Wolfskin (37 page)

Nessa could no longer hold her silence. “This is—it is outrageous!” Her voice shook with fury. “It is an insult, a mockery which no true leader could suggest without deepest shame. You know what your brother wanted for the islands, for our own people and yours. How dare you bring this travesty of a bargain to the king? You disgust me!”

Somerled put his hands together; she thought he was on the verge of
applauding her. “Well done,” he said, and he was not smiling now. “Such passion, such fire! We must ensure that is not wasted. And such command of the language, too. I cannot imagine where you have practiced, to become so fluent.” There was a question in his tone.

“She learned from me.” Brother Tadhg spoke evenly; his eyes carried another message. “And do not forget what I said before. There are those who will not accept lightly your veiled insults to this lady. Now I think you must explain clearly to King Engus what you intend by this. In plain words, and to the point. There are angry folk here, my lord; I hope this does not mean what the lady Nessa thinks.”

“Don't try to play games with me, little priest,” Somerled said. “Stick to your job, will you, and stop meddling? Now, my lord, it's only fair that I set this out clearly, as I'm bid. I see that. The fact is, I'm afraid your situation is very grave, King Engus. You saw the evidence of that at Ramsbeck. We have superior numbers of fighting men, greater skills on the field, more advanced weaponry. We have mapmakers. We have scholars. We have strategists. What do you have? A handful of would-be warriors with ill-made spears and a whole lot of anger. Perhaps I need to make something else plain to you. Ulf is gone; I am not my brother. As chieftain, I've my own way of conducting my affairs. And in my vision for Hrossey, there is no place for you.”

White-faced, Tadhg rendered this speech for the king; he softened it somewhat, to Nessa's great relief, for it seemed to her they were a hair's breadth from a bloody explosion of violence.

“Leave my hall.” Engus did not shout, he did not thump the table in his anger. He spoke the words with quiet dignity. “Leave my hall, and leave my lands. I will hear no more.”

“I did say,” Somerled raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “I did say you need lose no men. Or women, or children. If you won't listen, so be it.” He turned to go; the two Wolfskins closed in at his sides.

“Uncle,” Nessa said urgently, “you should hear him out. Whatever it is, perhaps it is better than a massacre.”

There was a silence.

“Very well,” Engus said heavily. “Tell us. In this grand plan of yours, where are the Folk? Where are we on these islands that have been our home since the time before memory?”

“Oh, you'd be gone.” Somerled's tone was light. “You and your son. I'd be very foolish to let you stay on as a rallying point for the shreds of your tribe, and I don't think I could send you off to these folk you call the Caitt,
either. Distant relatives, aren't they? There's always the possibility you might bring back unwelcome visitors. You would, however, make excellent hostages. Rogaland would be a good choice: far enough away, and containing many folk with an interest in the opportunities this place can offer. Your people? You would take any fighting men with you into exile; we couldn't have them here. The boys could make themselves useful on the land. The women would stay; their beds wouldn't be cold long. You see, it's a neat and simple solution, and not a drop of blood shed after today. Ulf would be proud of me.”

Engus's face was like a carving in granite. “Your brother would turn in his grave if he could hear you today. He was a peacemaker. You are nothing but an opportunist upstart. Now get off my land and take your thugs with you. The sight of you turns my stomach.”

Tadhg rendered these words very precisely.

Somerled laughed. “Family habit, is it, cheap insults? Don't worry, we're going. I have no intention of being trapped here by the tide; I wouldn't answer for what might happen then. Your son is straining on the leash like a hunting dog. Oh, and that reminds me. Whose is that fine hound I saw outside the hall? It looks uncannily like one of my brother's pair, which went missing on the day of his funeral. Sure your people haven't added theft to their catalogue of misdeeds?”

“The dog is mine.” Nessa spoke as firmly as she could, though she was shaking with fury.

“Really?” That little smile was flickering again. “I cannot argue with a lady. Keep him, by all means. Consider it a gift from an admirer. And of course, I had forgotten something.” He turned back to Engus. “My generosity in sparing your life and those of your followers is dependent on one further condition.”

Nessa felt the blood drain from her face.

“I have need of an heir, and I am as yet unwed,” Somerled said smoothly. “I've heard this young lady is not yet promised. I want her hand in marriage. That should please you; it befits her status as a royal princess. Indeed, it's very neat. I rule the islands; the lady becomes a queen. In time, my son takes my place as leader here. And, just think, the little fellow is the rightful heir under your own rules of succession as well. A king of the Folk and Norse ruler of Hrossey, all in one. Ingenious, though I say it myself.”

Nessa stared, unable to speak her revulsion. Somerled was most certainly a quick thinker: a formidable opponent. Perhaps this had been
part of the plan all along, and his words to her mere playacting. Tadhg's hands were balled into angry fists. His translation of Somerled's speech was a masterpiece of tactful rewording. But he could not disguise the message.

“You misjudge me badly,” Engus said quietly, casting a stern glance around his restless warriors. “My niece would not give such a proposal even a moment's consideration, and nor would a single one of our folk. This land has been in our custody since the time of the oldest ancestors. We will perish to the last man rather than sacrifice it. If you have chosen not to heed my warnings, let it be on your own head. Make war against us if you will. March through the sacred places, set your boots on the bones of memory. We'll lay down our lives for the islands, every one of us. You are nothing, Somerled. You are a rat with ambitions, a runt who strives and strives to be his brother's equal, knowing he can never come close. You think the lady Nessa would ever stoop to ally herself with such scum? You think I would condone that? I am king here, and these islands are my sacred trust. Now get yourself and your butchers off my lands, and never set foot on the Whaleback again.”

“My lord says he scorns your offer. He will fight to the death sooner than accept,” said Brother Tadhg. “And he asks that you leave now.”

“That much I worked out for myself,” said Somerled, “and a little more besides, for I too have a talent for languages. Please say to King Engus that I find his precipitate decision unfortunate, and that, being the thoughtful fellow that I am, I plan to give him time. Limited time. Winter is less than ideal for major battles; the weather's so unreliable. Please tell the king I will hold off until we feel that first hint of spring warmth in the air; he'll know when. I'll send a messenger for an answer then. Goodbye, Nessa. I look forward to meeting you again, and getting to know you much better.”

Nessa looked him straight in the eye, keeping her voice level at some cost.

“Most unlikely, I should think,” she said. “Of course, you will not accept my uncle's gift now. I'm sure you can see that would be entirely inappropriate.”

Somerled gave a wintry smile; the look in his eyes disturbed her deeply. “Put the spoons back, Erlend,” he said. “As for our own gift, your uncle may keep that, Nessa. Let it not be said that Somerled of Hrossey was a petty man. This map, I think, will serve as a reminder of the likely future if he remains obstinate on this issue. That would be foolish. Very foolish.”

“We have no more to say to you.” Engus's voice was that of a king. “Leave this hall, and leave this island. We shall not meet again, save on the
field of war.”

 

“I wish you could understand me, Mother,” Nessa whispered, pulling her bone needle through the hem of the skirt she was mending, and fastening off the thread. They were sitting outside, the two of them together on a stone bench, for it was one of those winter days when the sun decides to show himself for all the chill, in order to remind folk that he has not quite forgotten them. Nessa ran the cloth through her fingers, searching for the other place where the garment was worn to holes. There it was; a thorough darning would be needed if she were to get more wear out of this. Once, Mother would have taken the work from her hands with a smile, and done it herself, reminding Nessa that she was a priestess. Not now. Mother sat with hands in lap, eyes watery, mouth slightly open. She did not seem to look or listen anymore, though sometimes she spoke: words not even Nessa could interpret. It was hard to see your own mother as a kind of idiot, a madwoman. It was impossible to believe that not two seasons had passed since the time before the sickness, the time when Nessa's sisters had giggled gossip and plaited her hair, and her mother had been so strong, so loving, the sort of mother you could tell all your secrets to.

“I wish I could ask your advice,” Nessa went on. “What if you know someone has done a bad thing, a cruel thing, and yet your heart tells you that he is a fine, good man? Do you think it makes a difference, if someone does ill, believing it is right? Can his misdeeds be forgiven if they are done in ignorance?”

Mother gave a little cough and muttered something. Perhaps she said,
Water.
Nessa put down her sewing and fetched a cup. Mother's features were quite vacant; she made no attempt to take it. Nessa held the cup to her mother's lips and waited for her to sip. It was like tending to a dying child, futile and heartbreaking.

“Mother? I wonder if you can hear me, somewhere deep down. What do you think? Am I being really foolish? How can a good, kind man stay loyal to a heartless tyrant? Why is it the signs tell me I am right, when it seems so wrong to care like this? I ran away, I turned my back on a friend. I've never done that before. Mother, please talk to me. Oh, please. All I want is a word, just one little word; just a hint in your eyes that you are there somewhere. I'm so lonely here now.”
Stop this, Nessa,
she told herself as tears threatened to spill.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. What about Mother, how hard is this for her? What about Eyvind, whom you abandoned? What
about poor Rona? If you want answers, find them yourself.

She glanced down the slope of the Whaleback to the eastern sward, where Kinart and the other men were taking advantage of the fine weather to practice swordplay. Thrust, block, duck, turn, thrust again. To her untutored eyes, it looked quite expert. She imagined Eyvind there among them. He would be taller and broader by far than the biggest of Engus's men, and probably a good deal more skilled. Kinart was holding his sword as if he fought demons; he was consumed with anger. They all were. When the time came at last for them to face Somerled's men, they would see nothing but the broken bodies of Ramsbeck, the burned-out remains of Ara's cottage. They would charge into the fray with that before their eyes. Their fury would make them blind, and Somerled's men would cut them down like ripe grain. Her uncle would be banished, her kin enslaved. A tyrant would rule the Light Isles, and she herself would be…would be…She shuddered, unable to envisage a future in which she lay by that man's side. And yet, there was a choice in it. Agree to marry Somerled and bear his son, and she could save the Folk from annihilation. Wed Somerled, and she would be disobeying the wisdom of the ancestors, the knowledge that ran deep in the blood. A dark choice. An impossible choice.

Kinart and Ferach were locked in close combat now; their fierce dedication to rehearsing the dances of war was driving them hard. The memory of Ramsbeck tormented them like a bloody goad. Eyvind, too, had seen his friends slain: Hakon, who had been a Wolfskin, and those Hakon had cherished. He had thought her own folk responsible. Was it the same for Eyvind, as he urged his warriors to the attack at Ramsbeck, as he sent his axe through the air in a glittering dance of death? Had he felt the same rage? She watched as Kinart put aside his sword and began to rehearse spear thrusts, eyes savage, mouth tight. Perhaps there was not such a difference between them. Perhaps it only had to do with what you believed in.

 

She stood by the Kin Stone, watching a bloodred sun sink into the dark turmoil of the western sea. The air was damp with fine salt spray. Over the final rise of the Whaleback's tilting surface, cliffs fell sharply, and unseen waves smashed their base far below. Only a fool or a madman would walk too close. Even the sheep knew to keep away. Engus stood by her side, eyes fixed on that far horizon: the end of the world, maybe. The dog sniffed about, scenting rabbits.

The sun was almost gone, so soon, too soon. At this time of year, all
longed for spring; it was hard to keep the heart light, the spirit hopeful, when night laid its blanket so heavily over the land. In the brief time of daylight, all must be done, hunting, fishing, tending stock, mending storm-damaged houses, the movement of sentries, the strengthening of what small defenses they had.

The last glow of the setting sun fell on the carven stone, illuminating the three warriors who strode with dignity and purpose across its face, guardians, keepers, defenders of the islands. The Kin Stone had stood here long; it was the marker and center of the realm of the Folk. Yet, on the islands it was young. The stone circles, the hidden chambers, the ancient mounds, the unseen folk who dwelt, mysterious and subtle, within the folds of earth, beneath the shining water, these were memory and magic, heartbeat and history. These had been a part of the Light Isles since a time so distant, a man's mind could hardly encompass it. They would endure, whatever came. For the Folk, the future seemed much less certain.