Wolfskin (59 page)

The song of the Seal Tribe rose into the night, complex and lovely,
strand on strand of graceful melody, weaving and tangling around Nessa's still form as stars appeared one by one, glittering points of brightness in the shadowy blue of the sky. Her heart keeping time with the wild music, Nessa raised her hands in a gesture that was more fierce demand than respectful supplication. Guard now added an eldritch howling to the night sounds, and overhead an owl hooted, passing by on the hunt. The sea washed in and out, in and out; a whisper of breeze shivered through Nessa's hair and stirred the fronded tresses of her strange companions.

She closed her eyes in silent meditation, stilling her racing heart, slowing her breathing, calming her mind until the deepest of voices spoke inside her.
What of you? There is a part of this tale not told. What does your heart tell you, priestess? Will you keep faith with me?

“I will,” she breathed. Tears pricked her eyes; she did not allow them to fall. “All that I must do to keep the islands safe and to preserve their secrets, I will do. All that I must do to ensure the Folk survive and endure as custodians of this fair land, I will do. I swear this as your priestess. And I swear it as the last of the royal line here in the Light Isles.”

She stood unmoving, feeling the weight of exhaustion through every part of her body. It was necessary to go on. She would find the strength somewhere. Nessa opened her eyes and saw pale light beginning to creep over the landscape, touching the sand to faintest silver, illuminating the delicate, naked forms of her companions, pearly breast, snowy arm, long flank, the sweet curves of bodies that were not quite those of women. She turned; the little harp stood gleaming white under the rising moon, awaiting the strings that would release its voice.

“It is good,” Nessa said gravely. “Very good. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And I will be true to my word.” Then she stepped around again, unmaking the circle, as the sea women's chant ebbed and flowed like a powerful tide. They crouched again by the harp, and one by one the dark strands of woven hair were looped and hooked at the base, where Nessa had made notches in the bone, and wound with cautious fingers around the cunning small pegs set in the upper part of the frame. One, two…four, five…As each was strung in place and the peg turned to tighten it, Nessa could feel the growing power of the thing she had made; it did indeed bear the life of the chieftain whose body had furnished its materials, and it seemed eager, straining to sound forth the words that had been snatched away from him by death.

I am…Ulf
…She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and a cold thrill go down her spine.
Twisted…bound
…the harp whispered.
Som…Somer
…Nessa was almost afraid to set the last string in place. But the sea women were hastening her along again:
The path, up there, to the east, run, run, hurry, hurry!
She slipped the slender fiber into the notch, twined it around the little finger bone, turn on turn so it held itself in place; she began to tighten the peg. There was a sudden hissing, and when she looked up, they were shaking their heads in warning, their liquid eyes anxious.

“Not yet?” Nessa queried, heart thumping. “Ah, I understand. Not until we reach Somerled's hall. Only then do we release this voice.” She wrapped the little harp carefully in the bag, which not long ago had held only jumbled bones. “Now I must leave you. I thank you for your aid. Without you, this would not have been made.”

They acknowledged her with a flurry of notes like the fluting of meadow birds, a dazzling, bright music of recognition.
We are sisters. Go safely.

There were scraps of bone left over, slivers and shards. Nessa gathered them with respect and laid them gently in a sheltered corner of the cave. She rolled the wolfskin up once more and fastened it tightly. Guard was waiting, his ears laid back, his tail between his legs. He seemed less than steady on his feet. It was a long way up the cliff path, and a longer one across the moonlit fields to Somerled's hall.

Now two of the sea women came forward, a small bundle or package held before them on outstretched hands. The tone of their song, the courteous bowing of their heads indicated this was a gift, and Nessa must take it with her. It was wrapped in what might have been cloth, or dried weed, or the hide of some creature only seen in deepest waters.

“Th–thank you,” Nessa faltered. “I don't know how I can carry—”

Long hands reached to fasten the package on her back, a cord of twisted seaweed tying it in place. Nessa drew a deep breath. She bore the wolfskin under one arm, the harp cradled by the other. It was a steep path, and narrow. There was simply no room for any error. She had sworn she would do this, and she must.

“Farewell,” she told them. “I won't forget what you have done. I understand its importance. We are of one kind, my sisters, for all our differences.”

They reached to touch her then, a whisper of fingertips against her cheek, brushing her hair, stroking her arm, clinging to her hand. Their skin was so cold, as cold as hoarfrost, and there was a faint, constant trembling in them, as if the ebb and flow of the sea were present in their flesh, even while they sojourned on land. Their voices sang greeting and farewell:
Sister, our sister. So brave, so true. Go forth, go safe.

Guard hung back, reluctant even to begin the journey. He stood at the foot of the path whining, a sound that increased in anxiety as Nessa, heart sinking, made her cautious way upward in the faint light from the moon, which hung low in the sky somewhere beyond the clifftop. There could be no delays. There was no mistaking the message: if this was not done tonight, it would be too late. Behind her, Guard whimpered again. It sounded as if he was a long way back. She waited, trying not to look down, making her voice reassuring.

“Good boy, Guard. Come on, now. It's not far.”

There was a hissing from below, as if the sea women sought to harry the hound on his way; a sudden scrabbling followed, and then silence. She could not tell where he was. She turned her head, peering back in the dim light. Below her, far below, the moonlight gleamed on white water. Her stomach churned; a wave of dizziness swept over her. On, she must go on, that was the only thing that mattered.

“Guard?” She had spotted him, crouched frozen on the path a short way up from the shore. She could not help him, burdened as she was. Perhaps she could reach the top, put down what she carried and then go back for him. He had been so faithful, so strong; she could not leave him behind. But suppose she fetched him safely up, what then? To reach the settlement in time she must ride, she must steal a horse from somewhere, and if she did that, Guard would not be able to keep up.

Nessa crept on up the path. Behind her, there was now no sound but the sigh of the sea far below, the sleepy calls of gulls on the ledges. She was breathless and her body ached. It had been foolish to forget the importance of eating, for now she was faint and her strength was flagging fast. She could imagine what Rona would have said.
Foolish girl! Even a priestess must eat and drink. The mind can't help you if you don't help the body. Here, get this broth into you.

A cloud came over the moon, and the path in front of her vanished. She froze in place. Her burdened hands could not be used to feel the way; all she could do was stand completely still on the ledge, her back pressed against the rock wall. By day, the wide vista of western ocean would make a fine sight before her, crisscrossed by the flights of foraging birds, gull and puffin, tern and guillemot, circling and passing in their dance of survival. Now, in the darkness, she knew only the immensity of the drop before her, the narrow margin of safety, as small as the length of her foot, the yawning black emptiness ready for her fall, her own last flight. Nausea gripped her belly; she fought for control, her fingers curling into the long, soft pelt of
the wolfskin.
I want so much to live. More than I've ever wanted anything before.
The moon emerged once more; cool, pale light frosted the cliffs with silver, and made a shining pathway on the dark water. Nessa walked forward, not knowing if the voice she had heard was her own or another's, borne on some strange wind from the east. “I'm coming,” she whispered. “I'll be there soon. Wait for me.”

Guard's whine came faintly from somewhere far below. He was surely no farther up the path than he had been that first time, and now she was near the top, and must go on. How could she fetch him? He was a big dog, and her own strength was ebbing even as his had. He whined again, and now there was an answer from above her, a strong, spirited barking ringing out from the clifftop. Nessa's heart clenched tight with alarm. Somerled's men, with dogs: they had somehow followed her, and now waited up there to seize her as they had Eyvind. The harp would be lost, the one chance gone, for the fragile instrument would fall in pieces if it were dropped or manhandled. Somerled's people thought her a witch, working her spells to harm them. They would surely destroy what she bore before ever its voice might be heard.

The barking continued, deep and vibrant, and now there was a scrabbling, sliding sound of claws on the slippery rocks of the path, and all of a sudden Guard was right behind her, the noise he made surely not a warning but a call of recognition, a joyous greeting. Against the odds, he had made the climb in a fraction of the time it had taken Nessa.

“Good boy,” she breathed, and since there was no other choice possible, she took the last few steps up to the clifftop. The moment she set foot on level ground she was all but bowled over, for the hound that bounded up to greet her was healthy and strong, and it came close to sending her straight down to the ocean far below in its frenzied excitement. Now Guard reached the top, and the two of them, like as peas in a pod, ran and chased and sniffed in ecstasy, tails thrashing furiously in the delight of reunion. Shadow. Shadow had disappeared with Rona, that was what Eyvind had said. But it seemed Shadow had come here alone. There were no warriors, there was nobody at all, only the moonlight and the stones.

“Good girl,” she murmured, setting the wolfskin down a moment to rest her arm. She stroked the bitch's head, feeling the wet warmth of its tongue against her fingers. “Well done. Now we must move on. I need a horse, and I'll have to catch it in the dark. And then…” She could not dwell on the difficulty of doing this, on the impossibility of riding thus burdened. What would Rona say? She imagined her old friend by the fire,
stirring a pot of something fragrant—gods, she was hungry—and gazing at her wryly.
You're a priestess. Make things happen.
Some help that was.

Shadow had ceased to leap about and now headed off along a near-invisible path, turning her head as if to check whether Nessa followed. Guard stayed close by his mate's side. It seemed he, at least, had found some untapped well of inner strength, and would keep going beyond the point of utter exhaustion. Perhaps what he had found was hope. Picking up the wolfskin, easing cramped fingers around the other precious item she bore, Nessa followed the two hounds across the dark fields to the east. There were farms not far away. At least, there had been farms not long ago, three snug cottages separated by walled fields, with well-tended beasts, including a horse or two. The men who looked after the stock there had perished at the Whaleback. There was no telling where the women might be. It was toward those dwellings that Shadow was leading them. They walked onward under the moon.

Shadow kept a wide berth around the first house, where the shutters hung splintered and broken, and something made a rhythmic banging in the freshening breeze. There was no sign of life. The second house was burned to stones and rubble, and across its outer yard objects lay scattered: a woollen shawl rent almost in two, a child's shoe, a basket whose cargo of shriveled turnips lay scattered on the ground. Was that blood, or merely some natural darkening of the soil here in the corner where a stile straddled the stone dyke? Shadow jumped up; Guard followed, clumsy in his weakness. Nessa scrambled after them and did not look back. Later, when this was finished, there would be time for sorrow, for grieving, for the rituals of farewell.

They neared the third house. Nessa's heart sank. Lights shone from inside, and the figures of armed men could be seen on watch in the yard. Their garb was that of the Norsemen: iron helms, short cloaks, dark, belted tunics. A great deal of weaponry hung about their bodies.

“Shadow!” she hissed. “Shadow, come back!” For the bitch was sprinting forward now, her barking drawing instant attention to their presence. Guard loped trustingly after her. Nessa crouched by an outhouse, her heart pounding. It could be only moments before the men found her.

One guard was reaching down to pat the bitch; he seemed quite unperturbed by her dramatic arrival. The other came over to stand by his side, hands on hips. They were staring at Guard now; Nessa could hear their tones of astonishment.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

“Thor's hammer! Two of 'em! Didn't they say one went off with…?”

“With the Wolfskin. That's what they said. Vicious brute with teeth like knives, nearly took one fellow's hand off.”

“Can't be the same dog,” said the second man, reaching to scratch Guard behind the ears. “Skinny thing, but friendly enough. Looks like he's been on the run a while.”

The two of them exchanged a glance. Then, without a word, they drew their knives and moved forward, straight toward the most obvious hiding place, the solitary outhouse where Nessa huddled, trembling, by the wall. Shadow bounded ahead, showing the way. In despair, Nessa rose to her feet and moved into the open, speaking in the tongue of the Norsemen.

“I am alone and unarmed. All I want is to travel north unhindered. Please, let me pass.”

The two men halted in surprise; whatever they had expected to find, it was not a young woman out in the night alone. They looked at each other again.