Wolfskin (40 page)

It was pouring. Clutching her cloak around her, Nessa made a dash for the cottage, thrusting the door open with one hand, stumbling in, reaching to push her dripping hair out of her eyes. The fire glowed warm; there was a savory smell of supper cooking. Rona stirred a pot, humming tunelessly
to herself. On the other side of the hearth stood a tall man with butter-yellow hair. He was pouring water from a pot to a cup; this was an exercise in discipline, that was clear from his expression of extreme concentration. His hands shook a little, but not much. As Nessa stood mute, he set the pot down, turning his summer-blue gaze on her.

“You came back,” he said softly. “I didn't think you would come back.”

Nessa was quite lost for words. She only knew the drumming of her heart, the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with fear.

“You've shaved off your beard,” she said. “You look younger.”

“Get out of that wet cloak!” Rona snapped. “Foolish girl. Sit close to the fire; drink that tea. Give her the tea,” she ordered, and made a series of signs with her hands,
pass, drink, shiver, cold.
Eyvind put the cup between Nessa's frozen fingers; the warmth of his hand, brushing against hers for the merest instant, seemed to go deep inside her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I thought you would be gone. I was sure you would be gone. Back to the others, or…”

“I could not leave the old woman on her own, unprotected,” he said.

“You see?” Rona put in. “The fellow's still here. Loves my cooking. Can't get enough of it. In fact, he's not without his uses. Knows how to fish, even in this weather. Quite canny with a hand line.”

“Fish?” Nessa swung from relief to terror. “You let him go out, down to the rocks? He cannot do that, my uncle's men could see him, they would finish him—”

“What's wrong?” Eyvind asked. “What are you saying?”

“You mustn't go out. Rona told me you've been fishing. I'm glad you can walk so far; glad you have recovered enough to attempt such tasks. But it's not safe for you. Things have changed. They've changed terribly since I left here.”

His face was grave. “You'd better tell me,” he said. “You look pale, and you're thinner. What's wrong, Nessa?”

Rona's spoon clanked against the bowl, ladling dumplings in onion broth.

“I don't know what you're saying to her, lad, nor she to you, but it can wait until the girl's had her supper. She's worn out as it is. And you're still skinny as a wraith, great thing that you are. Here, eat this and sit quiet a while.”

“She says, supper first, talk later,” Nessa said, managing a little smile. His eyes were so bright in the firelight, she could hardly look at him; and yet she wanted to look, to go on looking, so she could be quite sure he was
really here. She felt strangely as if she might start to cry. This was no good at all. Kinart and Ferach were on guard, and she had a ritual to perform. It would have been better if Eyvind had gone away, as she had expected. Much better for everyone. And yet, there was no denying that sweet warmth, that flood of delight that had swept through her the moment she saw him standing there, so tall, so quiet, so solemn. As if he belonged here. As if he were a part of her. She was so glad, so glad that he had waited.

“Stop dreaming, child, and get that food into you,” Rona commanded, gaze shrewdly assessing. “Then tell me why you're back. Not just to pass the time of day; I see that in your face.”

“Who was here?” Eyvind asked as soon as they had finished eating. “I heard voices. I thought it best to stay in the old place until they were gone.”

“Just a couple of women after remedies,” Nessa said lightly. “Folk come here for such trifles sometimes. They're gone now. But you must be careful, Eyvind. I'm not allowed to be here without guards now. My cousin watches the seaward track, and his friend the eastern way. They're well armed, and will not hesitate to attack. Promise me you won't go out again. It was foolish to do so. I can't understand how Rona could make such an error of judgment.”

“I may be weakened and unable to wield a weapon, but I have not lost all my skills, Nessa. I was a hunter by the time I was five years old. I can walk silently, and pass a wild creature, or a man, not seven paces away unseen and unheard. There was no risk. Trust me.”

Nessa shivered, saying nothing.

“What is it? What has happened?”

“I must speak to Rona first. I am not here for you, but to enact a ritual, a dark and secret observance. It must be done tonight, in the tower: in the chamber below, the hidden place deep under the earth. And tomorrow I must go home again.”

His face altered as if she had hit him. He said nothing.

“What did you say to him?” asked Rona sharply. “No need to be cruel. The big fellow's been trying hard while you were gone. Cleaned himself up, made himself useful, and putting himself together again as best he can. He's been waiting for you a long time, lass. You could manage a kind word.”

“I thought he was just a nuisance to you,” Nessa retorted, amazed. “A big man with a big axe, who can't even talk properly. Isn't that what you said?”

“Times change,” Rona muttered, suddenly busy picking up platters and spoons and stacking them to be cleaned. “You forget how long you've been
away. There's a hint of spring in the air, and spring may not be good this year. No doubt you can tell us more. The big fellow still can't speak our tongue, but we've managed well enough between us. Yes, he's a warrior; that may never change. But there's a great kindness in him, Nessa. It's easier to see with each day that passes. Kindness and strength, for all the trembling and the dark visions that haunt him. I never thought I'd say this, but perhaps a warrior's what we need, you and I.”

“He is Somerled's friend. And Somerled has declared ownership of the islands. He wants to take my uncle's place.”

“What are you saying?” Eyvind put in, frowning. “What about…what about Somerled?” He seemed to speak this name with some reluctance.

“Why are you here now, lass?” Rona's eyes were searching, her mouth grim.

“For a Calling.”

“I thought as much. Sure you can do it? It's Engus wants guidance, I suppose.”

“Somerled has given him only until the first day of spring to decide. The choice is, surrender everything or be wiped out. My uncle says he will never give up. I'm scared, Rona. This could be the end of the Folk. And…”

“And what?” asked Rona sharply.

“Nessa?” Eyvind, too, was watching closely from where he sat by the hearth, hands clasped together to keep them still. “Please tell me what you are saying. You look frightened. What is it?”

“Later,” she told him, and saw that look on his face again, like the sad expression of a faithful dog chastised for no good reason. Curse the man, why did he have to make her feel so guilty? “Rona,” she went on, “I can hardly bear to tell you, but I must. It seems to me that I can influence the course of events here, though my uncle does not wish it so. It weighs on me. Somerled asked…he said a part of the agreement would be that I marry him, and our son would be ruler of the islands after him. If we agreed to that, he would spare our people's lives, though my uncle and Kinart would be exiled. Rona…” Nessa felt tears close and willed them back, “if I persuaded my uncle to agree to that, there would be no more killing. I could save the Folk, men, women and children. We have lost so many. The prospect chills me, for that man is not fit to lead anyone, he is not of the Folk, he can never understand what the islands are and what it means to be their guardian. But the other way is the end for our people. That's why I must perform a Calling. Always, before, I've been able to tell which way is right: which path to follow. But this time, both choices feel
terribly wrong.”

Rona shook her head and put her arm around Nessa's shoulders, muttering something about bones and ash, and suddenly Nessa was crying. In her mind, she saw her mother's empty eyes, and the broken bodies of Ramsbeck, and she heard Kinart's furious vow of vengeance. Over it all, Somerled's voice came with studied calm.
In my vision for Hrossey, there is no place for you.

“Right, lass,” Rona said when Nessa's sobs had subsided. “This is what we're going to do. First, you sit down here and drink some more tea.” Eyvind was standing by the hearth, his blue eyes fixed on the distressed Nessa. Rona's hands showed him what was required; he moved obediently to set the pot back on the fire, to find a bunch of dried mint, a crock of honey. It was clear to Nessa, watching his careful, methodical movements, that he and Rona had established an efficient way of talking with no words at all. Eyvind made no attempt to ask her what was wrong.

“Now do as I say, Nessa, and no arguments,” Rona instructed. “Tonight's ritual will take every bit of strength you can summon. Drink the tea. Get warm, sit quiet for a while. Let me prepare the chamber for you—no, don't interrupt—I'm not yet so ancient that I can't go down there and set things out the way they should be. You've done it for me often enough over the years. While I'm gone, you must talk to the big fellow. I can see from that stubborn look on your face that you shy away from it, but you owe him that much for waiting around until you came back. He needs you to listen to what he has to say.”

“What if I talk to him, and he goes straight back to Somerled? The whole thing might be set up for that. It might all be some terrible game designed to trap us. I can't trust this man. He killed Ara's brother. He split Taran's head in half with his axe.”

“I know that, child.”

Nessa stared at her. “How can you know?”

“We've had our ways of talking, and I can put two and two together as well as anyone. What he can't tell me, I see in the fire. And it seems to me that I've seen what you refuse to recognize.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Nessa retorted, watching as Eyvind poured water from the pot again, mouth set tight in concentration, willing his hands to stay under control. This time he was less successful; there was a small hiss as drops spilled on the hot coals, and she could see the trembling. Perhaps that was her fault.

“I've seen what you saw that first night, when you told me we needed
to keep the big fellow safe,” Rona said. “You've forgotten that, in your anger at the blood spilled. But you were right. He's part of this, Nessa. We need him. Now sit awhile and let him talk. Ask him about Somerled. That's what's going through his head.”

Nessa sat. When Eyvind put the cup in her hands, it seemed to her that he took particular care not to touch her. The tea was good. Rona was filling a bag with small items from the shelves and the storage baskets: bone and ash as she had said, herbs too, and other objects—secret things that Eyvind should not see. Rona was not going to go until Nessa started talking, that much was plain.

“Rona's preparing what I need for tonight,” she began awkwardly. “She says I must talk to you. But I don't know where to start.”

“How is your mother?” he asked. “Is her health improved?”

Nessa had not expected that, and did not guard her answer. “Still living, but…but she's like an empty vessel, with nothing but sorrow left in it. She's already gone away. I don't think she will see the spring. She forgets to eat and drink; she forgets everything but the children she lost.”

“Children?”

“My two sisters; I was the youngest. They died when the sickness came, last summer.” She had not meant to tell him this.

“No wonder you weep,” he said quietly. “What of your father?”

“Killed in a war against the Caitt. I was very young. I don't remember him.”

“Your father was a warrior, then?”

Too many questions. “Only to defend the islands. Not for the love of killing.”

Eyvind made no response. She had hurt him again, and instead of satisfaction, she felt only confusion. She must take control of this conversation, ask what she needed to ask, and let that be an end of it. She looked straight at him, summoning her will. His hair gleamed honey-dark in the firelight; his eyes were solemn. She could not tell what he was thinking. Nessa drew a deep breath, but Eyvind spoke first.

“It was a grievous blow for me, Thor's silence,” he said. “Without you, I could not have survived it. Now, it seems to be your forgiveness I need, before I can begin to seek a new path. It's all right. I do not expect you to give it, not after what I have done.”

Everything she would have said, everything she needed to ask fled from her mind. All she felt was the urge to put her arms around him, and weep again, and say that of course he was forgiven, and that she was sorry she had wounded him when he was already stricken. It was not like her to
lose control so easily. She must not let this rule her.

“Tell me about Somerled,” she said severely.

Eyvind's mouth tightened. “What about him? You spoke of…Somerled…before, to the old woman. Do you have news?”

“Some,” she replied cautiously. “He thinks you dead; he accused King Engus of hiding your body. He called you his dearest friend. How can such a man be your dearest friend, Eyvind?”

He hesitated. “Somerled is…he is a complicated man,” he said. “Determined. He takes what he wants, that's the way he plays his games. We have been friends since childhood; I owe him loyalty, in accordance with that. I know he can be ruthless.”

“I met him,” Nessa said. “He came to my—to King Engus' court. With a plan for peace.”

“He did?” Eyvind's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward eagerly, elbows on knees. “He told me he would do so, as Ulf wanted, but I confess I doubted his will to go through with it. Has an agreement been reached? Perhaps I can go back; relieve you of my presence. It's plain I am no longer welcome here.”