Wild Magic (24 page)

To cover her confusion she said, ‘Which island is that up ahead?’

A dark shape showed on the horizon, as dark and as round as the hump of a whale.

‘That will be Kjaley,’ Tam Fox said, his light eyes flicking away from her. ‘Keel Island. Site of many a wreck.’ He gathered his legs beneath him and stood up as lithely as a cat. ‘Take her in!’ he hailed his crew. He glanced down at Katla again. ‘Tonight we shall feast and sleep in comfort!’

Keel Island lived up to its name. On the approach, Katla had spied the carcasses of a dozen or more stricken vessels – some whose wooden planking had taken on a dark and peaty texture, others in which it had weathered to a dull, flaking silver. Still more littered the black strand, strewn like the ribs of so many whales across the volcanic shore. Driftwood lay tangled in fantastic contortions, its original form smoothed and rounded by the sea as if polished by a giant’s hand. Here and there, bones gleamed against the black sand. It seemed a strange, forlorn spot to put in for the night, but Tam Fox appeared to be very at home on the island, knowing exactly where to anchor the ship to save it from being dashed on the cutting reefs, sending one party to gather driftwood for fires and another to fill the leather buckets with fresh water from a stream that coursed down from the sheer black cliffs, more to raise tents and bring the ale ashore. By the time sunset fell and crimson light flooded the island, a festive air had overtaken the crew. A huge fire roared, sending spirals of sparks up into the darkening sky; fishskin bubbled and crackled on spits; one barrel of ale was already upturned and empty. Bella and Silva Lighthand were performing handsprings and somersaults; Flint Erson threw himself in cartwheel after cartwheel, until he cannoned into Min Codface and she bellowed at him and chased him into the shallows, where he tripped and fell headlong; and one of the jugglers was trying to teach Jenna how to throw and catch three coloured balls stuffed with dried beans in a fluid rhythm, without much success.

Morten Danson sat apart from the mummers, glowering at everyone who crossed his path. It seemed, though, that his appetite had returned now that they were on dry land: the skeletons of at least three mackerel lay scattered on the ground before him, their stripy heads staring sightlessly out to sea.

By full dark, Katla had downed her fifth mug of ale and was beginning to feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Someone was tapping out a dance measure on a set of hand-drums and a band of musicians had retrieved their pipes and horns from the ship and joined in. A knot of folk were dancing around the fire. The costumes were out too, Katla saw, rather to her surprise. Tam Fox ran a tight crew most of the time and the costumes had been carefully stowed, wrapped first in unbleached linen and then in greased canvas to keep out the sea and the weather, and folded away into the big brassbound seachest in which he also kept Katla’s carnelian sword, which seemed to have been a significant part of Aran’s payment to the mummers’ chief for his part in the abduction. Someone was wearing the gigantic red head belonging to the Dragon of Wen costume and was chasing one of the singers in and out of the tents, and someone else swathed in the enveloping blue and green robe and headpiece of Mother Ocean was in the process of forming an unnatural and unholy union with the Lady of Fire. Katla helped herself to another mugful of the spiced ale and paid rapt attention as it warmed its way down her gullet.

‘Easy there!’

She turned around, too quickly. The world spun and she fell over her elder brother. ‘Whoops,’ she said from the ground, grinning lopsidedly. ‘’Lo, Halli.’

Halli sat down beside her. ‘You’re drunk,’ he accused.

‘No. Not really.’ Katla shook her head. It felt unpleasant, so she stopped and gazed at him owlishly instead. ‘Only a bit giddy. Still got my sea-legs,’ she explained solemnly after a bit.

Halli laughed. ‘Sea-legs! Well, have it your own way. I came to bring you Tam Fox’s greetings and invite you to dine with him.’

‘I ate. I think.’ Katla was nonplussed. Had she eaten? She remembered seeing mackerel roasting, and white bones scattered around the fire, and she remembered thinking about helping herself to one of them, then getting distracted by the arrival of the ale. She frowned, then sniffed her hands. They smelled salty: but that would be from days of handling wave-wet ropes; there were no scales on them, no fish-oil. She shrugged, narrowed her eyes and scanned the crowd, trying to spot the mummers’ leader. There was no sign of him by the fire with the rest of the crew, though the light of the flames gave everyone’s hair such a wild red halo that it was hard to know whether she had seen him or not. A cool onshore breeze carried the sudden, unmistakable scent of roasting lamb to her and her stomach rumbled its approval noisily. Lamb! Now that was a proper treat after days of dogfish and eel. ‘All right: take me to him.’

She tried to get up, managed to get her feet under her and swayed awkwardly. Halli – always more temperate in his habits than his sister – leapt up and caught her under the arms before she fell again. ‘I do think it would be a good idea to get some food in you,’ Halli said again. ‘Before you get completely sozzled.’

Katla cocked her head on one side and regarded him knowingly. He slid out of focus: became two grim-faced, dark young men, their four eyes boring into her earnestly. This scrutiny was acutely uncomfortable: she felt like a small child caught peeing where she shouldn’t. By concentrating hard she managed to make the two figures coalesce into Halli again. ‘You can be very . . . dull sometimes,’ she enunciated carefully, hardly slurring at all. ‘Very . . . grown-up.’

‘Someone has to be,’ Halli said crossly, thinking of his wayward father, his mad brother; this irresponsible sister. Tam was right: it was about time she was married and settled.

Tam Fox had his own fire burning at a little distance away from the main group, and it was from this blaze that the scent of roasting lamb had originated: a crisping carcass hissed fat into the flames. The mummers’ leader turned the spit once more with his foot, then sat back. He had constructed a roomy shelter from a large piece of sailcloth draped over branches and oars and a comfortable-looking seating area out of several bags of soft goods covered with furs and cloaks and there he reclined with a flask of wine in the crook of his arm and a plateful of steaming meat at his side. It looked quite rare still: blood leaked out onto the tin plate all red and glistening, though it might just have been the radiance of the flames reflecting in the cooked juices. Firelight played across Tam Fox’s face, illuminating his broad cheekbones, his wide brow, and the myriad braids and decorations in his copious beard and hair; it caught the band of silver he wore at his throat, rendering it a flawless gold, and fiery sparks lit the wells of his deep green eyes. He looked as magnificent as a great cat guarding its fresh-caught prey: all tawny grace and indolent power. Katla caught her breath.

His companion was as richly arrayed as any queen. An abundant white dress swathed her, its hem and sleeves adorned with intricate silver brocade. The neckline plunged dramatically, revealing a fine pair of white breasts. Katla squinted. She recognised that dress: it was the one worn, along with a ludicrous wig of yellow straw, by Flint Erson at the Rockfall mumming in his role as the Rosa Eldi. But Tam Fox’s companion was clearly not the hirsute Flint: there was far too much soft female skin on show for anyone to make
that
mistake; nor yet was she the nomad queen. Clearing the dancing, deceptive light of the fire, Katla got a clear view of the richly attired woman sitting beside Tam Fox. With a shock, she realised it was Jenna Finnsen.

Jenna’s cheeks were flushed and she wound a long coil of her golden hair round and round her finger as she giggled throatily at something the mummers’ chief had just said. When she saw Katla and Halli, she went very still and her eyes became round and wide.

‘Why, Jenna,’ Katla said thickly, ‘you’ve changed your dress I see.’

Jenna blushed a shade deeper. ‘You could have told me there was birdshit all over it!’ she replied defensively. ‘Tam kindly pointed it out and had Silva take it away for a wash.’ She smiled up at the tawny man under her eyelashes. ‘He’s been looking after me: he told me I looked pale and wan and needed good red meat and red wine to bring my colour back.’

‘I also said she needs a man who’ll appreciate her beauty and fill her full of seed, give her a score of fine, fat babies.’

Jenna choked so hard with laughter so that a bubble of wine burst from her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Her hands flew up to her face. ‘You’re outrageous!’ she cried, peering at him between splayed fingers. Katla could tell she was delighted by his teasing. ‘I think you’re the rudest man I ever met!’

The mummers’ leader gave Halli a heavy-lidded look that seemed almost a gesture of encouragement, or assent.

‘I am not a man fit for civilised company, it’s true,’ he conceded. ‘I’ve spent far too long on the high seas with the lowest of the low. And I am clearly too scurvy and rough-tongued a rascal to claim the attentions of such a well-bred and beauteous maiden. What you want, my dear, as I have been telling you this past hour, is a fine young man who’s unspoilt by the world, a man who’s upstanding and honourable, a man who’ll wed you and make you a proper home. Why, a man just like handsome Halli Aranson here—’ Tam Fox pushed himself upright and odged sideways to make space for the Rockfaller, then when Halli hesitated, caught him by the arm and hauled him down so hard that he almost fell into Jenna’s capacious lap. Katla giggled: so this was their game, and it was hardly subtle: get Jenna drunk on strong wine and Tam Fox’s lavish compliments then let Halli take over the seduction. And with luck, it seemed that Tam’s more direct attempt at match-making might be more successful than her own, for although Jenna looked a little put out at the ease with which the mummers’ chief had abandoned her, she did not seem entirely sorry to find herself in close proximity to Katla’s brother; indeed, was simpering away like a fourteen-year-old virgin. She was about to say as much, jokingly, when powerful hands grabbed her and swung her around until she tripped and almost fell upon the cushions. A moment later, the world stopped spinning and she found herself jammed up against the solid bulk of Tam Fox.

Tam reached around behind them and miraculously produced two more flasks of wine and handed them to the Rockfallers.

‘Stallion’s blood?’ Halli asked, sniffing at it warily. He had not had much exposure to any wine other than the thin, bitter stuff that owned the name in the Northern Isles.

Tam Fox snorted. ‘I may be a brigand and a thief, a jester and a fool; but I am neither mean of purse nor eager to rot my guts! Stallion’s blood is fit only for sousing herring and fixing dyes: but this – this, my friends, is Jetra’s finest vintage, dating from the reign of Raik Horsehair who liberated it himself from the cellars of the Lord of the Eternal City. It has come to me by a long, circuitous and not entirely legal, route, so do not waste a drop of it and do not guzzle it back like ale. Take time to savour the fine abundance of the rich blackberry aroma; treat your palate to its glorious buttery finish!’

He demonstrated the latter with such overstated theatricality that Halli and Katla exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

‘I quite like stallion’s blood actually,’ Katla declared cheerfully, not believing a word of the mummer’s nonsense. ‘I find it rather . . . bracing.’ She took a huge swig from the wine flask, swilled it around and then gargled with it in a thoroughly unladylike fashion. Two seconds later it all went down the wrong way and she found herself coughing like a cat trying to dislodge a particularly recalcitrant hairball. Jenna began thumping her on the back, rather too hard, Katla thought, for mere aid.

Tam Fox began to cut dripping slices of the lamb from the roasting carcass. He proffered the laden plate and his belt-knife to the now-silent Katla, who regarded him askance.

‘Are you sure you trust me with your little knife?’ she asked slyly. ‘Especially in the state I’m in?’

‘I have heard you have such magic in your fingers, that you can take the most inoffensive blade and turn it to a deadly weapon.’ The mummers’ leader returned her glance without a smile, though there was a glimmer in his eye. ‘I would love to discover your mettle with my . . . metal.’

Katla frowned. What was he talking about? ‘I forge swords,’ she said. ‘It’s true.’

‘Ah, but do you quench them?’

Was she imagining it, or had he just winked at her? She examined his face, bemused by the alcohol and annoyed to be unable to read the situation, and was caught by the intensity of his gaze.
He has the most remarkable eyes
, she found herself thinking,
as intense and as wild as a feral cat’s
. Almost, she expected his pupils to be vertical slits, for the moonlight to shine off them in flat silver discs.

‘Eat before it goes cold,’ Tam said, and thrust the plate at her and she took it from him, wondering what had just passed between them; but before she could consider the matter further she heard Halli say something in a low voice to Jenna, then he stood up and pulled her to her feet. She was a little unsteady, and the white dress was unwieldy, but Halli put a supportive arm around her waist and she curled herself into his embrace, and it seemed to Katla then that the two of them looked very fine together: all contrast and complement – Halli so tall and dark, his black hair lifted by the light breeze; Jenna all gold and white, the pair of them limned with moonlight, and the black strand stretching away behind them and the white surf rolling onto the shore. Then Halli bent and kissed her, and Katla felt her heart contract in something like regret.

‘They make a handsome couple,’ Tam Fox said as if reading her thoughts, and his voice was soft and melodious. They sat there together for a while in companionable silence punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the muted sounds of revelry. Then he turned to Katla and asked, ‘Will you be Jenna’s witness?’

She gawped at him. ‘For what?’

‘Tomorrow I shall handfast her to your brother.’