Wolfskin (32 page)

Nessa sat up abruptly. A dream: a terrible dream, that was all it was. Her heart was thumping, her skin clammy. On the far side of the cottage, Rona snored gently under her coverlets. The dog was awake, ears pricked, its eyes on Nessa as she sat there in her nightrobe and woolen shawl. Now. Now was the time. Never mind that it was the middle of the night and there was a storm raging outside. The dream had been a sign. Shivering, she threw on her cloak and lit a lantern from the embers on the hearth.

The moment she stepped outside, the lantern blew out. It was too dark to see the way; she clutched the long hair of the dog's back and let the creature lead her. By the time she reached the tower in the earth and stumbled in through the passageway, her hair was in a wild tangle over her face, and her cloak was slipping off her shoulders. It was not quite dark inside the cairn; the tiny oil lamp she had set in an alcove when she left was still burning, for this earth-guarded place was far more sheltered than the cottage. Had not it stayed secure since the time of the first ancestors? The warrior had chosen his hiding place wisely.

She had known he would be awake. He was sitting up and had drunk some of the water she had left there; he held the cup in his hand. In the lamplight, his strong features looked like a ghost's, all white planes and shadows.

Nessa had practiced what to say often enough. Now she lit her lantern from the lamp, and stood watching him for a moment. The words, when they came out, were not the ones she had prepared.

“I had a–a nightmare. I was frightened. I thought you might be awake.”

The man stared at her with his bright blue eyes. He must think she was crazy; she had to assemble her thoughts and try to sound as if she were in control.

“Don't drink too much at first,” she went on. “You've been a long time—” what was the word for unconscious, she had forgotten, “—a long time sleeping, not knowing; it is bad to drink too much, too quickly.”

The man was still shivering. “Nightmare,” he said, and reached out toward her. There seemed no choice but to take the proffered hand and sit down beside him. She did not know if he was referring to himself or to her.

“Yes, a bad one,” she agreed, wondering why she seemed unable to say any of the practical, sensible things. “It scared me. I was falling, he cut me and I was falling.”

The man nodded. His hand was still around hers, a very big hand, in keeping with the arms that had once wielded that war axe. It seemed he was not going to say any more.

“Eyvi?” Nessa ventured after a while. “That's your name, isn't it?” She hoped she had remembered right. “Are you lost?”

He glanced at her, and quickly away.

Nessa tried again. “Is that your name?”

The man gave a sort of half nod, as if he were not quite sure himself.

“My name is Nessa. You are safe here. I will look after you.” There, at least she had got some of it out. This was strange indeed, to be sitting here by his side, letting him hold her hand as if it were she who needed comfort. She had never let a man do that before, and she did not intend to again. The two dogs settled down together in the blankets at the warrior's feet. He had not asked about the axe.

The young man leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. His skin seemed almost transparent, the bones starkly prominent. It was a long time since he had eaten anything: too long.

“You are hungry?” ventured Nessa. “I have bread, fish; I can fetch them. You are very weak. You have been many days without food.”

He simply shook his head without opening his eyes; perhaps it was an effort to speak at all.

“In the morning, then,” she said. “You must eat. You must get well.”

He shook his head again, as if he barely understood. She was sure she had got the words right.

“You want to go home?” she said. “Eat, rest, then go home?”

“No,” he whispered, opening his eyes suddenly. “No!” The shivering began again, so violent now that he let go her hand and wrapped his arms around himself as if to try to force himself still. “Sorry,” he said through chattering teeth, and then yawned convulsively.

“You must try to sleep,” Nessa said, motioning that he should lie down
again. “It's cold, I know. We could make a small fire in here tomorrow. Here, put this blanket around you, that's it, and—”

“Wolfskin,” he said suddenly. “Where's my wolfskin?”

She did not know
wolf,
but she understood. “Safe,” she told him as he lay down once more, eyelids already closing. “It was wet; I'm drying it. You can have it in the morning. A beautiful skin. That must have been a fine animal, a great hunter of some kind.”

“Once, maybe,” he said. “Not anymore. He can't hear it anymore.”

“Hear it? What?”

“The call. Thor's call.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, not understanding what he meant. “Maybe I can help. But sleep first.”

“Cold,” he said, sitting up again and grasping her hand as she tried to tuck the blanket over him. “Cold. Lost. I dreamed that, only it was real. What did you dream?”

“I…” Nessa hesitated. The nightmare was there in her mind, not so very far away; it could not help him to hear it. “I don't—”

“Tell me.” Perhaps he was not so weakened after all, for he drew her down to sit by him again, close enough to share the blanket's warmth, close enough to feel the trembling of his body against hers: too close. “Tell me,” he whispered.

“I–I was climbing up, the boys were climbing up the tree, helping each other. It was exciting, it was a big tree, so high, so high, the tallest tree in the world. When they got to the top, they felt like kings. They could see a whole land down there, villages, farms, little cows like dots on the green fields. And then…and then…”

His arm came up and around her shoulders; curiously, this did not alarm her. She felt safe.

“Go on,” he said.

“Then the boy pushed him—pushed me—and I fell down, I couldn't hold on. He was my friend, and he cut me, and I fell down, right down, all the way to the ground. But he was my friend.”

Why had she blurted it out like that? The man was a complete stranger, an enemy. Yet here, in the darkness of this little space, there was a strange sense of rightness to it. The usual rules did not seem to apply tonight.

“Nessa,” the young man said, trying out her name. “Nessa, why did you dream my dream?”

That shocked her. “I don't know,” she said. “Was it the same?”

“One of them.” The shivering suddenly grew more violent, great
tremors that shook his whole body. Perhaps he had an ague, or some other malady new to her. “Cold,” he said again. “Sorry. They come, the dreams, they come over and over. They won't go away. Set me shivering like a…like a stupid, weak—”

“It's the ancestors speaking to you,” Nessa told him. “When you have a dream you cannot forget, even a bad one, they are trying to tell you something. It's up to you to make sense of it, to work out what it means.”

“Ancestors?” His teeth were chattering, bone music, death music. “What ancestors?”

“You might call them gods, or spirits.” The blanket slipped down, dislodged by his involuntary shaking. Nessa tucked it around the two of them again. They sat a while in silence, and slowly the trembling subsided, and she could feel the shared warmth seeping into her.

“If they are gods,” his voice came haltingly, as if with a great effort, “what are you? Are you not a goddess or spirit? Isn't this part of another dream, a good one this time?”

That explained a certain amount, Nessa thought wryly. “No, Eyvi,” she said. “I am a wise woman, a priestess. You stumbled into a forbidden place, a place where men cannot come, not even our kind.”

“I saw you,” he said. “By the sea. I didn't think you were real. Maybe this is not real either. None of it, none of the dreams, none of the memories, maybe I will wake and Thor will be there as if he had never left me, and…” He had begun to shake again for all the warmth, a fierce tremor that was perhaps not cold, but fear. She remembered how he had looked the first time she'd seen him on the path between land and sea, an island of quiet among the others. That tall, still figure had not seemed a man who would be easily frightened.

“It is real, Eyvi,” she told him. “Perhaps that's bad for you, I don't know. I don't know what has happened to you. But you are awake, and so am I, and in the morning we will both still be here. And because I am a real woman, I cannot stay here with you tonight. I have another place to sleep, and I must go there. In the morning, I will bring food, and I will make a little fire to keep you warmer.”

“No. Please.” His words were the merest wisp of sound; his arm tightened around her shoulders. “Cold.” And he was right, it was dark and windy outside, and the warmth of his body felt good, as if it would keep away unwelcome thoughts until tomorrow. The dogs slept, a bundle of limbs, tails, whiskery muzzles, a faint sigh of breath.

“Just a bit longer, then.”

“Your name is like the sea, like a little wave on the pebbles, or a sigh,” the young man said. “Nessa. I never heard that name before.”

She heard this as a soft whisper, so soon gone, she decided she had imagined it, for surely a warrior with a big axe would never say such a thing. Surely she was the only person in the world who thought about names that way, as if they could tell you something about their owners. She waited until his breathing quieted, and the shivering stopped altogether, and she thought he was asleep. In a little while, she would slip out from under his arm and creep across to the passageway, and go back through the dark to Rona's cottage. She'd go in just a moment…

Old folk need little sleep. It was as well, then, that Nessa woke very early, before the wise woman was stirring. She lay in a tumble of blankets and dogs, and the young man was stretched out behind her with his arm comfortably around her as if it had every right to be there, and his breath gentle against the back of her neck. It was completely inappropriate. She could not believe she had been so foolish as to let herself fall asleep here. Imagine if Rona had come wandering in. As for how good it felt to wake thus, sheltered by his arm and warmed by his body, that she would not even begin to think about. Nessa slipped carefully from under his arm and went out into the dark morning. Today, her dog did not stir, but lay close-folded with his mate in blissful slumber.

By the time Rona rose creakily from her own bed, Nessa had the cottage fire made up and flatcakes cooking in a pan. She sprinkled dried herbs into a cup, added a scoop of honey, filled it with hot water and set it by the wise woman's side.

“Mmm,” Rona grunted, easing her joints. “Perhaps it's not so bad having company here after all. Big breakfast. Hungry, are you?”

“He woke up,” Nessa said.

“What?”

“He woke up in the night. Some of this is for him. He seems…confused. Frightened even. He thought I was a spirit.”

Rona's gaze was sharp. “Oh yes? When did all this happen?”

“In the night. I left him sleeping. The dogs are there.”

“Oh yes,” said Rona, which could have meant anything, and she watched through narrowed eyes as Nessa bore a platter of food and a jug of tea out of the cottage.

Nessa had wondered what the young man would say and how she could reply. It might be a little awkward. As it turned out, he wasn't saying much, not now. He was sitting with his back to the wall, the blankets tossed
aside, despite the chill. When she came in, he started and blinked, as if returning to himself from far away. Nessa put the platter down by him, fetched the cup, and filled it from her jug.

“You'll be hungry,” she said, dividing a flatcake with her fingers and offering him a piece. It smelled appetizing, warm from the fire and flavored with parsley and dried mushrooms. The young man shook his head; closed his eyes.

“You should eat, Eyvi,” Nessa said, settling herself on the ground, not too close this time. The dogs hovered, noses twitching eagerly. “It's good. I made it myself.”

There was a noise from outside, the creak of the cottage door as Rona made her way out to the privy. The young man's eyes snapped open. He made an attempt to spring to his feet; his legs buckled under him and he collapsed to the ground, muttering something under his breath.

“Too weak to stand up,” Nessa commented. “You see? Now eat your breakfast.”

“Who is here?” he hissed. “Who's that outside? Who knows that I am here?”

“Nobody,” Nessa said, alarmed at the look in his eyes, which was the dazed expression of a wild creature trapped. “Just my friend, an old woman, a priestess like myself. She is no threat to you. I told you, this is a forbidden place. None of my folk know you are here, save Rona and myself.”

This did not seem to be the answer he needed, for he had begun to shake again; Nessa could see how he clutched at the blanket, at the rock wall, in a vain attempt to still the shuddering that ran through his body. She made a guess.

“Nobody knows. Not even your own people. You are safe here. Now do as I say. Start with the tea, the herbs will give you strength. Take the cup in your hand, good. Now drink. Just a little at a time. Then the food. Not too much, a small piece, and chew it properly. I hope I won't have to feed you like an infant.”

His hand was shaking so hard that the tea slopped over onto the ground. He managed a sip, grimacing. He took a scrap of flatcake in his other hand. A start, anyway. This could be laborious. Nessa herself was hungry, for it had been a long night. She started on her own breakfast, throwing the dogs a morsel each. The warrior watched her over the rim of the cup, blue eyes wary.

“You don't like my cooking?” she ventured. “It's all you'll be getting
while you stay here. Best make the most of it. Why have you come here, Eyvi? What were you running from?”