The Smile of the Wolf

by Tim Leach

  I was a sacrifice, a gift to his god from the water. And so I fought against him, my hands scrabbling at the edges of ice, trying to push myself free of the water. But he was stronger than I, his weight bearing down on me, pressing me into the black water. And I felt the mad longing to breathe that water.

  The world returned and I traded water for the sky – lying gasping on the ice, my breath frosting before me. I tried to speak, but the cold stilled my voice; and Thorvaldur leaned over me, his hands on my shoulders. He laughed the way that wolves seem to laugh in the hunt, howling with joy, teeth bared and eyes wild.

  ‘Oh, I am glad to have you with me. Do you feel it now? Do you feel the new god’s hands upon you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. And I did.

  *

  Later, by the fire. It had been many hours since the ritual on the ice and I still could not seem to get warm. My heart beating sluggishly or threatening to pound its way from my chest, and I could feel myself growing weaker, moment by moment. I sat still and did not speak, and waited to see if I would live or die.

  Thorvaldur was as restless as I was still. He poked the fire and looked at the sky, wishing the night away, praying for the coming of the dawn.

  ‘How many are there,’ he said, ‘that we must kill?’

  ‘Two brothers are the ones who matter. Björn and Snorri. Three kinsfolk with them. Bersi, Harald and Svein.’

  ‘Only five?’

  ‘There are others. There are always others to carry on the feud, are there not? But those five are the ones that matter.’

  ‘Very well. And who else do we have at our side?’

  ‘Only one. Kari Gunnarsson.’

  ‘Gunnar’s child? A boy?’

  ‘Near enough a man. And he shall fight as one.’

  ‘And what of the woman? Vigdis, you called her.’

  ‘What of her?’

  ‘Must she die, too?’

  ‘Does your god permit the killing of women?’

  ‘Sometimes he does.’ He clasped his hands together and leaned towards me. ‘Tell me something, if I am to fight in this feud of yours.’

  ‘Ask me.’

  ‘Why is it that you do this? And do not lie to me. I shall know it if you do.’

  ‘For revenge, of course.’

  He studied me for a moment, then he wagged a finger as though I were a child to be scolded.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That is not the answer. But no matter. You will give me the truth, in time.’

  Without another word, he turned from me, rolled up in his blankets, and was asleep within moments.

  I slept, too. Better than I had since the feud began. And I did not dream.

  29

  We moved by night, for Thorvaldur was an outlaw still, and it would be death to both of us if we were caught together. We moved over the land in darkness, sleeping in fens and riverbeds in the day, and the stories spread in our wake.

  I would hear them later: the farmers who heard our footsteps in the night and thought us ghosts. The shepherd boys in their shielings, who caught glimpses of us silhouetted against the sky and mistook us for giants, their eyes playing tricks at the distance. Gods and monsters, making their way to the Salmon River Valley.

  When I showed Thorvaldur the valley for the first time, we stood on the southern hills, risking the dawn light. His eyes traced over the rivers and the dales, the mountains and the sea. He nodded and said: ‘A good land. But I would not die for it.’

  ‘You do not have to die for this place.’

  ‘I do not have to die at all. That is what you came here for, is it not?’

  I made no answer.

  He grunted. ‘So,’ he said, ‘that is not your secret either. But I will find it, do not worry.’

  ‘It is almost day. We must sleep now. They will be in the fields before long and we must not be seen.’

  ‘Where is it that we go tomorrow?’

  ‘To the house of a friend,’ I said, though the words were like ashes in my mouth.

  *

  When we came to Ragnar’s house I rapped my hands against the door – softly, with a thief’s touch. Yet the door was open in a moment and it was Sigrid who stood behind it. I suppose she knew it would be me.

  ‘I am glad to see you return,’ she said, and I could see her eyes shining in the darkness. Her hand drifted towards me, hesitant, as though she thought me a spirit rather than a man, and would believe me only through touch. Then her gaze strayed past my shoulder to the man who stood behind me. ‘Who do you bring with you?’

  ‘An ally.’

  She nodded and she was cold once more. ‘I shall wake the others. Wait here.’

  I listened to her footsteps, to soft voices within. And then I heard Thorvaldur’s words in my ear.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Sigrid,’ I said, and I heard him chuckle.

  ‘I know that name. Whispered at night, in sleep, many times over the long winter. And I recognise her. That tall, pale thing that you were pining for.’

  ‘Thorvaldur…’

  He grinned at me. ‘I shall be quiet, do not worry.’

  I saw her again, in the half-light of the fire, beckoning us in. Ragnar and Kari were both waiting for us around the fire.

  ‘You should not have left without me,’ Kari said.

  ‘I know,’ I answered. ‘But it is done now. We have much to speak of.’

  ‘That may be,’ Sigrid said, ‘but you do not have much time.’ Her eyes did not leave Thorvaldur, as though I had brought a wild dog into her home.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I have heard people talking. Of a stranger who roams the hills.’

  ‘Do they think me a ghost? That would be fitting.’

  ‘Some say so. But I am sure there are those who will guess at the truth. They are restless.’

  Ragnar spoke, then. ‘I have heard that Björn may be going abroad. He and his kin have spoken to captains. Friends of mine. They seek passage on a ship.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Raiding. Trade. He is a man of much wealth now. And burning a house is a shameful thing. Perhaps he fears the law being brought against him.’ He looked at the palms of his hands. ‘And perhaps he has heard the rumours. Perhaps he knows that you have returned.’

  ‘We shall have to move quickly, then.’

  ‘Good,’ Thorvaldur said. ‘I did not come here to wait.’

  Kari seemed to look on the newcomer for the first time. ‘Who are you?’ he said.

  ‘One who will fight.’

  ‘Did you know my father?’

  ‘Oh no. Only the stories that Kjaran has told me.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘I like the killing. Don’t you?’

  ‘Thorvaldur,’ I said.

  He tilted his head to me. ‘That is why you brought me here, is it not?’

  ‘I have never killed a man,’ Kari said.

  Thorvaldur steepled his fingers together. ‘But you want to?’

  Kari dropped his head. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘That is enough,’ Sigrid said quietly. ‘Do not speak of killing in this house.’

  Thorvaldur looked from the girl to me, grinning like an idiot. ‘I have heard stories of you, too.’

  ‘I have heard nothing of you.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘No.’ And she turned to me. ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘He is called Thorvaldur.’

  ‘This is a name I know. An outlaw.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ragnar put his head into his hands, but he would not speak.

  Sigrid said: ‘This is too much that you ask of us. To shelter such a man.’

  ‘You need do no such thing,’ Thorvaldur said. ‘I shall sleep in the barn, and if they find me, call me an intruder. No blame shall lie with you.’ He looked to the boy. ‘Will you come with me?’ he said. ‘We have much to speak of.’

  I felt the touch of cold fingers against my skin – some warning from the god
s, I once would have thought. But I ignored them. My new god did not speak in riddles or omens, did not lay hands upon His worshippers. I prayed and I heard Him speak. So I let Thorvaldur leave, and I let the boy go with him.

  After a time, Ragnar sighed and dipped a horn bowl into the pot of stew above the fire. He handed it to me. ‘Eat,’ he said. ‘You must be hungry.’

  ‘I have brought trouble to you and I am sorry for it.’

  Ragner shook his head. ‘I owe you a great debt.’ He licked his lips and said, ‘I thought that you would kill me, when I saw you return.’

  ‘I thought of it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  I looked at Sigrid and she met my gaze without fear.

  ‘It would have won me nothing,’ I said. ‘You believe that you owe me a debt for that?’

  ‘I thought I was to die and I was not afraid. I thought that I… that I would not give those years with my wife for anything. Not even to die. I have never had courage. But I knew it then. And I thank you for that.’

  There was nothing for me to say to that. I placed my bowl upon the ground, half-finished, for I no longer had the stomach to eat.

  ‘What will you do tomorrow?’ asked Sigrid.

  ‘I will go to see an old friend. It is better that you know no more than that.’

  I was tired then, the long weeks of night-walking bearing down upon me. With no further word I curled into my blankets and let myself drift half into sleep. Not fully – I waited to hear the door swing, to hear Kari return. But he did not. And when I awoke late in the night from restless dreams, the taste of blood in my mouth, the screaming of ghosts in my ears, I saw that he had not returned.

  I thought little of it.

  *

  The next day was beautiful, yet I saw it would not last. Brilliant sun beating down upon us, but over the inland mountains the thick clouds were gathering, the promise of rain in the sky. But I could enjoy the sun for a time as I sat outside Ragnar’s longhouse with my back against the wall. I was glad of that.

  I heard Kari’s voice, calling my name. And when I turned I saw him coming from the barn, dark whorls beneath his eyes.

  ‘You slept little?’ I said.

  ‘I slept enough. You are going again?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Can I come with you this time?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  He kicked at a tussock on the ground. ‘I will not be left behind a second time.’

  ‘You shall. But there will not be a third. I promise you that.’

  He looked back towards the barn and I did not know what that look could mean.

  ‘He told me that you became a Christian,’ he said. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘He says that I should become one, too.’

  ‘Do not listen to everything that Thorvaldur has to say.’

  He nodded absently. ‘When does it begin?’

  ‘The killing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Soon. We must be patient. We must wait for our chance.’

  ‘I am afraid to wait.’

  ‘Why?’

  His fingers darted up to the burns on his face – a habit now. When he was in thought or he did not know what to say his hands would drift up to the strange, ageless, ruined skin. I had seen the children of chieftains play with carved dolls from across the sea. His face was akin to those: flat, still, not quite human.

  ‘There is something else I must tell you,’ he said. ‘About the night that—’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘When father went out… to fight them… I heard him calling to me. To fight beside him. And I did not. I ran to the tunnel, to escape. But I could not get through.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘My mother and my sister. I could hear them crying out behind me, feel them pulling at my legs.’ He looked up to me. ‘Björn would have let them go, wouldn’t he? Why did they not run?’

  ‘I do not know,’ I said. A lie, but a needful one.

  He did not speak. He looked at me, awaiting a judgement.

  ‘You ran from the battle?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  ‘So you think that you must die?’

  He shook his head violently. ‘No, no.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘I do not want to die. But I cannot bear this shame. I have to…’ He looked back at the barn once more. ‘Perhaps then I will be forgiven.’

  ‘We shall all be forgiven.’

  ‘That is not what Thorvaldur says.’ He turned back to me. ‘Where is it that you go?’

  ‘You remember the horse, don’t you?’

  Even in the dark, I saw his face go pale.

  ‘I know who did it,’ I said.

  He was in my arms then, his head working into my chest, as though he thought to bury himself there. I held him as I might have held a child of my own, in another life, another world.

  ‘Kill them for me,’ he said, his voice thick.

  Then he was gone from me, just as abruptly, striding back to the barn and wiping at his eyes.

  Let them talk, I thought. Let him be a Christian if he wishes. I thought to keep Thorvaldur content, to feed him converts like a man sacrificing to his gods.

  I was still thinking in the old ways, of the old gods. The White Christ took a different kind of offering. But I did not know that then.

  30

  I moved slowly across the land, an idle traveller. For years I had waited for this, yet the day had come and it seemed there was no rush. I stopped at rivers and dangled my ruined left hand in the cool water, as though hoping to find an elvish place that might knit my hand whole once more. Looking in the tussocks and the bogs for the bones of sheep or stones worn smooth, as a child searches the land for charms of good fortune.

  As the sun peaked in the sky I made my way inland, near the good trapping ground on the upper banks of the river. I walked through a little patch of woodland, cutting at the brush with my knife to pass the time, collecting the twigs and wet leaves, feeling the damp matter between the palms of my hands before I drew them once more within my cloak. I did not know what I was waiting for, but there came a moment when I knew that it was time, and I knew that I was ready.

  I made my way to the house of Kormac Bersisson. To the home of a traitor.

  *

  There was sound within. As I came close to the door of the longhouse, walking soft upon the wet ground, I could hear men talking. Not many: two or three, unless they had one of those silent men with them, the kind that does not speak a word until there is blood to be spilled.

  I backed away from the house, each foot placed carefully, though there was little need for such caution. Men in a feud listen for hoofbeats, for the whicker of horses. They do not expect soft footfalls of a lonely man on foot. And these men had no need to listen for a murderer’s footsteps. The feud was over. They had won.

  I waited for smoke to rise from the longhouse, for the fire within to burn high. Then I went to the door and pushed at it without knocking. It swung open – unbarred, an open house for friends and neighbours. I heard a curse within, for no doubt they thought me some sudden gust of wind. Then footsteps coming.

  ‘Kormac,’ I said, and the footsteps stopped.

  ‘Who is there?’ said the voice from within.

  ‘An old friend,’ I said, but I was sure to turn the corner before I spoke my name. I wanted to see them first, before I gave them such a warning as that.

  There were two men there, sitting by the fire, looking on me as they might have looked upon a ghost. Kormac was there, older and fatter than when last I had seen him, and with him but one other man, whom I did not recognise at first. Bjarni – that was his name. Kormac’s son. I had seen him at Gunnar’s feast three years before. A boy then, but a man now.

  Even in the flickering light of the longhouse fire I could see Kormac’s face go pale at the sight of me, his eyes search me for a weapon. But I smiled at him and offered my good hand in greeting. He took it, more by ins
tinct if not in friendship, and I sat down without waiting to be asked.

  ‘Stoke the fire high,’ I told him. ‘Or am I not a good enough guest to burn the wood for?’

  ‘Every guest has that right,’ he said thickly. And he cast the wood upon the fire: a little fortune in brush and twig, his honour demanding nothing less.

  The smoke grew thick and yet still I could see him well enough.

  ‘Bjarni, you remember Kjaran.’ An emphasis on that third word, a weight to give it another meaning.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember.’

  ‘You have been gone a long time, Kjaran. I did not know you at first.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had heard that you were dead.’

  I smiled at him, to show that I was not afraid. Then I leaned over, stirred the ladle of the pot on the fire. ‘Plenty of stew here for two men.’

  He gave a half-laugh and attempted a smile. ‘You know me. Hungry. Always wanting more.’

  ‘Yes, I do know that of you.’

  I watched the smile flicker and fade. I could see the shame biting at him, like some beast that lived within. But let it bite a little longer, I thought.

  ‘I would have thought that you would be in the fields by now. It is near midday.’

  ‘I took on more servants this year.’

  ‘You have prospered since last I saw you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and hung his head low.

  ‘You are unwell.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He hesitated. ‘You should not have come back, Kjaran.’

  The son moved, his feet gliding across the ground, a half-step towards me. I tilted my head slightly, to keep him in my vision.

  ‘Why is that?’

  He shrugged. ‘You have few friends left in this valley.’

  ‘That is why I came to you.’

  A light in his eyes. He shifted on the bench and he tried to smile. ‘A good thing. A good thing. You should tell me what you mean to do.’

  ‘I do not think so.’ I leaned forward and felt the heat of the fire biting at my neck, my chin. ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘What do you know?’ he said. How do you know? – that is what he meant to say.