman, but an old woman with the strength of a machine. I thought she’d pierce my bones with her grip.

  “Please don’t hurt me, Bryony, it’s not my fault, I didn’t do anything,” I begged, writhing under her hand. I wanted to ask her what she knew, because she knew something I didn’t, that much was clear. But I was so confused and scared I didn’t dare.

  She looked down at me, then she put out an arm and helped me up. “No. You didn’t do anything. Or maybe you did.” She looked curiously into my face. “But tell me, Gudrun; why should I believe you? You know Sigurd loves me, you want me out of the way. Perhaps you’re lying to me because you want to hurt me.”

  I was scared, you see. And maybe I did want to hurt her. I wasn’t thinking straight. But once you start, you can’t stop.

  “He gave me your ring,” I said. “I have it at home.”

  It was the worst thing I could have told her. I was cursing myself even while it came out of my lips. She literally sagged. I didn’t think she could have gone paler than she was, but she did. Then she shook herself up and drew me to my feet. “Show me,” she demanded.

  “Bryony, I can’t. Sigurd made me promise.”

  “Do you think I care about his promises? Show me. I have to know if this is true. Show me. Now!”

  What could I do? She was a warrior, she could have killed me—I think she would have been glad to. I led her up the hill. There wasn’t a word said. She marched me back, pushing me firmly in the back when I was slacking, like a parent encouraging a slow child. Grimhild met us in the passage and yapped something. Neither of us replied, but she knew something was going on because she stood at the bottom of the stairs while I led Bryony up to my room and took out my jewelry box. I hadn’t looked at it for ages. That ring was a beautiful thing, not valuable in any way, but she had given it to Sigurd down there, and I guess it meant everything to her. Heaven alone knows why I didn’t let him give it back to her.

  She took it in her hand and nodded.

  “Bryony . . .”

  She took no notice of me, she might not have even heard. She held the ring in the palm of her hand and stared at it. It must have been the last straw. What had she got left now? She glanced briefly at me, dropped the ring on the carpet, turned, and walked out. I waited until she was halfway down the corridor and then ran to the door. I was afraid she might go out to look for Gunar and kill him, or that she would try to kill herself, but she was turning into her room. I waited for her door to close and then ran out to call Gunar and Hogni back. It was at a head now. Nothing was going to be the same. It was out of our hands.

  Bryony could have ended it then. She knew how strong she was, she could have held her breath until she died just lying there if her traitorous body wouldn’t snatch at the air as soon as she lost consciousness. Her spirit was so heavy she couldn’t haul herself out of bed, but she felt, building up inside her, the power to destroy everything.

  She lay raging silently at her fate for a long while, until she fell into a black unconsciousness. When she woke, Gunar was standing over her.

  “Gudrun told me,” he said. He looked down at her, licked his lips nervously. “You shouldn’t have hurt my sister,” he began. But Bryony’s eyes flashed.

  “Gunar,” she said. “Get out of here or I’ll kill you.”

  “You?” he said, trying to laugh.

  “Just go.”

  Gunar hesitated. He knew some of her strength, only some of it. She’d lived her life as a hunter, fighting for her life, but she had never shown him
what she was really like. For the past months she had been depressed, weak. He thought of her like that still. He reached out to take her hand, but in a second Bryony was out of the bed. He went flying backward and slammed into the wall ten feet away.

  “Go,” she repeated. He got to his feet, his breath rasping in pain and fear, stared at her in amazement, and left the room hurriedly.

  Yes, she could do it now, easily. But there was unfinished business. Sigurd would come to her at last. Nothing would happen until then.

  At some time during that day, a servant poked her head round the door with a tray. Bryony sat up and blazed silently at the woman, who quailed and left without a second’s more fuss. Later still Gudrun opened it and looked in. Bryony got out of the bed and walked toward her; Gudrun saw what was coming and fled. Bryony could hear her feet on the stairs, making it to safety. But there would be no safety anywhere for any of them once she decided to act. Perhaps they would kill her first. They wanted to by this time, she was sure of that. But first, Sigurd. They would let him try first. He would be on his way already. She’d wait that long; so would they.

  The secret was a year old. In keeping it from Bryony, they had suppressed their own thoughts, too. They had gagged it, smothered it, suffocated it; now the gag was off and suddenly there were words everywhere. Gunar and Gudrun, talking, talking, talking. Hogni was there too, arguing for Sigurd’s good faith, but his words sounded hollow in his own ears. He knew the Sigurd before Crayley and the one after; he knew the difference between a closed heart and an open one. What had happened down there? Why was Sigurd so different since he came back? Theirs was not the only secret, that much was clear. Deals had been struck, plans had been made, understandings reached behind their backs. Now was the accounting hour. They had come clean; it was time for Sigurd to tell his story too. Each one of them in their hearts felt that somehow he had betrayed them.

  But Gudrun did not want to lose her man, and Gunar did not want to lose his wife. He’d had a month with Bryony before she met Sigurd. It seemed to him that she had loved him then. He wanted her to love him again.

  Gudrun was onto Sigurd as soon as he arrived. They took a walk in the garden, where she made her accusations. Sigurd denied nothing but admitted nothing, and she left him more frustrated than ever. Then it was Gunar’s turn. He bit back his angry words; he had a favor to ask. He wanted Sigurd to talk to Bryony, to try and bring her round.

  “I got her for you, do you want me to keep her for you as well?” asked Sigurd, half joking but with a flash of anger.

  Gunar hated him for that remark, but he swallowed his pride and begged.

  “I need you again, yes, to keep her for me,” he said. Sigurd dropped his eyes.

  “She knows now,” he said. “Do you think I can do any good? It was me who betrayed her.”

  “Not betrayed, not her, Sigurd,” said Gunar. Sigurd understood what he meant—that it was Gunar he had deceived. He looked at his old friend closely, then nodded.

  “I’ll go and speak to her, for your sake, Gunar,” he said. “But no good’ll come of it.”

  He turned to go, but Gunar took his arm, thinking that Sigurd meant some kind of threat.

  “Don’t let me down, Sigurd,” he begged.

  Sigurd looked him in the eye. “I’ll never betray you, Gunar,” he said. Gunar smiled grimly, thinking that he already had. Sigurd left him and went upstairs.

  Sigurd knocked, waited for a moment, then opened the door and went in. She was sitting up in bed. Their eyes met for the first time in months and bound them like one flesh. He closed the door and went to sit on the bed by her side.

  “Won’t you come out, Bryony?” he asked. “The rain’s been and gone. It’s washed clean outside. The wind. The clouds,” he said, and he smiled slightly.

  Bryony looked at him in amazement. Even now he could keep up this game! “Have you come to torment me?” she said bitterly. “I know what happened. You made me love you, you promised me this world, and then you gave me away like a scrap. You betrayed me! All this time. Who has ever been betrayed like that—to come to me in the shape of another man and give me to him?”

  “It wasn’t me who did it, Bryony,” he said quietly. And then he told her the story—the whole thing, from the day he left her in Crayley to get the dragon skin. Of the war, of his plans to get her out. How he woke up with no memory of her and everything that had happened since; of Grimhild the witch. The whole story—the theft of his memories by the bitch and her servant, of the door in the ruined outbuilding, the slogans on the wall; of his death in the lake, kicking for air while Ida beat at his face for hour after hour. Of his falling in love with Gudrun, and the miracle of his memory coming back that day he saw her in the conservatory.

  “It was Jenny,” he said. “Remember? She flew through my eye.”

  Bryony scowled. She had seen it; and then Jenny had left her forever. “But how did you forget? How is such a thing possible?” She sat up in bed and stared him in the face, as if she was trying to see the truth. Then, carefully, unsure of what she was doing but hoping that this could all be made right again, she put her arms around him and hugged him, gently at first, but then harder as he hugged her back. For so long the ice had held their hearts; now it melted. They ran their hands over each other, through their hair, felt each other’s faces, and kissed and breathed and wept in the other’s scent. All this time they had both been wanting this, every day of their lives, every time they saw each other, every time they thought of each other, at every scent and sight and sound of each other. It was like water to their parched hearts. And so they were reunited at last, felt their hearts beating against each other, and became themselves again.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “And I love you, and always have!” he whispered back fervently.

  She let him go to look at his face. “But you waited all this time? You never said! Why didn’t you say?”

  Sigurd smiled sadly—this wasn’t over yet—and shrugged. “I’m two men in one body,” he whispered. He was telling her something dreadful, but she didn’t realize yet what had happened to him.

  But Bryony was hardly listening. She let him go and jumped out of bed. She ran to her cupboard and began scooping up a few handfuls of clothes.

  “Now we go,” she said. She turned to him, her face blazing fiercely. She didn’t understand, that would come later. But it was unthinkable that this should go on. “It wasn’t you, I understand. That little bitch did this to us. But now we’re together again. Sigurd, get ready. We’re going to drive out of here and never come back. I love you—I love you so much! Now we’re together again.” She gazed triumphantly at him. “Even this didn’t part us!”

  But Sigurd sat still and stared at the floor.

  “What are you doing? Let’s go! Sigurd?”

  “Bryony.” How could he explain the impossible? “I can’t do anything anymore.”

  “Then don’t resist me!”

  “I love her, too. You see? I’ve given her my heart.”

  Bryony tried to laugh. “No one can have two hearts, Sigurd.”

  “Monsters do,” he said, and smiled weakly at her.

  “And Sigurd, which of us . . . which of us do you love the best?”

  Sigurd lifted his head, glad of a simple truth. “You were my first love, Bryony. I was Sigurd when I fell in love with you; I love you more than anything. But I can’t betray her. I can’t betray anyone. Not you, not Gudrun, not even Gunar.”

  “That slug, that shit? You put him on the same level as me? And then you say you can’t betray?”

  “I never betrayed you. It was . . . someone else. You see?” he begged. But true though this was, it meant nothing to her, or, indeed, to him. He had been tricked, interfered with in a way that should never have been possible; but it was still him who had done it.

  Bryony said, “Yes, you were tricked. But this is you, now. This is your decision. Her or me. Now you can decide. This life or life with me. You’re
yourself now, Sigurd. What happened was done to you as well as to me. Now you choose. Who do you love more?”

  “I love you more, you know that. But I can’t leave. There’s nothing else to be done. We just have to live this life, do you see? And make the best of it. People do, don’t they, Bryony? They make the best of things. That’s what we have to do.”

  “You’ll let that little bitch conquer us and get her way? After all the things you’ve done? You choose that?”

  “I can’t . . . I can’t choose. I don’t . . . I don’t do that, any more. Bryony,” he begged. “I can’t move. I can’t move,” he whispered.

  “You want me to live like this? This half life? In another prison? You want me to watch you cooing with Gudrun? You want me sleeping with Gunar, you want me to have his babies? Sigurd, you must be mad! Do as I say!” she commanded. “You will leave her. You will come with me!”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  She thought she’d kill him then. She let out a terrible, strangled cry and rushed at him, but he caught her in his arms and hugged her hard, while she flailed and struck at him uselessly. Then he whispered in her ear.

  “Bryony, Bryony. I’m going mad.”

  She stopped struggling and stood still, listening.

  “I have too many lives in me. It’s killing me. I’ve been too many people, I’ve died too often.” How could anyone understand? No one had ever suffered the injury done to Sigurd. If they had, no one would ever have won their memory back. Jenny Wren had killed him all over again.

  “I’m not anyone anymore. I’ve become no one.”

  “That’s just confusion, Sigurd,” she said calmly.

  “No, it’s true. The dragon, the clone. Odin. My father! They’ve all claimed a part of me. Bryony, I’m lost, I’m lost in here. You must help me before I destroy everything.”

  She pushed his arms away and looked at him sitting there like a little child on the chair, his head low, trying to watch her. “What do you want me to do?”