Wolfskin (71 page)

Eyvind turned back to Magnus. “This is the sentence I have determined, my lord. I hope you think it satisfactory.”

“You know,” Magnus observed expansively, “I did think the young lady might be just a little biased when she referred to you as the only man among us capable of making this decision. A Wolfskin, young and impetuous, at the mercy of the fierce call to battle—such a man, surely, could not possess the wisdom required for such an impossible task. I see now that I was wrong. You are still the same man who charged forward against my enemies, a warrior brave to the point of insanity. That determination and that courage still blaze in your eyes. But you've changed. You have become the man these women see in the future of their islands: the father of kings. Your decision pleases me very well. Are all of you in agreement?”

The answering roar of approval made the whole hall shudder. Perhaps they had wanted blood, but there was a satisfaction in this that went beyond that. It was like the working out of an ancient tale, deeply strange and yet somehow inevitable. Surrounded by the clamor of acknowledgment, the pounding of fists on tables, Eyvind looked across and saw Nessa's little smile and the warmth in her eyes, and a moment later he saw her turn suddenly white and crumple at the knees. He reached her side in two long strides, catching her in his arms before anyone else had time to move. His heart was pounding. Surely the gods would not be so cruel, not now, after everything…

“Sheer exhaustion,” Margaret observed, looking as if she herself were barely staying on her feet. “And she couldn't eat, before. You'd best carry her through to my quarters and I'll tend to her. A very strong girl; she's been through a great deal.”

Nessa was feather-light in his arms. She was snow-pale and as limp as a doll, her long hair hanging to the floor as he carried her to the chamber she was sharing with Margaret. Rona followed just behind him, muttering to herself. He laid Nessa down on a pallet and tucked the covers over her. It was necessary, then, to give way to the wise woman, who produced a little vial, uncorked it and released a powerful, pungent odor that made his nose sting and his eyes water. Nessa's eyelids fluttered. She stirred, and opened her eyes. Eyvind hovered, expecting to be banished at any moment from this domain of women, yet quite unable to tear his eyes away from her.

Now Rona was pouring water into a cup and putting it in his hand, gesturing. It was Margaret who spoke.

“You're being given a little time, I think. Not much. I'm overly weary myself, and do not plan on undressing and getting into bed when there's a
Wolfskin present. Be quick. There are certain matters still to be attended to, but the two of us won't be long at all.”

They left, not without a rather penetrating look from Rona. It was a warning of sorts; he knew he must continue to meet their expectations, that he would be measured and judged for the rest of his life. That was not such a bad thing.

“Did I faint?” Nessa asked as he held the cup to her lips. “I never did that before. Maybe I should have eaten some supper. It's been such a long time, I hardly know if it is night or day.”

“Shh,” Eyvind said, easing her back to the pillows. “Don't try to talk. You must rest.” His thumb lingered by her temple, brushing the soft strands of hair back from her face. She gazed up at him, her eyes slate-dark in the lamplit room.

“You're sad, aren't you?” she whispered. “Sad that you couldn't make him understand.”

Eyvind bowed his head, saying nothing. She seemed to see right inside him sometimes, uncovering secrets he had hardly known were hidden there.

“And you're sorry you had to do what you did,” Nessa said. “But it was right, Eyvi. You have given him a second chance. A generous gift; he has been less kind in his friendship.”

“I don't know. It could be cruel. Such a journey is fraught with peril. It is a voyage across trackless seas. Who knows what landfall may be found before world's end? He wanted death.”

“And you gave life. A man such as yourself could make no other choice. Eyvi?”

“Mmm?”

“Margaret will be back soon, and Rona will give you a lecture on keeping me awake, and another on not looking after yourself properly.”

“Mmm,” he said, his fingers stroking her hair where it lay like dark brown silk across her neck and shoulder.

“I wish you could stay here,” she said in a small voice.

Eyvind swallowed. “Might I kiss you good-night, do you think?” he ventured. Despite what had been between them, things seemed different now. He felt a certain constraint, almost as if they were starting all over again now that death did not overhang them so closely.

“Certainly not,” Nessa said, but she was smiling. “Don't look so crestfallen, Eyvi. You have a jaw that's covered in bruises and swollen like a ripe fruit, and I happen to know you had a tooth pulled earlier today. Such pursuits must wait—”

Her words were lost as he drew her up into his arms again, and touched his lips to hers quite gently, for a kiss, after all, can be as light as a butterfly's wing provided one exercises control. It was only after a moment that her lips parted, and he felt her hands moving against his back and her tongue sliding across his own, jolting his body to instant, painful hardness. The kiss deepened; his fingers slipped inside her tunic to touch the smooth curve of her breast. And then he winced in pain, and Nessa drew away, a little breathless, laughter and concern mingled in her soft voice.

“I told you. One should not attempt so much so soon. There will be a time for us; it won't be so long to wait. Will you sleep tonight?”

Between the ache of longing in his body and the consideration of what must be done at dawn, Eyvind thought that unlikely. “I'll try,” he told her. “Now close your eyes and rest. Perhaps I should go.”

“Oh, no, not yet.” Her fingers tightened on his.

“Just a little longer, then. Though I have to say that to be so near, and not to do what I want so badly to do, causes me some discomfort.”

Nessa smiled. “Such discomfort is not solely the province of men, believe me. Still, we must not shock Rona. Perhaps you might put one arm around me, above the blankets, and rest your head here by my shoulder. Mmm. That feels very good. Maybe I really can sleep.”

In fact, when Rona did return not long after, she had to wake him, and as she ordered him off to the men's quarters there was a smile on her weathered features. Margaret was with her, looking worn out; Ulf's widow would be eager to return home now, Eyvind thought, back to her family in Rogaland. He bent to touch his lips once more to Nessa's pure brow, to her heavy, shadowed eyelids, and very lightly to her mouth. She was fast asleep.
Sleep sweetly, my Bright Star. My hand in yours.
Rona made some further comment, not ungently. He must take steps to learn the language as quickly as he could, so he could talk to her, so he could talk to all of them. He would ask Tadhg to help him.

“Eyvind,” Margaret said dryly, “if you're not out of this chamber by the time I count to five, I'll summon your brother to drag you out. Good-night and sleep well. You chose wisely tonight.”

“Wisely?” he echoed. “I don't know. I'll probably never know.”

“We must be prepared for troubled dreams,” said Margaret, “for shadows on the edge of our thoughts. He leaves us that legacy. But we must not let that hold us helpless. Life goes on; we must make of it what we can, I suppose.” She sounded so bleak and hopeless, Eyvind was hard-pressed to summon any response at all. He was saved by Rona, who approached with
a cup containing a steaming brew which smelled even worse than the reviving herbs. It appeared this draft was meant for Margaret. With great relief, Eyvind slipped from the room and back to the Wolfskins' sleeping chamber, where two men snored on their pallets already and his brother waited, ale cup in hand.

“Sleep,” Eirik ordered, pointing to the bed that bore the best woollen blankets and the plumpest pillow. “Now.” And suddenly it did not seem so very hard at all to obey.

 

Nessa thought that was the most difficult moment for Eyvind: the touching of hands to the little boat as it rocked in the shallows, ready to bear Somerled westward on his journey into exile. For herself, she felt the somber mood of the occasion, the dark solemnity of it, yet she knew it was at the same time a cleansing. The weight of grief they all carried on their shoulders must be lightened by this man's departure. It was an ending of sorts, necessary before new beginnings could be made. For Eyvind, it was different. She could look at Somerled's tight, withdrawn features and feel not a shred of doubt, for she saw there a man who simply did not understand the difference between right and wrong. Eyvind saw his friend, a boy for whom he still felt responsible. And she knew that somewhere, deep down, Eyvind doubted his own judgment. Even now, even after all he had done, the strength he had shown, the wisdom and leadership, Eyvind could not see himself as others did. In his own eyes, he would always be no more than a simple warrior, a man who needed time to understand things, an unsubtle thinker lacking in cleverness. He did not read the admiration and wonder in others' eyes—the Jarl's, Margaret's, Olaf's—at how he had changed and what he had become. He did not understand how astonishing was his acceptance by her own people: the speed with which he had begun to establish that difficult bond. He was quite blind to it. That was one of the reasons she loved him.

There was a shadow in his clear, blue eyes that morning. Nonetheless, he held himself tall and straight as always, as if he were part of the monumental slab of rock on which he stood. Although the breeze ruffled his hair and stirred the folds of his tunic, he seemed to Nessa an island of stillness. Just so had she seen him on the shore, long ago, before she had known what kind of man he was: before she had understood that he belonged in the islands. Yet in a way she had known, even then. From that moment, the spirits had whispered in her ear,
He is part of this tale: your tale, and the tale
of the Folk. You must hold him fast. Within this warrior's breast beats ancient truth.

Nessa was the only woman present on the shore. Margaret had declined the Jarl's invitation to attend. It was plain Ulf's widow had reached the point where she could bear no more. They said Somerled had given her a letter before he left the settlement, but nobody knew what was in it. As for Margaret, she had not sought an opportunity to speak with her husband's killer in private. Nessa guessed there was a certain piece of information that Somerled did not know, and she wondered at Margaret's decision not to share it with him, but kept her silence.

She would have preferred not to be here herself, but with an eye to Eyvind's pallor and his grim-set jaw, she had accompanied the small group of men to the chosen place. Not three boat lengths out from this narrow, pebbly stretch of shore, a strong westerly current would seize the curragh and bear it away from the islands. Only the most skilled of sailors might turn the craft and steer it back to land. Her cousin, Kinart, could have done it; Somerled most certainly could not.

It was very quick. Men had worked during the night to place all in readiness; water barrel, fishing gear, and a small, oiled sack of provisions were neatly stowed. There were oars. It was also possible to rig mast and sail. Nessa shivered. The boat was so small. On the shore, Brother Tadhg stood with his wooden cross in his hands, staring out over the choppy waters.

A silence fell. They were waiting for Somerled to step aboard. Nessa had wondered if it would be done without any more words; if now, at the very end, Eyvind and Somerled would have nothing to say to each other. Perhaps there was so much to be said that neither man knew where to start. She could feel Eyvind's grief, even though she did not fully understand it. As for Somerled, he had surprised her this morning. Quiet, calm, dressed in plain, warm clothing, he had walked down between his Wolfskin guards with perfect dignity. Nessa was forced to admit that outwardly he had conducted himself in every way like a king.

“It's time,” Magnus said. “You'd best be gone. Have you anything you want to say?”

Somerled looked at him. “Not to you,” he said. “But I have a question for Eyvind. I told him I preferred death. I made that quite clear. Of course, I was not offered a choice. Tell me, Eyvind, what's to stop me from turning the boat around as soon as the current ceases to grip her, and coming back
to land? The locals will finish me off then, if Nessa's island spirits don't get to me first. What's to stop me from slitting my wrists with a fishing knife? I'm sure there's one on board somewhere. Or I could simply go out a certain distance, then slip overboard and drown. You'll recall from our boyhood that I'm not the strongest of swimmers. Give me one good reason why I should feel bound to comply with this ridiculous punishment?”

Several people spoke at once.

“Maybe I should go with him—” That was Brother Tadhg, and his words sparked a horrified “No!” from Nessa. Several voices, Eirik's among them, spoke up telling Somerled to hold his tongue and stop stalling for time. But it was Eyvind's response that hushed them. He stepped down from the rock, his face ashen, and walked across until he stood not an arm's length from Somerled.

“Here's your reason,” he said, and rolled back his left sleeve to show the long, straight scar on the forearm, sign of their blood bonding. “Give me your hand. I have not forgotten the oath we swore. You urged me to loyalty; now I ask you for pledge of that loyalty. Give me your hand, Somerled.”

Somerled pushed back his shirtsleeve. He stared at Eyvind; the dark eyes seemed to devour the blue. Each man clasped the other's left arm. Now one scar overlaid the other, a perfect match.

“Very well,” Eyvind said. “Now I want your solemn vow, given in the spirit of the friendship we promised as lads, that you will do all that is in your power to survive this journey. Swear that you will head onward with the courage I know is in you, with all the cleverness and wit and ingenuity you possess, until you make landfall on a new shore. And you must promise that, once there, you will make a new life, and strive to be all that you can be.”