Gudbrand hesitated; perhaps his mind was on the reward.
“What’s the matter? Lost your hearing suddenly?” Holgar loomed up behind Erlend, frowning ominously, and all at once there was nobody left but the three Wolfskins.
“Says he’ll see you on your own,” Erlend muttered, avoiding Eyvind’s eye. “Not very sensible, if you ask me.”
“Just don’t try anything.” Holgar’s voice had an edge to it; he seemed ill at ease, jumpy. “We’ll be right outside the door. No tricks. We know them all.”
The length of thick woollen cloth that hung across the entry was drawn aside.
“Eyvind is no threat to me.” Somerled stood there, his expression calm, his voice tranquil. He was plainly dressed in dark tunic and trousers, his hair gathered neatly back by a scarlet cord. “We’re like brothers. You know him less well than you think, if you imagine he’d ever raise a hand to me. But, by all means, stay out there if it makes you feel better. Down the hallway a little, if you please; this conversation is private. Come in, Eyvind.” He stepped back, and Eyvind walked into the chamber. “Oh, and by the way,” Somerled had put his head outside again, “tell someone we need a bowl of warm water and a cloth. And I think a jug of ale and a bite to eat wouldn’t go amiss either. Those who treated this prisoner so ill have erred; tell them that hasn’t gone unnoticed.” He pulled the curtain firmly closed.
Eyvind waited. This was not at all what he had expected, not after that bloody dawn at the Whaleback, and Somerled’s challenge to him. This game seemed to have no rules at all.
Somerled regarded him gravely. “You don’t look well, Eyvind,” he observed. “Let’s get these cuts cleaned up, at least. Turn around.”
Mutely Eyvind obeyed. He felt the light, deft touch of Somerled’s fingers as the rope which bound his hands was untied.
“There,” said Somerled, rolling the cord into a neat coil. “Now, sit down, and we’ll talk a little. It’s good to see you, old friend, no matter what has passed between us. I’ve missed you; so much is new here, and strangely enough I find I don’t particularly enjoy doing it all by myself.”
Eyvind sat. His arms ached; red welts made broad bracelets nearly a handspan wide around his wrists. His hands were shaking; he clasped them tightly together and made himself breathe slowly. A man sidled in with water and a small towel; another brought a tray with roast meat and a jug of ale. Somerled filled two goblets.
“You’re very quiet,” he observed.
“I don’t know what to say to you.” Eyvind looked into his old friend’s eyes. He could read nothing there but anxious concern. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Here, eat and drink a little. Let me tend to those cuts first; there’s crusted blood all down your cheek and across the brow, not to speak of what looks like egg yolk. You’ve managed to surprise me, Eyvind. The man who brought the news said you gave up without a fight.”
“I’m tired,” Eyvind said. “It seemed to me there was nowhere else to run to.”
“But you escaped my custody. Where did you imagine you were going?”
Eyvind did not reply. He would not mention Eirik or Thord; he would not speak of Brother Tadhg. No need to draw others into this. What he must do, he must do alone.
Somerled damped the cloth, dabbed at the wounds on Eyvind’s face. After a while he said quietly, “You can talk to me, Eyvind. I’m not some monster, you know. I am your friend as I always was; like you, I swore to be loyal above all else. That’s why you are here alone with me, not dragged forth to account for your actions before the whole court. I want this settled properly, and I want to protect you if I can. Here, drink this ale, you look like a walking ghost. That’s it. And eat. I suspect you’ve had nothing at all today. The men are angry; you cannot expect them to treat you kindly. They saw the way you defied my orders. They saw the way you stood against your own comrades.”
Eyvind felt confusion and doubt creeping back into his mind; his hand shook, and he set the ale cup down. “What do you mean, protect me?” he asked. “I’ve come here to tell the truth, that’s all.”
Somerled was watching him closely. “Truth?” he queried, brows raised. “Which truth is that? The same you were shouting that morning when you came back from the dead? Unfounded accusations wholly without proof, the rantings of a man driven out of his wits by long captivity and torture? You may choose to call those ravings truth, but I am king here, and these men follow me. On these islands, mine is the only truth that counts.”
Eyvind drew a deep breath. Thor’s hammer, his wrists felt as if naked flames licked at them. “So, you expect our people to follow a man who murdered his own brother?” he asked. “It seems to me you have let nothing and no one stand in the path that leads to your desires. I’m not sure you understand what you have done.”
“If you want to explain it to me, please go ahead, Eyvind. I’m here to listen.”
“On one count you are right.” Eyvind’s fists clenched tight; the shaking was getting worse. “I did swear loyalty to you once, and I meant it. I have never forgotten that you saved my life. From the first, I recognized in you what others could not see: courage, determination, fierce strength of will. A cleverness I could never come close to. A desire to be your own master and set your own course. I admired that in you; I saw a future in which those qualities would flower, a time in which you would set them to some great and noble purpose.”
A light had awoken in Somerled’s dark eyes. “Now is that time!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet and setting a hand on Eyvind’s shoulder. “Can’t you see that? We are here together, and I am king, and we have a whole new world to make as we will. These people look up to me, Eyvind, they like a leader who’s prepared to make hard decisions and to abide by them. They want someone who will adhere to the old gods. They don’t want some vacillating peacemonger with his head in the clouds, they want direction. I’ve given them that. They’re grateful. They’ll do anything for me. Look at your fellow Wolfskins, lurking out there in the hallway. They’re more loyal to me than they ever were to Ulf. I’ve given them real work to do, the only kind they understand.”
“A kingdom founded on a brother’s blood is not much of a kingdom,” Eyvind said quietly. “A battle fought on such uneven terms as yours against King Engus can bring no glory, only shame.”
Somerled’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me you would break your blood oath? That now, in the light of day, after time for reflection, after weighing the consequences, you would still stand against me, Eyvind?”
“I don’t think that’s what I’m saying at all. It seems to me my blood oath ties me to guide your steps in right paths. It forces me to tell you when you are wrong; to make sure you don’t do anymore damage to yourself or to others. What crime did Ulf ever commit, to bring down such doom on himself?”
Somerled’s lips tightened. “You are more brother to me than he ever was,” he said. “And yet you turn against me. In your efforts to destroy me, you will only destroy yourself. You said I didn’t understand what this meant. But you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”
“Maybe not. You always called me stupid, muddled. Perhaps it’s true. All I can tell you is that if you continue to follow this path of slaughter, destruction, and fear, I will fight you to the end, blood oath or no. Good folk have perished here, folk who were slain for no reason, save that you wanted what was theirs. A treaty was broken, the rules of right engagement callously disregarded.”
There was a pause. Somerled’s fingers toyed with an ale cup, rolling it against the tabletop. “And the girl died,” he said eventually. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
“What girl?” Even to himself, Eyvind’s voice sounded strained.
“The princess. The little priestess, Engus’s niece. That was a pity. I liked her. And I suspect you did, too; weren’t you hiding in that place where the island witches brewed their potions? I suppose you fell for her, though I did think your tastes ran more to the buxom, fair
type. But there can be no other explanation for your sudden insanity. She could never have been for you, old friend. She was far above you, a bride for royalty. Well, that’s of no account now; she’s gone. Never mind, there are several others to choose from, though the best we captured are already taken. I’ll give you first pick of what’s left.”
Fury quickened Eyvind’s breathing; with difficulty he held his features calm. “I don’t want a woman,” he said.
“What do you want, Eyvind? Why have you allowed yourself to be brought back here? Tell me.”
Eyvind swallowed. “A fair hearing, that’s all. Let me put forward the truth as I know it, call witnesses, present evidence before a Thing, or whatever assembly you wish to convene. Give me the usual time to prepare my case. I will accept the judgment of worthy men.”
“You? Prepare a case? Oh, dear, Eyvind. This time on the run really has addled your wits.”
“It is possible,” Eyvind said, “that truth may outweigh the cleverest arguments. I may be muddled and stupid, but I understand that. Are you afraid of the truth?”
“Of course not!” Somerled snapped. “I’m afraid of having to pass judgment on you, my oldest of friends. You’re such a fool you haven’t worked that out even now. Eyvind, I know you as well as anyone does. You just don’t have the capacity to win this. I have my own rules here, new ones. I don’t convene assemblies, I hear all cases myself. Judgments are summary and swift. That’s essential to maintain discipline. I’ve called you in here because it’s the only way I can save you. You disobeyed a direct order, you made wild accusations, you fought against your fellow warriors. If those charges are brought against you formally, and proven, I can only pronounce a sentence of death. It would be carried out within a day.”
“Death?” This was new indeed. In the formal hearings of Rogaland, a lifetime’s banishment was the harshest penalty a man might receive. Of course, unofficial executions by fire or ambush were possible, but these attracted their own penalty; such feuds could last for generations.
“It’s indeed so; I have decreed it. Necessary in these times of instability. I can’t afford any insubordination, any half-baked rebellions. Now, Eyvind, what’s it to be?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Eyvind rose to his feet, and instantly regretted it; after the day’s forced march, the old weakness had returned to his legs, and he had to set a hand on the table for support.
“I’m offering you a chance to redeem yourself. More than offering—I’m begging you to take it.” Somerled was pale; his eyes were deadly serious. “Let there be no more talk of Ulf and of murders. Let there be no more talk of Engus, of the battles we have won here, of treaties and the like. You cannot make the dead live again, Eyvind. Come back to my side; let us go forward as we planned once, long ago, a great king and his peerless Wolfskin. Your behavior can be easily explained, readily forgiven once the full tale is told, of how these islanders took you prisoner after Ramsbeck and played tricks with your head so that you could no longer tell friend from foe, right from wrong. You’re clearly still very weak in body as well as mind. Why else would the foremost of my warriors give himself up so easily? You can have rest, good care, as many little islander girls as you want to warm your bed. No need for any sort of hearing; I’ll announce that I’ve pardoned your indiscretion, and we’ll move on from there. What do you say?”
Eyvind was silent. In his mind he saw Nessa, a slight, graceful figure walking on the shore, turning her head to look at him, her long brown hair tossed like a banner in the west wind. He saw a young warrior’s severed head, fierce-eyed. He saw Ulf’s tortured body hanging in air. He wondered how Somerled would kill him, when the time came.
“Eyvind? Don’t make me do this, I beg you.” Somerled’s voice was shaking. It was the voice of a child who had once said nobody cared.
“I want a fair hearing,” said Eyvind quietly. “If you will not call an assembly, then let me tell the truth as I know it before all the folk of this settlement. Then, since you have appointed yourself sole arbiter, I suppose you will pronounce sentence on me. But I will be heard. I would like my brother to be present, if he can be called back from Hafnarvagr. I would like Lady Margaret to hear what I have to say.”
“It’s not up to you to determine who should be there,” Somerled snapped. “Odin’s bones, Eyvind, you’re such a fool! Why sacrifice yourself for nothing? Curse it, man, I can’t do without you!”
Eyvind managed a smile. “I think, for both of us, there is now no way forward but this,” he said. “You cannot undo what you have wrought here. Even if you stepped on your ship tomorrow, and set sail home to Freyrsfjord, the legacy of your deeds would shadow this place for long years to come, for you have robbed these folk of a whole generation of men. As for me, I can see no other way than to set things out as I understand them, and call on the gods and on the wisdom of ordinary folk to make wrongs right again. That is all I can say, Somerled, except that I am sorry: sorry that it has come to this between us.”
“Please,” said Somerled in a whisper. “Please don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re throwing away.”
The little image of Nessa came again, tiny and perfect, her grave features, her graceful hands putting a pattern of white stones in place, her dark hair shining in lamplight.
“I do know,” Eyvind said quietly. “I know how high the stakes are. And I know I must play to the end.”
TWELVE
Guard was slow, so slow. A brave dog and loyal, he did his best to keep up with her, staggering along behind, his long legs shaky at best. Nessa stopped three times on her journey so that he could rest, once by a stream where the hound lapped thirstily, once by the burned-out ruin of a cottage—she shrank to think what had become of the fisherman and his family who had lived there as long as she could remember—and later, in the shade of bushes as they neared the cliffs above the place she sought. She gritted her teeth in frustration each time. Poor Guard. Somerled’s henchmen had struck him insensible; it was not fair to expect so much of him. He struggled to maintain even a walking pace, and there was no time at all to spare. The women of the Folk had been taken, and now Eyvind was captive, at Somerled’s mercy. She had seen what this new king could do.
The sun passed across the sky. It seemed to Nessa the day moved on with cruel and unreasonable speed. Her burdens were heavy: the bag with its strange cargo gleaned from a chieftain’s barrow, and under her other arm the wolfskin, rolled tightly and bound with a strip of linen torn from her shift. She would not leave this great shimmering pelt behind, impractical though carrying it had proved. She had already allowed Eyvind to sacrifice himself for her, not once but twice. It was clear to Nessa that the skin was part of him, as integral to his self as steadfast heart or loyal spirit. The wolfskin must be kept safe. Thus, she reasoned, she might in some way protect him until the truth was at last laid out for all to see and understand. All the same, she chafed at every small delay, and as she passed through hidden vales and over gentle hills toward the sea, her mind was beset by images of what might be: Eyvind imprisoned, Eyvind beaten, Eyvind desperately playing for time so that she might be safe. He was in terrible danger. A man who would slaughter and burn as Somerled had would not hesitate to wipe another from the face of the earth if he believed him a threat. Friendship meant nothing to such a man. Nessa shivered as she stood on the edge of the cliffs above the hidden cove. Let him live. She sent a prayer to whatever god might be listening: Thor, perhaps, for surely this warfather would not abandon so patently heroic a warrior, whatever Eyvind himself believed. If the god had fallen silent it was for a reason, perhaps so that his son might listen to his own heart awhile, and make his choices in another way. Keep him safe until I have made what must be made, and journeyed back to find him.
She expected no answer, and there was none. She must simply get on with this. The way down to the cove was steep and narrow; she bore her burdens carefully, picking cautious steps on the slippery cliff path. Far below her the ocean rol
led dark and chill to the shore, and all the way down birds screamed, gliding and diving in endless dance about the ledges and crevices of the rock face. Nessa had no free hand to protect her eyes, nor could she shut them as beak or claws flashed past a handspan from her face. It would be thus all through the nesting season. Guard faltered after her, edging his way down the precarious track. At last they reached the foot of the cliff, where a small stretch of sand lay before shallow caves, and shelves of flagstone spread out on either side, offering a safe haul-up for seals and a fine spot for line fishing when wind and tide allowed. There were no fishermen here today. Perhaps there were none left at all; she had passed several cottages whose roofs were burned, and whose stock wandered untended. Once, she had thought she saw the body of a man sprawled in a yard; once, she had heard a dog howling. She had not ventured closer. How many of Engus’s people survived here on the home island? Did Somerled seek to crush every last one of them, to wipe out all trace of the Folk, so that even in the tales of future generations the knowledge of them would be lost?
She was here at last. Now she must work quickly to finish the making. Afterward there was another hurdle to cross, but she would not consider that yet. Nessa glanced at the sun. It was already sinking toward the west. If she made this tonight and traveled tomorrow, would she be there in time? How long could Eyvind hold out? He had been a prisoner since dawn: nearly a whole day. He might already be dead. Her fingers reached to untie the wolfskin and spread it out on the floor of the small cave. It was indeed a wondrous and powerful thing, whose magic could be sensed in every strand of its glossy surface. Wait for me, Nessa whispered. Don’t go on without me.
The task could not be completed without help. She knew that; it was the purpose of her journey here. Nessa unfastened the bag and emptied its burden out. With a faint, clinking music, the bones tumbled moon-white onto the silver-gray wolf pelt. A tangle of dark hair wrapped itself around them. She stared down at the jumble of shapes, biting her lip. It was only an old tale, after all: voice of truth in harp of bone. She believed it, of course she did; the only thing was, the stories never gave step-by-step advice as to how one might go about constructing the mysterious objects of which they told. Practically speaking, it was impossible. The frame could not be locked together; what might one use in place of pegs of wood or whalebone? How might one shape the curves with only a small knife and so little time? And what about the strings? A man’s hair could not provide the tension required to sound notes in a melody. It would snap the moment the pegs were tightened. Still, she had no choice. Such doubts must be set aside. Truth was the most powerful voice of all; truth would make itself heard against impossible odds. And for such a work of magic, Nessa must seek help from those who understood the deepest secrets of the heart and of the blood: those whose existence was part of the ebb and flow of the tide itself.
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