Wolfskin (4 page)

Eirik did offer his brother a kind of apology before he left, and an explanation. Ulf had been concerned about Somerled, Eirik said. The boy had never been quite the same since he witnessed his own mother's death. His father was old and bitter and had not been kind to this young son, and the household had taken its lead from the master. Ulf had been away a long time, and had returned to a home on the brink of self-destruction. Powerful chieftains gathered close, hovering as scavengers do, awaiting the moment of death. There was a need to take control quickly, to undo the ill his father's mismanagement had created before lands and status were quite lost. But Ulf wanted his half-brother—Somerled was the child of a second marriage—out of the place first. The boy had seen too much already, and was behaving very strangely. He spent all his time alone, he didn't seem to trust anyone, and he never wanted to play games, or ride, or wrestle, as a boy should. Indeed, Ulf scarcely knew what to do with him, and Somerled had made it no easier by refusing to talk. The boy was as tightly closed as a limpet.

So Ulf had brought Somerled back to the south, and sought out his friend, Eirik the Wolfskin, a man known to have a great deal of common sense. Eirik heard Ulf's tale and made an offer. He had a brother of about Somerled's age. He thought his mother would not object to another lad around the house. Why didn't Ulf leave the boy with them, at least until the summer?

“I must confess,” Eirik told Eyvind with a half-smile, “I welcomed the chance this gave me to return here for a little. And Ulf thought it an excellent idea. Somerled has not had the company of other children, and it shows in his demeanor. He seems unnaturally shy; I've hardly heard him utter a word.”

Eyvind grimaced. “He talks to me,” he said.

“Good,” said Eirik. “That's a start. I've a great deal of respect for Ulf; he's a man of vision and balance. I was glad to be able to help him.”

“Eirik?”

“What?”

“When can I do the trial? How much longer? I'm nearly twelve now, and I've been practicing hard. I can take a hare neatly at two hundred paces, and swim across the Serpent's Neck underwater without coming up for air. How long must I wait?”

“A while yet,” said Eirik. “Four more summers at least, I think.”

Eyvind's heart plummeted. He would not speak his disappointment, for Thor did not look favorably on such signs of weakness.

“But maybe not so long,” his brother added, smiling. “You are almost a man. What boy has such great hands and feet? And you're nearly as tall as I am, for all I have six years' advantage. Perhaps only three summers.”

That was good news and bad news. Eirik thought him nearly grown up; that made his cheeks flush with pride. But three years, three whole years before he got the chance to prove himself? How could he bear to wait so long? How could he endure such an endless time and not go crazy with frustration?

The weather had eased long enough for Ulf and his companions to be away, and both Eirik and Hakon went with them. As if only waiting for their departure, the snow set in again, and Eyvind found his days full of digging, clearing paths to wood store and barn, endlessly shovelling the thick blanket from the thatch. Somerled followed him out, watching gravely as he swung up onto a barrel and clambered to the rooftop. From up there, the boy looked like a little shadow in the white.

“Go back inside!” Eyvind called down to him. “This is not a job for you!”

But Somerled began to climb up, slipped, cursed, climbed again; on tiptoes, balanced precariously on the barrel, he could just reach the eaves with his upstretched arms.

“You can't—” Eyvind began, looking over, and then stopped at the look in Somerled's eyes. He reached down and hauled the other boy up bodily by the arms. “Didn't bring a shovel, did you?” he observed mildly. “Watch me first, then you can take a turn. Next time bring your own; they're in the back near the stock pens. You need to keep moving or you'll freeze up and be no use to anyone.”

He didn't expect Somerled to last long. It was bitterly cold, the shovel was large and heavy and the task backbreaking, even when you were as strong as Eyvind was. He worked a while, and then Somerled tried it, sliding about, losing his balance, teetering, and recovering. He managed to clear a small patch. His face grew white with cold, his eyes narrow and fierce.

“All right, my turn,” Eyvind told him, finding it hard to stand idle when he knew he could do the job in half the time.

“I haven't d–done my share. I c–can go on.”

“Rest first, then have another try,” said Eyvind, taking the shovel out of
Somerled's hands. “You'll get blisters. If I'm supposed to be teaching you, then you'd better learn to listen.”

They did the job in turns. It took a while. He glanced at Somerled from time to time. The lad looked fit to drop, but something in his face suggested it would not be a good idea to tell him to go indoors and let Eyvind finish. So he endured Somerled's assistance, and at length the roof was cleared. When they went back inside, Ingi exclaimed over Somerled's chattering teeth, and his poor hands where lines of livid blisters were forming across the palms, and she chided Eyvind for pushing the boy so. Didn't he know Somerled was not used to such hard work? He should be easier on the lad. Eyvind muttered an apology, glancing sideways at his companion. Somerled shivered, and drank his broth, and said not a word. Maybe both of them were learning.

Several boys lived at Hammarsby. Some were the sons of housecarls, folk who had worked for Ingi so long they were almost family. Somerled did not exactly go out of his way to make friends, and in the confines of the snowbound longhouse it did not take long for others to notice this, and to set him small trials as befitted any newcomer. Someone slipped a dead rat between his blankets, to be discovered suddenly when he went weary to bed in the darkness. The next day, Eyvind spoke to the lads of the household, saying Somerled was not used to such pranks, having grown up without brothers or sisters, and that it was not to happen again. Nobody actually confessed. The morning after that, Ingi inquired what was wrong with the porridge, to make all the boys look so green in the face? Good food should never be wasted, especially in the cold season. But the only two eating were Eyvind and Somerled, and Somerled wore a little smile.

Later, Eyvind discovered the lads' gift had been returned to them in kind. Since there was no knowing who had planted the rat, Somerled had been scrupulously fair, and shared it among them in precisely cut portions. An ear and an eye. A nose with whiskers. A length of gut. He had, it seemed, his very own way of solving problems.

Eyvind did not ask Somerled about his past. He did wonder, sometimes. There were so many things the boy did not know about, or just could not do. He had surely never looked after animals, for he seemed quite ignorant of how to treat them. He did not understand, until Eyvind explained it to him, that when a dog lowered its head and growled at you with flattened ears, you did not growl back or give it a kick. You must speak
to it kindly, Eyvind told Somerled. You should not look it in the eye, just stay close and move slowly. You had to let the dog get used to you, and learn you could be trusted. Somerled had thought about this for a little, and then he had asked, “Why?” So, shaggy-coated Grip continued to growl and snap every time the boy went past, though the old dog let little children climb over his back and tug his rough coat with never a bark from him.

Somerled did not like snow games. Sometimes, when all their tasks were done to Ingi's satisfaction, the boys and girls of the household would venture out onto the hillside to hurtle down the slopes on wooden sleds or pieces of birch bark. There were clear, bright days when the world seemed made anew in winter shades of twig gray and snowdrift white under a sky as blue as a duck egg. Eyvind longed for the freedom of summer, but he loved this time as well. There was no feeling like speeding across the ice with the bone skates strapped to his boots, the sheer thrill of the air whipping by, the pounding of the heart, the fierce joy of pushing himself to the limit and knowing he was invincible. This was what it would be like when he became a Wolfskin and rode the prow of the longship: the same feeling, but a hundred times stronger.

He could not understand why Somerled would not join in these games. The other boys jeered at the newcomer and exchanged theories behind his back. Eyvind had tried to stop this, but he would not report it to Ingi; one did not tattle-tale. Besides, the boys were right. Somerled was a very odd child. What if he did fall off the sled, or land on his bottom on the ice? That had happened to all of them. People might laugh, but it would be a laughter of understanding, not of scorn. Yet Somerled would not even try. He stood in the darkness under the trees and watched them, stone-faced, and if anyone asked him why he did not join in, he would either ignore the question completely, or say he did not see any point in it.

Part of Eyvind wanted to forget that fierce-eyed small presence under the trees. Somerled made his own difficulties; let him deal with the consequences. Part of Eyvind wanted to skate away over the dark mirror of the frozen river, to join the others in wild races down the hillside, to build forts of snow or to venture out into the woods alone, spear in hand, seeking fresh meat for his mother's pot. But he'd promised Eirik. So, with decidedly mixed feelings, Eyvind devoted several lamplit evenings to fashioning a pair of skates from a piece of well-dried oak wood, iron-strong, with thongs of deerhide to fasten them to the boot soles. Somerled watched without comment.

Acting on an instinct he could not have explained, Eyvind got up very early, shrugging on his shirt and trousers, his tunic, his sheepskin coat and hat of felted wool as quickly as he could, for the cold seemed to seep into every corner of the longhouse. The place was quiet, the household still sleeping. He took his own skates and the new pair, and turned to wake Somerled. But, quiet as a shadow, the boy had risen from the wooden shelf where they slept, and was putting on his own clothes, as if he did not need to be told. It seemed Eyvind's instinct had served him well.

Ancient as he was, the dog Grip was ever keen to accompany the children on any expedition out of doors, as companion and protector. But today he seemed wary, growling softly as the two of them tiptoed into the hallway and out to the back door. Eyvind gave him a pat and pointed him back inside. Such an old dog was best resting by the embers of last night's fire, for the cold was enough to freeze the bollocks off you. He must be mad, taking Somerled out so early. Still, the boy followed willingly enough, asking not a single question.

Down by the frozen river, in a morning darkness where the snow seemed blue and the sky red, where bushes and trees stretched out twigs like skinny fingers, frost-silvered, into the strange winter light, Somerled strapped on the new skates with no hesitation at all, stood up, slipped on the ice, fell flat on his back, got up again and, arms gripped firmly by Eyvind's powerful hands, began to move forward step by sliding step. That was how simple it was. All that was needed was that nobody else should be there.

That astonished Eyvind. He himself was always first in any endeavor—not reckless exactly, just blithely confident of his own strength. He did get hurt from time to time, but thought little of it. It did not worry him if folk laughed at him, not that they often did, since he tended to get things right the first time. And he was bigger than other people, which did help. He understood danger and guarded against it; he used his skis and his bow and his axe in the right way, cleanly and capably. Somerled's need for privacy confused him. If others' opinions mattered so much, why should Somerled trust
him?
He was, after all, the brother of a Wolfskin. That might be expected to engender fear rather than trust in a scrap of a boy like this.

As time passed, it became apparent to Eyvind that Somerled was attempting a kind of repayment, in the limited ways available to him. Eyvind would fall into bed exhausted after a long day's work on the farm, and when he got up in the morning his boots would be cleaned of mud,
dried, and waiting for him. Ingi would send her son out to the woodshed on a chill afternoon, and he would find Somerled there before him, frowning with effort as he loaded the logs onto the sledge. A choice cut of meat, served to their small visitor, would make its way unobtrusively to Eyvind's own platter. Eyvind learned quickly that one did not thank Somerled for these small kindnesses. Any attempt to do so would be greeted either by a blank stare, or a furious denial that any favor was intended. So he learned merely to accept, and was rewarded, occasionally, with a tentative half-smile, so fleeting he wondered, afterward, if he had only imagined it.

Winter slowly mellowed into spring, and Eyvind learned a lesson in patience. Before the ice melted, Somerled could skate; before the snow turned to slush, he could move about on skis without falling. He did not play games, but it was apparent that this was through choice rather than lack of ability. The other boys' eyes were more wary than scornful now as they passed over his small, dark figure. He made no new friends.

The milder weather brought fresh pastimes. It was easier to teach Somerled things now, because spring was a time for expeditions, and Eyvind was accustomed to going alone. Now, wherever Eyvind led, Somerled followed, and there were no others to watch and make fun of the boy's errors. Accepting that this season's ventures must be shorter and their pace slower, Eyvind set about ensuring his companion understood the essential rules of safety, and the basic skills of hunting and trapping. Somerled learned to start a fire with no more than a scrap of flint and a handful of dry grass. He learned to build a shelter from fallen branches and strips of bark. He tried spear and bow and struggled with both, for he had little strength in the arms and shoulders, though his eye was keen. Eyvind set easy targets, and praised each small success. They set snares for rabbits and brought home a steady supply. Somerled had a neat hand for gutting and skinning.