Wolfskin (21 page)

It was a good feast, and their guests appeared well pleased. The lack of a common tongue stemmed the flow of conversation somewhat, but it did not stop the travelers from exchanging a smile or a wink with one or other of the women of Engus's household, nor their enjoyment of the excellent food and fine ale on offer. Nessa listened intently and began to learn names. Ulf: that was the leader. There were two frightening-looking men who shadowed him closely: Hakon and Eirik, some sort of bodyguards. A brother, the man who had smiled and made her flesh crawl: Somerled. That was too fair a name for such a man. There were more warriors, Grim, Holgar, Erlend, too many to remember. A fine company. The big, quiet one had an odd little name, she was not sure she had heard it right: Eyvi? There were more of them at Silver Bay, where their ships were now hauled up safe out of the sea's grasp. The leader's wife had been left in charge while he traveled to Engus's court. She must be a woman of some authority.

They had brought gifts taken from their cargo, skins of bear and white fox, beads of glass and of amber, blue and green, sun-yellow and water-
clear, and they also had gold: an arm-ring wrought very fair with a pattern of interwoven leaves and fruit, and a fine chain suitable for a lady to wear.

“I thank you,” Engus said, unsmiling. “We will return your gesture in due course, and handsomely. I do not know you yet, and so I cannot judge what you may need most.”

Ulf nodded, his eyes shrewd. “You are both prudent and generous, my lord,” he said. “We, in our turn, may offer you more. And I will not be slow in guessing where your own needs lie.”

Engus frowned. The clatter of knives and bowls died suddenly. “You read us so quickly? What are you, a soothsayer? A magician?”

Ulf smiled. “No such thing. But I can observe as well as the next man. If I were the king of a fair land such as this, I would wake every day with a prayer of gratitude on my lips that the gods had set me in this corner of the earth. And if I were such a king, and a voyager offered to bring me gifts, I would ask him for two things.”

“Go on.” Engus's tone was cool.

“Firstly, a cargo of fine timber for building. These isles are strangely lacking in trees. Such a cargo, a farmer in Rogaland could fell in twice seven days, with men to help him. That is a land of forests. It could be loaded and brought back in next summer's sailing.”

“And the second gift?” Despite himself, the king of the Light Isles was showing interest now.

“I'd ask for help in building a ship. Not just any ship, but a fine ocean-going longship, the equal of my own vessel, the
Golden Dragon
. With such a craft, a man could move from isle to isle on the breath of the wind, and he could, I think, reach the coast of his southern neighbors rather quickly, certainly before the local chieftains were ready for him.”

Now there was a silence of rapt attention. Such a game is good entertainment, even when each man's speech must be translated before the other understands it. The knowledge of tongues gave great power, Nessa realized, as she watched Tadhg take a deep draft of his ale. His throat would be dry as chaff by now. Great power and great danger: in such an exchange, errors could prove costly indeed.

“There is only one such vessel in all of Norway, and that is mine,” Ulf said quietly. “I built her myself; she was two years in the planning, a season in the making. The next will be quicker. In time, there will be many such ships, for men seek to emulate what they admire, and the
Golden Dragon
is not only fair and swift, but also strong enough to withstand the rigors of long journey in open sea. If I were king of these isles, I would ask that the
next such ship to be built would be my own. Timber from Rogaland would make that possible; my men's skills would achieve it. This could be completed within two summers, I believe.”

Engus only nodded. If there was a question he was meant to ask at that point, he chose to save it. Very wise, Nessa considered, yawning. It was getting late. The tide would be well up over the causeway by now, so the guests would have to stay, whether they wanted to or not.

The beads were lovely; the white fur was soft and pretty. Still, you couldn't wear such a thing without wondering about the creature that had once lived in it. Those men wore fur, the ones who guarded Ulf: great shaggy pelts over their shoulders, like the skin of some mythical dog far bigger than any that lived in this world. It added to their look of wildness. She yawned again, and slipped away outside, shivering in the night chill as she ran across to the little hut she shared with her mother and sisters and a couple of serving girls.

It was a clear sky tonight; a blanket of stars stretched from one edge of the world to the other, piercing bright against the soft blue darkness. The moon was a sliver, not yet as full as the crescent she had shaped from stones atop that subterranean dwelling, all those years ago when she was still small and had not learned the mysteries. She knew every corner of that secret place now: its three long chambers with the niches to the sides, its precipitous, crumbling inner steps, the shelf partway down, which held seven tiny skulls set out in a row, right at eye level. The bottom-most chamber was a place of utter darkness. Back then, when she was still a small girl, Nessa had asked Rona what it was, but even Rona did not know, or would not say. So Nessa, with the confidence of childhood, had told Rona what she thought.

“I don't think it's an underground house at all. It only looks like one. I think it's a tower.”

“Interesting,” Rona had observed. “A tower in the earth.”

“It wasn't always like this,” small Nessa had told her, warming to the story. “Once there was a fisherman lived here, a good place, not far from the bay but quite sheltered. It started as a cottage, but he wanted to look out to sea, far out, because he always thought, if he looked hard enough, he'd catch a glimpse of the people of the Seal Tribe swimming and playing in the foam, as the old folk said could happen.”

Rona had nodded, saying nothing.

“In those days it really was a tower, high up above the top of the dunes, and there was a little window looking out to the west. That was
where he used to stand and watch for them. He was very patient, and in the end he got what he wanted. One moonlit night, the Seal Tribe swam up to the rocks at the north end, and climbed out of the water, and danced there naked as newborn babes, each one of them more beautiful than the last.”

“What, even the men?” the wise woman had asked with a gap-toothed grin.

“These were all girls,” Nessa had said with six-year-old confidence. “The fisherman crept along the shore and tiptoed across the rocks as the strange creatures sang and chattered and combed their long green locks, and quick as a flash he grabbed one of them around the wrist, and held on as hard as he could, for all her entreaties, until the dawn began to break and the others slipped silently into the sea. The sun rose, and the sea-woman had to go home with him, because once day has arrived, they can't go back anymore. He kept her a while. But it's true what they say about the Seal Tribe. Such a pairing can end only in sorrow. One night her menfolk called to her, and when she came down to the shore, they held up those wee pearly shells to catch the moonlight and guide her back home. She broke the fisherman's heart.

“I think he died alone, here in this house. Perhaps his ghost is still here somewhere, hiding in that bottom chamber by day, wandering the shore alone at night, calling out to her, a call that's never answered. It was a long time ago. Great storms came, and the sands covered up the cottage, and then the bottom of the tower, and at last came up over the window and left it all in darkness. So you see, you can have a tower in the earth. That's what it is.”

“What about the skulls?”

Nessa had pondered this for a little. “I suppose the Hidden Tribe come here sometimes,” she'd replied. “Maybe they use them for drinking bowls.”

“Tell me,” the wise woman had said. “Tell me why you sealed the entry so carefully. Are you afraid of the Hidden Tribe?”

“I don't think so,” Nessa had answered, considering. “Folk do fear them, but they belong here on the islands just as we do, almost as if they are a kind of ancestor, a rather odd one. What they do is only mischief: stealing a jug of milk, or putting your fire out. It's the Seal Tribe who are dangerous. They're the ones who take your child or steal your spirit; the ones who leave you lonely forever, like that fisherman. Of course I'm careful. Nobody's ever going to do that to me.”

“Of course,” Rona had observed dryly, “your fisherman could have
chosen to forget it and get on with things. He could have married and had children and moved away from the tower. He didn't need to waste his whole life just because he didn't get what he wanted.”

Nessa could remember her own grave answer. “The Seal Tribe care nothing for us, only for what we can give them. His mistake was to fall in love, and think she could return his feelings. He gave away his heart. After that, he was no good to anyone, not even himself.”

Now, so many seasons after, Nessa recognized the wise woman's patience. Rona had been a kind teacher, as well as a hard one. She had set tests of endurance and tests of will, and had guided her student with strength and love. She had taught Nessa how to dream, how to move into that other place where there were tales as numerous as the stars in the sky, wondrous stories that were patterns of wisdom for the taking, provided one could hear them. Rona said storytelling was a kind of healing, and that Nessa should remember that in times of trouble. It was interesting; Brother Tadhg said much the same thing. There was no doubt in Nessa's mind that his stories of the boy born in a stable and nailed up to die were learning tales. As she settled to sleep, she wondered what gods these strange fierce men from the snow lands followed, or if such folk felt the need of gods at all.

 

Engus offered the strangers shelter until the end of summer and the right to travel across his land. In return, they promised to refrain from any acts of violence, and to respect the local people, both men and women, and not to take what was not theirs. They might buy flour and meat and whatever else they needed from his farmers, but must offer a fair price. Engus even suggested a trip to High Island later in the season. Hares could be found in abundance there, and many birds. It was understood, without needing to be put into words, that this short voyage would allow the
Golden Dragon
to display the features that made her outstanding among longships: indeed, the first of her kind.

The strangers settled into their new quarters in a tranquil spot some distance to the southeast of the tidal brough which was the king's stronghold. Their stone-and-turf dwelling houses were set close by one of the island's rare groves of trees, on level ground beside a small, peaceful lake. To the north and east lay hills and moorlands, to the west, verdant pastures for grazing. One could hardly have chosen a spot better to demonstrate all
the beauties of spring in the Light Isles. The days grew longer, the air warmer, and the newcomers' hair was bleached gold-white by the sun. Their fair skins glowed pink; wolfskins and woolen cloaks were discarded, and well-muscled bodies applied themselves to fishing or hunting, to mending a roof for a widow or helping a farmer butcher a steer. Their women were tall and strong like the men, and seemed just as capable, setting their hands to baking and brewing and tending chickens.

Ulf was everywhere: inspecting the results of his men's toil, walking by Engus's side as the king showed him his stables or his grain stores, and often enough, deep in conversation with Brother Tadhg, though what the two of them spoke of, nobody knew. It did not take long for Engus to learn that these men from beyond the sea had a plan, a plan that went much further than a summer of toil in the fields and a journey home at harvest time. They had a mind to settle, Ulf said, to be granted some land for farming, perhaps some corner as yet untouched by the plow, untrodden by oxen. If Engus allowed this, he could expect friendship and cooperation. And another thing: they had among them some of the best fighting men in Rogaland, and many of these wished to remain in the islands, though some would indeed sail home in the autumn. With that kind of support, Engus's own position would be much strengthened. Should his neighbors in the lands of the Caitt or the northern isles take it into their heads to pay an unfriendly visit, he would be more than ready for them.

“And if I do not agree?” Engus had inquired.

“Then all is as before.” Ulf's manner was forthright; one could not doubt his honesty. “If you say no, we will return to Rogaland before the autumn gales sweep these hills, and we will not return here. We would not stay where we were unwelcome.”

Engus told Ulf he would think about it and give his answer when he was ready. And he watched them. As spring became full summer, as sheep and cattle grew fat on rich grasses and barley ripened in the sun, he watched and listened, assessing what manner of men these were, and how this decision might weigh upon the future of the Folk.

The visitors showed a great capacity for hard work. They also knew how to play. Indeed, they had a passion for sports and games, and on many a day the labor of the fields would be succeeded by contests of various kinds among themselves: running, wrestling, swimming. Sometimes, there was combat with weapons. Occasionally, there were injuries: a black eye, a torn ear, a sprained wrist or ankle. Once a man broke his leg, and Engus's
own bonesetter had to doctor him. Nessa stayed away from these activities, wishing neither to see nor be seen by the newcomers, but she could not avoid her sisters' chatter.

At midsummer, Ulf played host to the king's household, offering a feast of sorts on the flat sward by the lakeshore, preceded by an afternoon of games. By that time, a wary sort of trust had replaced folk's initial reservations, and some of the local men had started to form friendships with the foreigners. As for the local women, what dealings they had with these fair-haired giants were their own business, but it had been whispered that by next spring the island's population might be swollen by one or two particularly strapping infants. At Ulf's feast, Engus watched a game called Battlefield, in which each team was made up of both locals and visitors, and in which all participants acquitted themselves with the combination of courage and insanity that the rules of the game seemed to demand. There were no major mishaps, beyond a dispute about which team had actually won that was carried on late into the night over the ale cups. And still the king watched them, assessing.