Wolfskin (41 page)

“I'll tell you,” Nessa said. “I'll tell you what this man proposed, this great friend of yours. The bargain is simple. Engus forfeits the islands and the kingship, Somerled takes all. He'll be chieftain of Hrossey. Yes, he even has a new name for this ancient land. He said, “There simply isn't room for two leaders here.” Engus and his son go into exile with their warriors; the rest of us stay. And…”

“And what?” His face had gone white.

“And…no, nothing.” She would not burden him with this, too. For one of his kind to befriend the king's niece was perilous for both of them; tell him who she was and he would be gone by morning, she was sure of it. She could not tell him his dearest friend had marked her as the price of her people's survival. In time he would have to learn this, but only when he was strong again. “He has given the king until spring to make up his mind,” she said. “If Engus says no, and he will, then it is outright war. If that happens, the Folk don't stand a chance. This Somerled, he wants to be a great leader here, founder of a new age, I think.”

“He wants to be a king,” said Eyvind. There was a grim ring of old knowledge in his voice.

Rona had gone out; it would take her some time to prepare the secret chamber. It seemed to Nessa that in the soft crackle and hiss of the fire and the sigh of the wind around the cottage, there were whispering voices, an
ancient story.

“Talk to me, Eyvind,” she said. “Tell me about Somerled.”

“It is…it is hard for me to speak of this. There is the promise we made to one another as children. It binds me to loyalty; it locks me into a silence that has become a denial of truth. Through every long day, through every dark night I see the same pictures, like the dream you spoke of, falling from a tree: so many pictures. I shrink from them, yet they pursue me. I think I can no longer pretend; I can no longer be blind to this. But I don't know what to do. The truth is…it is unthinkable, Nessa. He is my brother. Closer than a brother.”

“Tell me, Eyvind. Tell me about the time when the two of you cut yourselves, and swore an oath of loyalty.”

“He was a strange child: wary, proud, very much alone. Ulf brought him to Hammarsby, and I was given the job of…of teaching him to be a boy, I suppose. I didn't know what to make of him. He had been badly treated. His mother had died, his father had neglected him, and Ulf simply did not know what to do with him. So I—well, I did what I thought was right. Taught him to defend himself. Taught him to hunt, to skate, to swim. I never managed to teach him to enjoy those things, but he learned the skills; if he thinks he needs to master something, he applies himself with fierce dedication. Nobody liked him. He had no friends other than me. I was…sorry for him, I suppose. And I admired him; he was clever. He could do so many things I couldn't.”

Nessa nodded. There was plenty she wanted to say, but she stayed quiet.

“That was the reason I did it. Swore the oath. He had heard he was going away. Despite himself, he had been happy at Hammarsby. I think it was the first time he had had a friend. How could I say no? So we did it. At first, it did not seem so very important; we were children. But I knew soon enough that the oath was binding. He saved my life; I saw in his eyes, then, that this pledge of loyalty was forever. It has bound me close to Somerled. It has bound me to…”

“To let things pass, when you should have acted on them?”

“I don't think I can tell you. I don't know much about the law, but I do know one should not accuse a man without evidence. I have had doubts, increasing doubts as time passed. There is nothing that can be proven. I am his one true friend. If I were to turn against him, he would again be quite alone. That is a terrible thing, Nessa, to be alone. I know that now. After the…after what happened at Ramsbeck, I wandered a long time in a
place where nobody else could reach me. Until you came.”

“I have felt the same,” she whispered. “I miss my sisters so much, though when they were here I often thought they did not understand me. I miss my mother. I talk to her and she does not hear me. Eyvi, you must not rely on me. My people need me, they are in terrible danger. I cannot—I should not—”

“I understand. You still can't trust me. That is no more than I deserve. I hoped…no, that is foolish. Do you have a comb?”

“What?”

“Your hair's still wet. You'll catch a chill if you spend the night down in that chamber with wet hair.”

He was telling her she looked a mess, just as Kinart might do. Nessa was annoyed to feel a blush rising to her cheeks. She fished in her bag, found the little bone comb with seals on it, and unfastened the damp ribbon on the end of her long plait. A pox on the man. How did he manage to make her feel like this, confused and upset and happy all at the same time? Was she not a wise woman?

“No,” he said, taking the comb from her hand. “I'll do it. Practice for me. I've been trying to use my hands for different tasks. I even brought some driftwood up from the beach for the old woman. I cleaned the fish I caught. When I concentrate I can keep them almost steady. Sit still, now. That's it.”

This was something mothers and sisters did, not some young warrior one hardly knew. Ridiculous man. He'd simply knelt down behind her and started drawing the comb through her wet hair without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Ouch!”

“I did say, sit still. Is that better?”

“Yes, but—”

“You can trust me to perform this small service, at least. I missed you, Nessa.”

“Soon enough I will be gone again. Eventually you will go back to him, to Somerled. It is not possible that we—that we…” The steady movement of the comb was soothing; it made her feel warm and content. She could not bring herself to tell him to stop, though this was entirely inappropriate. “You could be a spy,” she went on. “You are Somerled's friend, after all. He could have sent you here, set the whole thing up to trap me. He could have been pretending when he said…when he said he thought you were dead.”

“Why would he want to trap you?” Eyvind asked as he kept up his
steady work, teasing out the knots. “I understand that as a keeper of the mysteries you would have some influence over the king. But—”

“It's a long story,” Nessa said. “Now answer me a question. Ulf came to the islands wanting peace; his men supported that. Some of them took up with our women. One even got married. And yet, as soon as Ulf died, everyone was following Somerled, who didn't want a treaty at all. He's made it clear enough he has no respect for the Folk; he doesn't even want the islands, not really, all he wants is power and influence. And what Somerled wants, he takes. A man who, as a child, had no friends. Why didn't you stand up to him? Why didn't anyone? Couldn't you see what he was doing was wrong?”

“I…” The movement of the comb stopped.

“Tell me, Eyvi.”

“Whether it was true or not, folk believed Ulf sought baptism as a Christian. If a chieftain takes such a step, it is not long before he expects his people to follow him. That disturbed folk; it made them afraid. When Somerled became chieftain, he confirmed his strong allegiance to the old gods, and it won him loyalty. And there were men who had become his inner circle, men whom he charmed by…by making himself into the sort of fellow they admired. Some folk might have spoken out against him, had not fear stopped their tongues. Many found no fault in his warlike aspirations here. In my home country, a leader who is strong and decisive, who cuts down enemies and seeks to expand his own influence is a man to be respected. But…there was one who did speak out. Hakon came to court, after the killings began. He refused to swear an oath of loyalty. He gave up his wolfskin.”

“And Hakon died.”

“Yes, but—”

“I told you, Eyvi. Our people do not burn men and women alive in their homes. We do not kill children.”

He was silent. She felt his hands against her neck for a moment, and then he put the comb down.

“What better way to command loyalty,” she said quietly, “than a graphic demonstration of what happens to those who disobey?”

“I think you know my puzzles as well as my dreams,” he said. “That is one. After we buried them, Hakon and his family, my brother Eirik went away. He told me he would stay at Hafnarvagr, something about nobody hearing much from him before the spring, because he wanted to get back safely to his woman and children in Rogaland. He told me there was dan
ger all around me. I–I hid from the truth, Nessa. I convinced myself I did not understand those words. But…”

“But?”

“Somerled was always fascinated by death and dying. When we caught creatures in snares he would not administer a merciful end; he liked to watch them go, slowly. When he heard that story, about Niall and Thora, all he wanted to know was…and yet, he has such ability. I know he is capable of great things, if only…if only he understood what it means to hurt. He plays his games with real men and women, and treats them the same as the little pieces carven in stone.”

Nessa nodded grimly. “Come, sit back here where I can see you,” she said. Now that her hair was unbraided, it would dry quickly before the fire. “That's better. And thank you. I see there are at least three things you can do, besides fighting and killing. You can provide for a family, since you have not lost your hunting skills. Perhaps, as you said, you are not a clever man, not in the way Somerled is clever. But it is clear to me you are wise. That's why it takes you so long to solve your puzzles, Eyvi. You must examine every possibility, weigh them up, before you reach a conclusion. Only a wise man does that. Only a wise man keeps silent lest he speak before he has fully considered a matter. No wonder the ancestors did not bar you from entering this domain.”

He was watching her intently. “And the third thing?” he asked softly.

“You know how to comb a woman's hair,” she said dryly. “As you have no little sisters, I expect it was a woman who taught you that.”

Eyvind grinned, and was instantly solemn again. “Signe. It seems so long ago now. Her hair was fair as wheat, not dark like yours. Though yours glows red in the firelight, there's a sheen on it like ripe chestnuts.”

“This Signe, she is your wife? Your sweetheart?” Curse her stupid tongue, why had she asked him that, as if it mattered the smallest bit to her?

“No,” he said gravely, “though it was not for want of asking, on my part. She is—was—friend and lover, a person of great kindness.”

“I see.” For some reason that made her feel no better. “So, she will be waiting for your return?”

“We said our good-byes. There are no expectations between us.”

“Rona will be back soon, and I must go down for the ritual. Eyvi, there is another puzzle. It is a strange and difficult one. It concerns a man hung up in a fishing net and left to die between land and water, a good man whom we welcomed to these islands. Have you a solution to that puzzle,
too? I think I have, and mine is the same as King Engus's.”

He nodded slowly. There was a look of misery in his eyes. “The manner of it suggests only one answer. Yet, at the time, Somerled was distraught. His shock and grief seemed entirely real.”

“Still, you said yourself, he made himself into the kind of man some folk admired. Perhaps, on that day, he made himself into the sort of man who mourns his brother's death. Another game.”

“But there's no proof,” Eyvind said. “Only that, because I know him well, I see something in the execution of it that points to one man only. A clever killing, all tracks covered, and the prophecy accounted for down to the last detail. I don't want to believe I'm right, for this is a crime against blood, against kinship, against natural law.” His tone was hushed.

Nessa inclined her head. “But you do believe it,” she said. “This is what keeps you from going back, even now that you are regaining your strength. You fear to confront him with the truth.”

“How could any man perform such an act? It was surely a vengeance far too great, even if Ulf did use Somerled's birthright to help pay for the journey here. After all, Somerled is well equipped to make his own way; indeed, that is what he prefers. I asked myself, would he do such a deed, take such a risk, simply to punish his brother for not loving him? And I remembered…”

“What, Eyvi?” She saw his hands shaking again and, without thinking, put her own out to take and steady them.

“I remembered another time when his vengeance was terrible indeed, another time with no evidence, no proof. When we were young, back in Hammarsby, there was a girl hurt—taken by force, and got with child before she was ready for it. She killed herself. They never knew who was responsible. I knew, but I denied it to myself, I refused to believe he was capable of it. There was a lad, Sigurd, who was fond of the girl; he left Hammarsby soon after she died. Later, on the voyage here, we met Sigurd again, a man still consumed by rage after all those years. He tried to kill Somerled; I stopped him. And then…then there was a terrible accident. Or it seemed like an accident. Sigurd was killed. He was gored by a bull. It was Somerled's little knife that goaded the creature to charge. But…but I stood there too, on the other side. Somerled had no way of knowing if the bull's horn would pierce Sigurd's breast or mine. That made me think. It made me think more than I wanted to.”

“He, too, swore a blood oath,” Nessa said. “But you cannot expect loy
alty from such a man. Your brother was right to warn you. Somerled is only interested in winning. He doesn't care who falls by the wayside.”

“He has been kind to me.”

“Can such a man understand kindness?”

“I told you he saved my life once, when we were boys. That day, he was heroic, strong, altogether admirable. I owe him a great debt for what he did. And he helped me, at the Jarl's court. I hated the clever talk, the game-playing, the need to summon ready words in order to avoid ridicule. I was respected as a warrior, but I never learned to be a courtier. Over and over again, he got me out of trouble, stood up for me. He could always find the words I needed. And he was kind to Margaret, Ulf's wife. When she was lonely, he made time for her. She is, I think, the only other to whom he reveals himself, and then but rarely. I cannot believe he is all bad, Nessa. If only he could stand in the other man's shoes, if only he could understand that it is not a game he plays, but his own life, a precious thing to be lived well and fully: his chance to get things right, to prove his worth. If he knew that, he would have much to give.”