Wolfskin (67 page)

He came to a spear that had scratches and gouges in the hard earth at its base. Someone had indeed been there before him, and had failed in this work. This one must wait, for now the bags held as much as they could: the remains of six men. Six long shafts of ash lay neatly on the shore. He had laid them close to the water. Perhaps the sea would take them; wood was as scarce as precious amber here, but these, he thought, would never be used for their purpose again, nor taken to form the frame for a cottage roof or warm a man's hearth in the chill of night. They were cursed.

Now came the walk across the narrow pathway between the lovely, many-hued pools of the tide's ebb, fringed by dark fronded weed, strewn with thick, glistening rods of wrack, and dotted with myriad small, scurrying creatures. The sky looked up at him, blue and wide, from the small cups and channels of these ephemeral waterways. He saw Nessa's eyes there, as deep and dazzling as this vision of sky in sea; he saw her little smile. He walked on over, and up to the place where King Engus's hall had stood.

The work was not easy. There were many men lying here, and women too, and none were familiar to him. Some were whole. He lifted the bones of the king from the ashes of his hall, and laid him down on the sward. The fire had burned hot; there was little left. What song would that harp sing? A wail of grief, a story of loss and waste. A great shout of proud defiance. They had fought on to the last, knowing there was only death in it. The bodies lay in some semblance of peace, each with hands crossed on breast, as Nessa had placed them on that terrible morning when she had sheltered in a secret cove, listening as her folk died there above her. He moved them one by one until the sheltered sward beside the king's hall bore row on row of folk, disposed as gently as his aching arms, his agonized back could manage.

He had worked a long time, had traversed the causeway over and over until all but three of the heads were carried across, when it became apparent to him that he was no longer alone. First it was a lad, surely no more
than six or seven, sidling out of a ruined shed to take up the dragging feet of a man Eyvind carried, and help to bear him to his place of rest. The job done, the boy scuttled back to safety; not long after, another child crept out, and another. They had been watching all the time, it seemed, waiting until they could be sure this fearsome-looking warrior with his bloodied face and reeking hands was indeed some kind of friend. And when he returned to the point to gather his final grim harvest, there were women there, those same chalk-faced women of Nessa's household whom he had seen taken captive in this very place as he sat bound and screaming his wrath into Somerled's deaf ears. They were the same women who had walked with bitter pride and bruised faces in Somerled's hall last night, suffering the crude taunts and careless fondling of his own kind. Now, released no doubt on Nessa's demand, their first act had been to return here. Perhaps they, too, had observed him for some time in silence. Now, as he lowered one spear, and two, and three, they moved forward to take up the bloodied contents. One girl hissed at Eyvind, her eyes fierce with hate; another chided her, and somewhere in her speech he heard Nessa's name.

They walked across the causeway in grim procession, dry-eyed, three bearing each a young man's head cradled like some priceless treasure in her arms. Eyvind came behind, head bowed, and after him the old women made their own slow progress, with infants on backs and here and there a tiny, stumbling boy or girl clutching their hands. When they were halfway over, a cry rose into the salt air, a wailing ululation of grief that bristled the hair on his head and set a chill in his blood. Another voice rang out, and another, until the very rocks vibrated with it, and the gulls fell silent before its force. Thus chanting, they crossed to the green field of the Whaleback and formed a ragged circle around the broken bodies of their men. It became apparent to Eyvind, then, that the most difficult part of the morning's work was not his, but theirs. With a song that rose from deepest pain, from a loss beyond the measure of tears, the women of the Whaleback mended the sundered forms of son, husband, father as best they could, setting the ancient hymn of grief spiraling up, up into the pale sky and out across the rock shelves and the waters of the western sea, as if their sorrow might carry to world's end and beyond.

Eyvind stood quiet. Beside him, one of the lads was doing his best to put a brave face on it, but his lip was trembling ominously. Perhaps that was his brother, not so very much older, who lay before him empty-eyed, the neck of his tunic dark with old blood. Eyvind put a hand on the lad's
shoulder; a moment later, small fingers crept into his, and the boy gave a sniff, and set his jaw firmly.

“A man can weep, at such times,” Eyvind said quietly. “Look at me, after all. And I'm supposed to be a Wolfskin.” The boy couldn't understand, of course; none of them could. But by the time the disposal was complete, and the anthem of sorrow died down to a little, mournful melody hummed under the breath by one young woman who rocked and rocked a man's still form in her arms, her eyes squeezed shut so tight it seemed she would never open them on the world again, Eyvind found himself sitting a little farther away, with his back to the remains of a low rock wall, and several children clustered by him as if seeking some kind of shelter in his own massive form. The two lads crouched on either side, and at his feet were a pair of small girls, their pale, translucent skin and long dark hair bringing Nessa sharply back to his mind. One touched the raw patches on his ankles with small, soft fingers. The other simply squatted there, staring at him round-eyed. A third girl, somewhat older, perched on the wall next to the first lad, and seemed to be trying to ask Eyvind something, but he couldn't understand her, of course. He knew she said
Nessa,
and he nodded at that; he thought she said
Rona,
and he wondered about Rona, since the dog Shadow had returned. Had he heard rightly last night? Had the old woman somehow survived, against the odds? If anyone could do it, she could.

A third lad was scratching the dog behind the ears, talking to it almost as a child would who had not just witnessed so much of death and loss, so much of hatred and cruelty. And the sun was shining; through all the song of anguish, it had cast its light across these green meadows, these strange, lichen-crusted stones, these fair bays and shining waterways in sweet, impartial benison. The season passed, the tide turned. There were children here, children who would one day be young men and women with the same beauty and fire and goodness in their spirits as Nessa, and her young kinsman, Kinart, who now lay here at rest on the hard earth. Shadow pranced forward, planting her feet on Eyvind's shoulders and washing his damaged face with her long, wet tongue. The children laughed, and Eyvind felt a powerful grin stretching his swollen lips. Odin's bones, this tooth really did have to come out.

“To work, now,” he told them, rising to his feet with some difficulty. “We must finish and get back before the tide comes up. You'll all have to help me.”

Later, a howe would be made in the old manner, of layered stones, and
the dead laid to rest within. That would need far greater strength than he could summon now, for all his complement of willing small helpers. But it was important to shield the fallen from the ravages of wind and weather, the careless attention of the passing gulls. The earth would swallow them in its time; that was only as it should be. A simple mound could be laid over them now, a gentle enough blanket to warm their long sleep. All could help with that, all save that one young woman who rocked in place, and would not let go. Her man remained unburied as the shovels rose and fell, as the lads dug, as the girls carried earth with their hands, and the women gathered stones to lay around the edges, to place in spiral and circle, in pattern of blessing and protection. Before it was quite done, they coaxed his fractured body from her clutching arms and laid him by his comrades, and Eyvind spread the soil as softly as he could over the staring eyes and pain-twisted mouth. Who had he been? A fisherman, a shepherd, a young father? He had been loved, that much was sure. When it was done, the woman lay on the ground, her hands thrusting themselves into the earth, her fingers twisting, gripping, and her cry went on, a thin, harsh keening. She would not move, even though the tide had turned and it was time to go.

Finally, with a nod, one of the old women settled in a crouch by her side, and the others moved away, walking in silence now down to the place where the tilt of the Whaleback was lowest. They looked across the causeway to the point, and on the point, now, a group of horsemen waited, the sun touching their weapons to glittering brightness, the stirring breeze fluttering the fringes of their helms and rippling through the thick, shining fur of their strange cloaks. It had not taken Eirik so long, then, to track him down. Thord and Grim flanked his brother, and the fourth man, the one who did not wear a wolfskin, was Magnus of Freyrsfjord. The women froze in their tracks; the boys whispered to one another, reaching for their little knives.

“It's all right,” Eyvind said, trying to reassure them with his tone, his hands. “I'll protect you, I promise. I will make sure no harm comes to any of you. I give you my word.” It came to him, as he moved to the front of the line, as he led them forward on the narrow pathway between pools now filling and spilling over, their shawls of weed moving lazily on the flow of the incoming tide, that he could do precisely that. He could guard these folk, he could ensure their farms and their fishing boats were safe, their boundaries secure. He could make it his job to see that these bright-eyed children, who still had laughter somewhere within them after so much ter
ror, grew up strong and brave, wise and glad as their lost fathers and brothers had been. He could teach them to fight. Engus's warriors had fought bravely, but not well enough. An island people needed to learn how to win even when the enemy had greater numbers. They had to know how to prevail by stealth and skill when the invader had superior weapons. He could teach them that. All they needed was time. All they needed was another chance.

“I will protect you,” Eyvind said again, and although they could not understand his words it seemed they recognized the meaning, for they followed him across, young women in bright tunics now stained with the marks of their slain men's wounds, children unnaturally quiet, staring at the broad-shouldered figures, who sat so still on their horses there where the spears had fringed the shore. The old women walked more steadily, age perhaps giving them a quicker understanding. They reached the shore. The islanders halted close-grouped by the water's edge; memory held them in check here where they had been herded like animals under the goading of the Norsemen's spears. Somerled's hand still stretched like a dark shadow over this place. It was Eyvind who climbed from the flat stones by the causeway, where he had fallen to Grim's hammer blow, up to the higher ground, and stood as straight and tall as he could by Jarl Magnus's horse.

“I'm sorry I disobeyed orders and left the settlement, my lord,” he said quietly. “It was necessary. There was a matter to be attended to which could not wait. It is done now, and I will return to face whatever judgment I must. I—” A wave of dizziness caught him; his words faltered.

“Stupid young fool!” growled Eirik, getting down in a hurry and striding over to grip his brother's arm in support. “What in Freyr's name did you think—”

“Eyvind?” Jarl Magnus was gazing across to the Whaleback, his eyes perturbed, his mouth unusually grim. His tone, however, had nothing of censure in it. “Tell me what happened here. Tell me all of it. What is it that Somerled has done, and what must come next?”

Eyvind stared up at him, quite taken aback. The Jarl was asking
him
what to do? Him, Eyvind, who had always been better with his big axe than with his wits?

“This can wait,” Eirik snapped. “He's not up to it, my lord—”

“No,” Eyvind said. “No, it cannot wait. My lord, there has been a great wrong done here, and we have a chance to make amends, I think. Please hear me out.”

Now Grim was bringing up the other horse; with Eirik's help, and a
considerable amount of pain, Eyvind managed to scramble up. When he looked back to the shore, the women were moving away, shawls now drawn tight around shoulders or over heads, children shepherded close to their skirts. One of the lads gave a half wave in Eyvind's direction. Eyvind raised a hand in response, and was rewarded with a brief, dazzling grin.

“You've changed, Wolfskin,” Magnus observed gravely as they rode away. “Changed so that I would scarcely know you. Still, you're the same lad: fixed straight ahead, true of purpose. Come then, let's have this tale. I see something here that astonishes and saddens me; something that's a great deal deeper than it appears on the surface. Tell us about it, Eyvind. What is it we must do here?”

This time he woke slowly. Sensations returned one by one as the cloak of slumber dropped away from him: the pallet soft beneath his aching back, the blankets warm around him, the chamber dim, though there was light seeping in around the fringes of the door hanging, a quality of light that suggested late afternoon and a slow fading to dusk. His jaw still hurt. A cautious exploration with the tongue told him his shattered tooth was gone, and a neat wad of tight-wrapped wool had been plugged in its place. His mouth tasted of some foul herbal concoction. Vaguely, he thought he remembered Rona's face, very stern, as she ordered him to swallow her draft. There had been two dogs by her side, like and like. Guard was alive, then: another small miracle.
Drink,
the old woman had commanded, and he had not needed the language to understand, or to obey. Whatever she had given him, it had flattened him promptly; it seemed he had slept all afternoon.

There were other memories: a ride, during which he had talked a lot and the others had listened in silence, and before that the Whaleback, and those lads with no fathers…His hand encountered something soft and warm, and he became aware of a slight weight lying against his body. He raised his head; looked down. His breath caught in his throat. She had fallen asleep there, sitting on a stool by his pallet. Her dark hair fanned shawl-like across him, her head rested on his chest, one small hand pillowed her cheek, and the other lay on the blanket close to his own. Now he scarcely dared move at all, lest he wake her. For it seemed to Eyvind this was another of those moments of enchantment, time out of time, when the world held its breath. All the same, his fingers crept to stroke her hair, to touch her cheek, where the marks of bitter weeping showed red and
swollen on the fair skin. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes, and a little sigh in her outward breath. To take away that sorrow, he would give much. He would give his whole life, if that were allowed.

“Eyvi?” Nessa whispered, not opening her eyes.

His hand stilled. Perhaps she had not, after all, been asleep. “You've been crying,” was all he seemed to be able to say.

She sat up, wincing as she straightened her cramped limbs. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He frowned. “You should have been resting properly. I'm surprised Rona didn't administer a dose to you as well.”

Nessa's lips curved. “She did try. I wanted to be here when you woke up. I was worried about you, Eyvi.”

He stared at her in amazement. With the weight of her responsibilities, her fears, and her exhaustion, she was worried about
him?

“Don't be so surprised,” Nessa said, looking down at her hands as if suddenly abashed. “You disappeared, after all. And you were so badly injured. Some people were saying you had run away, the same as before. I knew where you had gone, of course. Once they thought to ask me, it was not so hard for them to find you.”

“You knew? How?”

She glanced at him under her lashes, eyes bright. “I–I know I hurt you…what I said…that wasn't fair, and I'm sorry—but I've been so worried, and sad, and then when I saw you…I was trying so hard not to cry in front of them all, and…” She put her hands up over her face.

“Oh, no, oh, no, don't—” Eyvind moved, his arms enveloping her, holding her close, his cheek against her hair, his heart thumping. “It's all right, it's all right,” he murmured, knowing this to be both true and untrue, for the past could never be refashioned, but the future, surely, was theirs to make. “Weep all you will, my pearl; you have held back these tears long enough. Let them flow.”

For a while Nessa clung to him, and he felt the strangest of feelings flowing through him, as if while he sat here cradling her in his arms his heart were being slowly mended, stitch by stitch, seam by seam, until it would be whole again. At length, she sniffed and wiped a hand across her cheeks, and told him, “I knew where you were because I knew you'd try to make things right for me, for us. That's what you've done all the time. It is no more than the ancestors showed me, though for a while I would not believe them. But you were hurt and sick. I was worried. There's so much in the balance here, so much to be decided. My people depend on me, and
I've never done this before, treaties and negotiations, games of power. I'm frightened. I'm frightened I may get it wrong, and lose even what little we have left.”

She had moved back from his embrace now, but her hands were still in his, small, warm, and sure. Gods, she looked weary. What a burden it was she bore; the whole future of her people rested on her shoulders.

“I hoped it might help, just a little,” Eyvind said hesitantly. “What I did this morning, I mean. It seemed important to set it right. But there's no undoing the ill deeds my own people committed here. And I am still a warrior, Nessa, that's what I'm best fit for, and I don't think that will change. I've tried to show you. I've tried to show how I will help, if you'll give me a chance. There were children there this morning, boys and girls of your own folk. They can forgive, they can still smile. They can learn to survive.”

Nessa nodded gravely. “I heard the tale of what you did. It was good, Eyvi. It was no less than I expect from you, and will always expect.”

“Nessa—”

She looked up at him, brows raised, but he found, this time, he could not put the question into words. Too much depended on the answer.

“What is it you want to ask me?”

He shook his head, looking away, releasing her hand. “I can't. It doesn't matter.” But it did, of course; it mattered more than anything. He thrust his feet into his boots, fumbled for a cloak.

“Eyvi?”

When she used that particular tone, he had to look at her. Her expression pierced his heart: the wide, grave eyes, the lips half-smiling, a little hesitant.

“I talked to Rona before, while you were sleeping,” she said. “We spoke of many things, yourself included. In particular, we spoke of a promise I made, coming here: a promise given in return for aid with the making of the harp, and its safe delivery to this hall. That was no easy matter, you understand.”

“What did you promise?” He forced the question out.

“That I would guard the mysteries as priestess here in the islands. And that I would guide my people as the last of the royal line. Two promises, really. So I was left with a problem. The two do not really go together very well. This was the reason I asked Rona's advice. Promises are not to be broken, not when given so solemnly.”

Eyvind was unable to speak.

“I asked Rona, must I choose? And how can I choose, when both vows must be kept? In the preservation of the old secrets lies our people's very being; without that sacred trust, the heart of the islands withers and dies. Yet how can we go on if the royal line falters to an end? How can the Folk endure without true leaders? My child, and only mine, is the heir by blood. Without him, the people have no hope of the future. It is an impossible choice. Surely the wisest woman in the world could not determine what was right.”

She paused. Eyvind held his breath.

“Rona laughed,” said Nessa. “Then she asked me if you and I hadn't made this choice already?”

He breathed again. “But—” he said, his head reeling.

“Perhaps she knew it from the look in my eyes: from the way I spoke your name. She's a shrewd old woman. She said…she said…” Nessa faltered suddenly, her cheeks flushing scarlet.

“What did she say?” asked Eyvind gently, as a smile began to curve his mouth, a grin of pure joy in which the pain of bleeding gum and bruised lip were of no account whatever.

“She said, the child I carry now will be a girl, for the mysteries; and the next must be a boy, for the islands. But I don't think I want our son to be a king, Eyvi,” Nessa added soberly. “I just want him to have a life of gladness, and purpose, and peace. That's as much as any of us needs.”

The turmoil of feeling made it hard to form coherent words. “A child—you are telling me—?”

“Of course, it is much too soon to know such a thing. But Rona seemed quite sure, and she's never been wrong before. I hope this does not displease you, Eyvi. It was somewhat of a shock. Rona will teach her, when she reaches four or five. But I'll be much occupied as well, for it will be necessary for me to do both for a time: to be both priestess and leader. I hope I can be strong enough.”

Remembering last night, he had no doubt of that whatever. “You know I will help you,” he said, his voice shaking. “All that is in me, I will give you. But you said—your words, last night—what if—?”

“It won't be easy for you. At least you understand that. My people will not forget the slaughter at Ramsbeck, nor the times when Somerled was allowed to act unchecked against us, while your kind stood by. You may spend your whole lifetime atoning for these things, Eyvi. You may never be quite free of the shadow of Somerled's ill deeds, and of your own failure to restrain him. Back home in Rogaland you would probably be some sort of
hero, lauded for your bravery, celebrated for your skills in warfare. Most men would not hesitate to sail away on the next tide.”

“You do not imagine I would choose—”

“No, Eyvi. I understand what's in your heart, dear one, and I have never doubted your loyalty, not since the day you said sweet things that filled me with confusion.” Her hand slipped into his, she laid her head against his shoulder. “I simply want you to know this will be hard for you. Still, you have made a good beginning. They saw you stand against him at the Whaleback. They know you saved my life and Rona's. They know you spoke the truth at risk of harshest penalty. And they watched what you did this morning, and set their own hands to work alongside yours. There is a quality in you that draws folk to follow you. It's like a light, pointing the way forward. It is no wonder they say—” She paused again.

“What, my Bright Star?”

“They give you a name, I cannot translate it into this tongue, but it is an old name, a deep word of the ancestors. It relates to what you wear on your shoulders, and to the hound that follows you so faithfully, and to what you were in your home country. It is somewhat like
dog,
and somewhat like
golden,
and yet it is a name for a man: a man who takes on the garb of the animal to whom he speaks in the night. They know of the skin you wear into battle; they have seen something in you that brings this ancient lore to life, I think. It is a good thing; they will set the highest standard for you, as you do for yourself. Still, I want you to understand how difficult it may be.”

“Children, you said. A girl and then a boy. Does this mean you would consider lying with a Wolfskin once more, if the opportunity presented itself?”

“If such a man were my husband,” Nessa said with a crooked smile, “the opportunity might present itself quite often, I should think. But he would need to be prepared to stay on these shores: not to heed the call to join a ship and go a-voyaging. He would need to be farmer and fisherman, arbiter and teacher, leader and guardian as well as warrior. He would have to learn how to be a father.”

He lifted her hand to his lips; now his own eyes seemed to be full of tears, for the second time today, or perhaps it was the third. He could not form words, but simply bowed his head.

“It's good, I think,” Nessa whispered. “It has to be good from now on, doesn't it, if we both try our hardest?”

Then he put his arms around her and held on, feeling her warmth flow into him, feeling her heartbeat against his own, not wanting to move
beyond the sweetness of this moment. Still, the shadow was there on the edge of the thought. Somerled. She had said,
Your own failure to restrain him.
That was true. Somerled was his friend, his blood brother, and if it had not been for Somerled, none of this would have happened. There was, therefore, a matter to be attended to before they could move on.

“He asked to see you,” Nessa said in a small voice, as if she had read his mind. “Your Jarl Magnus said no, you were to be left sleeping. Rona was here then. She won't let anyone else care for you, says she doesn't trust them. They called her away to tend to Brother Tadhg's injuries. For a holy man, he seems quite prone to trouble.”

“Somerled wanted to see me?” Eyvind took a deep breath. Better sooner than later; better now, while he could still summon the will for it. “Where is he? In his own quarters?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nessa asked him gently.

“I owe him this, at least, since we are brothers of a kind,” he said. “The chance to speak to me, to explain, perhaps. What comes after will not be for me to determine. Each of us stands accused. Each must face some judgment, and a penalty. And each shares responsibility for the other's offense, I think. That's how it is with brothers. Will you wait here for me? You must rest; I don't like to see you so pale and weary.”

“I'm well enough. Go on, then.” She stood on tiptoes, and kissed him softly on his swollen lips, a breath of spring, a whisper of promise. “Go now, Eyvi. I'll be waiting when you come back.”

Here there were no shackles, no iron grilles. Even the looming presence of Erlend and Holgar, sword and axe at the ready, was no more than Eyvind had encountered when he had faced his friend as a recaptured fugitive. But this well-armed presence did not protect the king now. Instead, it rendered him a prisoner in his own domain.

There was a brief altercation. Eyvind saw the awkwardness in their eyes and heard the hesitation in their voices. Everything had turned around. They had misjudged a comrade. Such an error sat uneasily in a Wolfskin's code of loyalty.

“Let me in,” Eyvind said. “And leave the two of us together awhile.”

“Alone? That's against orders—”

“Whose orders? Come on, Erlend. I'm completely unarmed. Somerled is in no danger from me, nor I from him. Stand right here by the doorway, if you will. I'll scream for help if I get into trouble, I promise.”