“Somerled?”
“Yes?” Somerled was making a map, his quill moving in confident strokes on the piece of parchment that lay, its corners weighted by polished stones, on the table before him. It was a map of the Light Isles, Eyvind could see that, with little bays and lakes and here and there words that he could not understand. It covered all the parts where Somerled had so far journeyed. There, in the northwest corner of the largest island, was the Whaleback sitting in the ocean, and a tiny line joining it to the land. It was wonderful that a man could make such fine things, such clever things.
“I wanted to suggest something.”
“Mmm?”
“It seems to me…I was thinking…”
“Come on, Eyvind, I’m not an ogre. Out with it.”
“I thought it might be time for that meeting with King Engus. Before things get any worse. You know what Ulf agreed to, what he wanted for the islands. I think he would expect that you make peace with Engus, despite what has happened. That might be best.”
The movement of the quill halted. Somerled looked up.
“Why?” he asked.
“I think…it seems to me there could be great losses here, if you don’t do something about it now,” Eyvind said, relieved that Somerled had not dismissed his idea outright. “There is still a chance of peace and cooperation. But you must move before it’s too late. That’s what I think.”
There was a little pause.
“Finished?” inquired Somerled.
Eyvind said nothing.
“You worry me sometimes.” Somerled was drawing again, marking in the cliffs of the west coast, south of Engus’s stronghold. “You make things so difficult for yourself, when really they are quite simple. If a man wants something, he should take it. Why worry about anything else?”
“I don’t understand,” Eyvind said, frowning.
“If I follow the path you suggest and become a man of compromises and treaties like my brother, there’ll be nothing to keep you amused over the winter but feeding chickens and mending holes in fishing boats,” Somerled replied. “Aren’t you itching for a real battle? You’re so good at it. Why else did I bring you here, after all?”
“Perhaps because we are friends, and you wanted me here,” Eyvind said, wondering why he was suddenly feeling cold, as if the breath of winter had crept into this fire-warmed chamber. “I do not relish the prospect of war with these folk. They are not our equals in fighting; such a conflict would be unfair, one-sided. There is little glory in winning such a combat. Besides—”
“Besides what?”
“There’s something more here. Not the folk themselves. We’d defeat them if it came to war, because our skills at fighting are superior, because our weapons are better, because we have Wolfskins. But they have…something else. I can’t say what it is. Something old. Remember what King Engus said, that first time? They’re part of the land, somehow, and the land doesn’t give up. Maybe that sounds silly, but you can’t ignore it.”
Somerled sighed. “It does sound a little silly, Eyvind, but you are my friend, my oldest friend, and I understand your concern. You can rest easy. I will be going to see the king, but not yet. The winter’s closing in; this is not the time for major campaigns, it’s a time for settling down for some serious planning, so we’re ready for whatever comes our way. There’s something you must remember. I am not Ulf. I conduct my affairs in my own way, and if folk want to be part of my household, they need to understand that. My brother died. That changed everything here. These people must be punished for what they did. I would be a weak leader indeed if I did not seek retribution for his murder.”
“I wondered…I did wonder if it was quite fair to blame Engus for what happened. He did say it was not his doing. Others say the same.”
“Others?” Somerled’s tone was suddenly sharp. “What others?”
“Just people, here and there. I don’t remember who.”
“You’re a bad liar, Eyvind. Of course Engus’s folk killed my brother. Of course they did. Who else would have done it?”
This was a question Eyvind could not answer; a question he did not want to think about. In his dreams, he still saw Ulf’s blind eye, his open mouth, his shattered wrist. He still felt the dead man’s body pressed close to his own. He sensed deep within him that, whatever Somerled said, in the end the islanders could not be defeated. Yet it was perplexing, for Somerled was right as well. The winter would be long and tedious; only the call of Thor and the bright challenge of sword and axe could relieve those dark months until spring. He longed for action. He longed to drown out the memories of that day on the cliffs of High Island with the music of war, the song of blade on naked blade. The helm Jarl Magnus had given him lay hidden in a corner of his storage chest. He had never worn it.
Eyvind did not try to speak to Somerled again on the matter. It was enough that Somerled had promised a meeting would take place. He must wait, and hope all would be well.
They had seen little of Hakon, now settled on his farm with his new wife, his stepsons, and his own small babe. But one evening Hakon came to the settlement. He brought a gift of a fat sheep, and stayed for supper. It was a good reunion. Hakon sat with Eirik and Eyvind, Holgar and Erlend, Thord and Grim, exchanging tales of times past, of battles won and trophies taken. More times like this, Eyvind thought, that was what they needed. Somerled sat at the head of the table, very quiet, watching and listening. Margaret was composed as always, features grave, a neat, demure figure in her black-dyed overdress and white linen.
They say drink makes men bold. The ale had certainly been flowing freely. Perhaps that was why Hakon, normally a reserved sort of man, spoke as he did.
“My lord,” he said suddenly, looking at Somerled, and everyone fell quiet. “I have not come here solely to see my old friends, though I welcome the hospitality. I’ve been hearing rumors that concern me greatly. It’s being put about that the treaty Lord Ulf made with Engus has been disregarded, and that fighting is starting to break out on your borders with very little excuse. A fellow died; another lost an ear. People are frightened, my lord. Is it true that you would take up arms against the man who was your brother’s ally?”
Somerled gave a slow smile. “You forget,” he said, “and that surprises me, for Ulf regarded you as one of his closest friends. I would not accuse Engus personally of my brother’s death; indeed I cannot, since his actions are well accounted for during the period in question. But I have no doubt his people killed my brother. Would you have me make peace with a bunch of cut-throats and murderers? If they don’t like what is happening, they have only themselves to blame.”
“If you believe them responsible,” Hakon said doggedly, “why not hold a Thing, so the matter can be settled according to correct practice of law? That would be well accepted, I think, even among Engus’s folk. You’d come closer to proving what really happened if it was all brought out into the open.”
“Well said,” Eirik was heard to mutter. “Well said.”
“There’s no need for a Thing.” Somerled’s voice was calm and authoritative. “I am chieftain here, and I will determine how matters are settled. My brother’s killing was an outrage, the manner of it barbaric to the point of obscenity. Resolving it goes far beyond empty gestures of reparation. And be warned. You have a wife here, and she is not of our kind. That renders you immediately suspect. It’s time for you to make up your mind which side of the border you consider your own: which side of the scales bears your weight. These islanders are sharp little fighters and devious in their ways. They may not take kindly to your visits here, and to your continuing friendship with your old comrades. They are certain to distrust any man of Rogaland who allies himself with one of their own women. You’re in a very uncertain position, Wolfskin, and you’d best look to yourself and your own.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Hakon, who had turned pale. “Is this a threat?”
“Of course not,” said Somerled. “I value my warriors de
arly, every one. I simply require a pledge of loyalty, that’s all. If I should call on you to fight, you must be prepared to do it, whatever the circumstances, whoever the enemy. It’s not so much to ask: no more than a Wolfskin’s usual promise to do battle for his patron. Will you swear this?”
There was a lengthy silence. Eyvind could see Eirik’s fingers tightening around his ale cup; the other Wolfskins looked down at their boots, or at the wall, or anywhere but at Hakon’s white face.
“Well?” challenged Somerled. “Not struck dumb as well as deaf, I hope?” He raised his voice, as if to ensure Hakon could hear him. “What have you to say?”
“I heard you,” Hakon said heavily. “And I will not swear. I cannot. My wife is one of these folk: so is my small son. I will not promise blindly to kill, when I cannot know if her brother, her father, her kinsman may face the point of my bloodied sword. For Ulf, I might have made such a vow. But not for you.”
And with that, he reached up to unfasten the silver clasp that held his wolfskin around his shoulders and, stepping forward, took off the heavy gray pelt and laid it on the table before Somerled. There was a collective gasp of indrawn breath.
“Very well,” Somerled said evenly. “You’ve made your choice. I wish you luck. You’ll be needing it.”
Hakon said nothing. He inclined his head toward Margaret, and looked at his old companions once more, and walked out of the hall into the night.
After that, there was some unrest. Eirik was angry, Thord silent, the others saddened but unwilling to put what they felt into words. Eyvind was sure Somerled must be wrong. When Hakon had married the widow, back in summertime when things had been so different, both islanders and men of Rogaland had danced at the wedding, and shared the same ale. But soon enough it was proven that Somerled’s misgivings were well founded. There was another border skirmish. This time Grim was in it, and he said that he had broken one fellow’s neck and finished another with his war hammer before Engus’s men fled into the darkness. Two nights after that, as Eyvind walked from hall to sleeping quarters he saw a fire in the distance to the east. It burned long and hard. In the morning, when they walked out to investigate, they found the widow’s cottage burned to the ground, and five sets of bones there among the ashes. You could tell from the way they lay that Hakon had tried to protect his small family, for his arms had been around them, his wife, her little sons, the infant, as if to shield them from the suffocating smoke, the searing heat. His face the color of the ash that still drifted and settled in that place of death, Eirik lifted out the remains, while Thord and Eyvind dug a makeshift grave. They laid their old friend to rest with those who had been his hope of the future. And when it came time to return to the settlement, Eirik said he was not going.
“What?” asked Eyvind, rubbing a hand across his face.
“I can’t go back. I just can’t do it. Besides, there’s a job for me in Hafnarvagr, guarding the ships over winter. Thord’s coming with me; his woman’s already down there. We’ll do well enough.”
“What if there’s war, after this?” Eyvind was surprised at the alarm Eirik’s announcement caused him. “We need you.”
“Listen, Eyvind. I’m not going to talk about this openly, not even out here. But you must be careful. You need to watch yourself. Why don’t you come to the anchorage with me? There’s no reason why we shouldn’t both stay there until we can take ship for home.”
Eyvind stared at him. “I couldn’t do that,” he protested. “Somerled needs me. He said once, that when he was…when he was a chieftain, I’d be his main bodyguard, his first Wolfskin. I think I have to do that, Eirik, even if…I think I have to keep my promise. Only until spring. Then I’ll go home.”
Eirik looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Be careful, that’s all. There’s danger all around you, little brother, and you’re not very good at seeing it sometimes. Stay awake; be watchful.”
“I wish you’d explain—”
“Shh. Some things can’t be spoken, not even here. There’s nowhere safe. And I’m all for getting home intact.” He glanced around the remains of the burned-out cottage, the pitiful heap of soil that now blanketed its inhabitants. “This is a cursed place, Eyvind. I never thought to bury my best friend thus, without dignity. And I’ll tell you something. It’s one thing to speak out, as he did. But I’d only to see them lying there, and think of Oksana and the boys, and I knew all that matters to me is getting back safe to Hammarsby. You won’t be hearing much from me before spring, and neither will your friend Somerled Horse-Master.”
The shadow touched Eyvind’s thoughts again, a suspicion, a doubt that could not be allowed to clarify itself, for if it were truth, it would open a yawning abyss before his feet. An oath in blood was binding and lifelong. It did not offer any room for doubt.
Thord had been laying sprigs of greenery on the low mound they had made. Now he came over to them, and Eirik fell silent.
“Farewell then,” Eyvind said. “The gods guard you.”
“You too, little brother,” said Eirik. “Farewell until the springtime.”
On a windy, dry day not so long after this burning, they sat in the hall before the fire. Somerled and Margaret were playing a game as they had so many times before, though now Margaret moved her pieces listlessly, as if her mind were elsewhere. She had seemed stunned by her husband’s death, and showed none of her old vitality. Somerled waited patiently for her move; he made helpful suggestions; he tried to divert her with jokes and tales, and sometimes he coaxed a faint smile to her lips, and a little spot of rose to her wan cheeks. Eyvind stood watching. It was Somerled’s choice to keep him close at hand now. The times were growing more dangerous, and it was prudent to take due care, since so many people depended on Somerled’s leadership. At the other end of the hall, a group of women sewed, and a group of men tended to their weaponry, sharpening blades, oiling leather, mending worn fastenings on scabbard or quiver. The wind howled outside, setting the fire flickering and hissing.
Thor’s breath, Eyvind thought. Something’s changing. A chill went up his spine; he could not say if it was excitement, or fear, or something else altogether. And then the door slammed open, aided by the fierce wind, and Grim came striding in.
“The islanders are assembling up the valley,” he gasped, holding his side, “a body of them, well armed. They didn’t see me.”
Already every man in the hall was on his feet. Belts were buckled, cloaks fastened, boots laced more tightly.
“Eyvind?” said Somerled. “Deal with this for me, will you?”
Eyvind had not, in fact, taken charge of such a venture before, but it was easy enough. “How many men?” he asked Grim, and was told at least fifteen, perhaps twenty. Very well, ten of their own must go in response. One Wolfskin was generally weighted against five of the opposition, perhaps three in the case of Danes; but the islanders were tricky, and they were on their own terrain, so one should err on the side of caution. Himself, Grim, and Holgar. And seven other men, including five who had crewed the knarr, not seasoned warriors, but known to be dogged fighters with a few of their own tricks up their sleeves. He bade them arm themselves quickly, and fetched his own things from the sleeping quarters. The axe, Biter, was already on his back. He strapped on his sword, and took the fine helm from where it lay in the chest. The rippling metal rings caught the sun from the narrow window, sending a dancing spray of light across the gray stone of the walls. This would be his first battle since leaving Rogaland, so far away now it was almost like another world. It seemed fitting to wear the Jarl’s gift, and to remember those times, so that he might demonstrate true courage and lead his small party to a victory worthy of Thor’s trust in them. Then the god would look kindly on him, and see him safe home at winter’s end.
They moved quietly, keeping to folds of the hills, seeking what sparse cover there was on the open ground. The sun was low; each rugged stone, each tattered bush cast a long shadow as they passed. The wind scoured the face of the land, sendi
ng birds hurtling across the sky, ripping at cloaks and setting the fine chains that fringed Eyvind’s helm rattling in a wild music of their own.
They came upon the islanders suddenly, in a narrow divide between two low hills, where a boggy stream flowed down. A man with a spear, two more behind him, bows drawn, more at the rear, red, green, blue tunics, fierce dark eyes, leather helms. Eyvind looked at Grim; Grim looked at Holgar. As one they opened their mouths and roared; as one they charged, and the others followed. Thor’s voice rang clear and strong in Eyvind’s head as he advanced, Strike hard, my son! Burn bright for me! Biter swung and fell, chopped and smote, true and final. Around Eyvind’s whirling form men screamed, swords glinted in the light, shields splintered, arrows whistled in air and landed with the dull thud of barb piercing flesh. At such times a Wolfskin knows only the red mist of the god’s will. Yet somehow, today was different. Eyvind saw Grim take a man’s legs off at the knees, and finish him with the handle of his war hammer. He saw Holgar split one fellow near in half. Every man played his part, even those who had been seamen once, and now fought the only way they knew, hard and dirty. But the islanders battled on. Though plainly outclassed, they showed no signs of retreating. And they had done some damage of their own. One of the men from the knarr lay moaning on his back, both hands pressed tight to his belly. Another had fallen face down into the muddy water underfoot; his neck seemed to be broken. Now there were fewer of the enemy on their feet, a mere handful. They should cut their losses and run, Eyvind thought. Why don’t they run?
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