Wolfsangel (21 page)

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Authors: M. D. Lachlan

BOOK: Wolfsangel
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‘Are you my vassals?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Then act like it: fetch me mead and be silent.’
‘Lord, we must speak to you.’
Hogni grabbed at his arm. Vali glowered at him. ‘Do you presume to touch your prince?’
‘You must leave this place. You must leave now,’ said Hogni.
‘Why?’
‘It is cursed. A calamity is about to befall these people.’
‘What sort of calamity?’
‘We have only heard whispers, lord. Some say it will be a plague, some say the Danes are coming, but your mother wants you out of here by the next full moon.’
‘Tomorrow.’ Vali smiled. ‘Well, my mother can wait. You have a choice: stay here and share whatever fate befalls us, or go back to my father and do the dead lord’s jig, should he keep his temper long enough to hang you. Personally, I think your chances of survival are vastly better here.’
Hogni and Orri stood tall.
‘We are warriors and not afraid to die.’
‘Then prove it. Stay to the full moon and then I’ll be happy to accompany you back to my father’s court. You are dismissed. ’
The Horda men walked away, overcome as much by the change in Vali as by his refusal to go with them. He was no longer the daydreaming sword-shy boy he had appeared before, but now acted in a way they would expect from the son of Authun the White Wolf.
Vali watched them go. The Rygir were beginning a celebration. A horn of mead was shoved into his hand and he drank it down. Something was happening, he didn’t know what, but his mother would never have acted on hearsay. What was most likely? A plague? There was nothing he could do about that. His mother might have seen it through a witch’s vision, he supposed, but Yrsa had a well-known dislike of magic. What else? He made himself think practically. Pipes were playing inside the hall; Jokull the Skald was already singing a song about him. The only eventuality he could do anything about was a raid. If that was going to happen then he should stay to defend the people who had raised him.
Vali looked down at the little port. It was empty save for a few fishing boats. Forkbeard had taken his three drakkars with him and the knarrs were all away on trading missions. He had chosen a bad time for glory, he thought.
He pulled the wolfman down from his horse and tied him to a birch tree near Forkbeard’s hall. He called out in a loud voice, declaring the man his prisoner and warning that no one should do him any harm until Forkbeard had seen him. More mead was offered to him. He accepted. Then Adisla was there, running down the hillside, calling out his name. She was laughing, almost jumping with joy. Vali couldn’t help but start laughing himself, the sort of laugh that comes from someone who bends to tie his shoe and feels a rock whizz past his head.
She fell on him and hugged him, and he kissed her as she clung to him.
‘I have to say,’ she said, ‘I didn’t have a great deal of faith you would make it back.’
‘We’re so alike,’ said Vali. ‘Neither did I.’
She laughed again, although when he looked down at her he could see she was crying.
‘How did you do it?’
‘I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear what the skalds come up with. I’m going to say I challenged him to three competitions, eating, drinking and fighting, and made him so drunk with the drinking that I tied him up. What do you think?’
‘They’ll say you fought him.’
‘Well,’ said Vali, ‘let them then. Who knows, maybe I did. I would have fought a score of wolfmen for you.’
‘Only a score?’ said Adisla.
‘There has to be a limit,’ said Vali, ‘and a score is mine. One more than that and you’d be on your own.’
This joking and teasing was familiar to them but there was more to it now, something more insistent. Vali felt that his only way forward was with this girl, the only way he could see the future. He had to tell her what had been between them since the moment they met but neither of them had ever quite managed to say.
‘I love you.’
She looked into his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘You don’t say you love me.’
‘Because the feeling is too strong. If I speak it I would never be able to deny it.’
She hardly managed to get the end of the sentence out, stammering into sobs and putting her hand to her face to disguise her tears.
‘Do you intend to deny it?’
She said nothing and turned her face away.
‘You cannot forget me, Adisla.’
‘I’ll never forget you.’ She threw her arms around him and wept into his shoulder.
‘Will you marry him?’
Adisla stepped back from him, composed herself and looked directly into Vali’s eyes. Even through her tears she looked so pretty, thought Vali. He wanted to stop her crying, to make it all all right for her, to see her smile and hear her laugh, but he knew that he was the cause of all her miseries. He was a hair’s breadth from everything he had ever wanted - the girl he loved, a beautiful summer afternoon, the sun warm beneath the fresh breeze - but it may as well all have been an ocean away.
‘You will?’ he said.
‘Vali, I will not be your concubine and I cannot be your wife. What choice do I have?’
Vali nodded. ‘Drengi is a fine man. He’s been a good friend to all of us. I wish you could have picked someone who I could have consoled myself by hating.’
‘I didn’t pick him, Vali. How many men are there to choose from? Five farmers’ sons in the whole area, and three of those wouldn’t look at me because I have such a skinny dowry. And I am old, Vali, three summers past the time most girls are married. Fate put us together.’
‘No,’ said Vali. ‘Fate put
us
together. Our skein is woven into one cloth. The wolfman was given to me - I didn’t need to lift a finger. The gods were on my side.’
‘I’ve never heard you mention the gods before.’
‘I’ve never needed them before. I swear, Lord Odin, give me this girl or I will move against you in whatever way I can.’
On a tree behind the hall two ravens alighted.
Adisla’s eyes widened. ‘Well,’ she said, stroking Vali’s cheek, ‘he’s heard you now.’
Vali felt tears come into his own eyes, though he chuckled. ‘Well, listen to this then, you couple of mangy chickens. Tell your master that if I don’t get what I want then I’m coming for him. He should keep his spear by his side because if he defies me the gods’ final day starts here!’ He tapped his sword.
The ravens took off again, moving low across the buildings, their black shapes rising up and over the hill like forgetful little pieces of the night flapping out of the day.
‘Sshhh!’ said Adisla, almost ducking. ‘What if those are his intelligencers?’ She laughed but Vali could see that she meant what she said.
He smiled. ‘Let’s hope they are,’ he said, ‘because I want him to hear the message.’
Vali wasn’t sure at first if the blow had caught him on his chest or his back. It was so hard that it nearly knocked him into Adisla. He turned to see Bragi, the old man’s face glowing and his arms wide.
‘You did it, boy, you did it. I never had a moment’s doubt. How could you fail with the training you’ve had? You did it.’
‘Thank you, Bragi,’ said Vali. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
The old man almost danced a jig.
‘Let me see the old girl,’ he said, taking the sword from Vali’s scabbard. ‘I bet you had a good sup of wolf blood, didn’t you, my lady?’
Vali looked at Adisla. There was the destiny he wanted - home, hearth and love - ready to walk away from him. He looked at Bragi, the destiny that had been thrust upon him, and for the first time saw it was useless to resist.
‘I killed three of them,’ said Vali. ‘It was the crafty pommel strike you drilled into me that did for two.’
‘Good lad, good lad! More mead, more mead!’ said Bragi. ‘This is a king, didn’t I tell you, this is a king!’
17 Strange Meeting
Vali stayed in the hall, drinking away the raw emotions that were in him. Adisla did not join the party. She had said what she had to say and could see that her presence was causing him torment.
Vali collapsed with the others who had celebrated his return - a collection of old warriors, youths and the handful of un-favoured jarls who had stayed behind when Forkbeard sailed east. He became drunker and more unhappy with every sip he took. Eventually - he couldn’t remember how it happened - he was fighting someone. His opponent was worse for wear than he was and collapsed on the floor under his blows, cold unconscious. All Vali could focus on was Bragi’s face, red and roaring, holding up his arm and saying what a mighty man he had raised. The acclaim of the hall rang in his ears. He could drink no more and crawled beneath a bench, where he slept, his body restless but his mind dead.
Adisla, however, did not sleep. She returned to her mother and told her to accept the offer of marriage from Drengi. Disa, who had not been able to leave her bed since she was burned, hugged her daughter to her.
‘You’re sure. You’ll leave your prince behind?’
‘This is the fate that has been woven for me. The shore may as well wish to be the sea as I to marry him.’
Disa held the sobbing girl to her.
‘Go on,’ said Adisla. ‘Let it be done quickly.’ Disa let her go and sent Manni up to the hill farms.
Adisla could not sleep that night - though it wasn’t the enduring sun that kept her awake but her thoughts. It was no use, her bed might have been made of nettles for all the chance she had of sleeping in it. She got up and wandered down to the sea. It was as near to night as the midsummer had to offer, a pale washed-out light like that of the pre-dawn rather than true deep darkness. She found herself by the hall, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter from inside. It was late but the drinking showed no signs of stopping.
Adisla couldn’t bring herself to share in the fun, even though she had the most to celebrate. She felt hollow with misery but knew she had done the right thing. Her thoughts were like trolls, reaching at her from the darkness of her mind. She tried to lose herself in the beauty of the moon, low and huge against the sky of smoky silver. It was nearly full. For a month or more her destiny had been tied to it. Now, in days, she thought, Forkbeard would be home. She thought of the story of how the god of the moon had snatched two children while they drew water at a well, and how those children now rode with him in his chariot in the sky, pursued by a dreadful wolf called hate, who snapped at their heels. She had a wolf following her, one that had been set on her at birth - her station, her rank. She had seen what she wanted as if from across an impassable river.
Suddenly she felt very cold. She was, she noticed, sitting in the shadow of a pale birch tree. The darkness there seemed unnaturally deep and the air around her was very still, as if it had a weight to it, one that she would struggle to push away. And behind her she felt a presence, something quite unlike anything she had felt before, something that seemed born of cold waters and dark, damp spaces.
‘Is there someone there?’ She felt ridiculous saying this.
She stood and looked around. Like an arrow storm, starlings broke across the moon, wheeling in a shifting black cloud that turned and darted as one. The sudden changes in the birds’ direction made Adisla think of a thousand tiny gates opening and closing in the sky and of a story Vali had told her, one he’d got from Arab merchants, of a djinn, a demon of smoke, towering over her.
As quickly as they had come the birds were gone and with them the cold and oppressive feeling in the air. It was then she thought of the wolfman. She looked up past the last of the houses to the single birch where he was tied.
She was curious to see this strange bandit who had been forced to trade his life for hers, so she made her way up the hill. When she got to the birch, Tassi, the fat old man who had been charged with guarding him, was sitting on a low three-legged stool and looking very unhappy. Next to him was the wolfman, seated on the ground, leaning against the tree with his hands tied to it behind his back. He still had the bag on his head. The people of Eikund shared Vali’s superstition about sorcerers and were not about to allow him to enchant them.
‘Hello, Tassi,’ said Adisla.
‘You’re not about to start singing, are you? He might be a wolfman but he doesn’t deserve that. We draw the line at hanging ’em round here.’
‘No,’ said Adisla.
She looked at the wolfman. He was naked apart from a wolf pelt around his back and his body was smeared in a grey substance that she took to be chalk dust. The only places free of the grey were two red sores on his stomach and chest.
His muscles were remarkable, even to a farm girl who lived among people strong through toil. Even the berserks, with their potions and their constant drilling with weapons, their wrestling and their tests of strength, were not made like that. The man’s muscles seemed almost twisted onto his bones, like willow roots around stone.

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