Time, Eyvind reminded himself. Play for time; keep Nessa safe. “Very well,” he said. “If you want a brief tale, you shall have one, brief and bloody, a tale to sicken men’s hearts…”
He set it out as well as he could. It was a plain account; he had not Somerled’s flair with words, his dazzling wit. There was the journey to High Island, the climb, the mist, the terrible search and grisly discovery. He did not think he had left anything out, though it was getting harder and harder to think straight. The faces of the arbiters were blurring now, and the lamps seemed to be dancing before his eyes. He tried to explain how fear and prejudice had blinded them all. Why would King Engus want Ulf dead? The respect between the two of them was plain to see, and never more than on that visit to the ancient tomb. Then he spoke of Hakon’s death. They must understand that the islanders could not have committed that crime, it went against all they believed in. Didn’t anyone remember how Somerled had threatened this most loyal of Wolfskins? The fire that killed Hakon was lit on Somerled’s orders, as a demonstration of control. They must see that. They must see how this new leader had turned Ulf’s vision of peace into a nightmare of blood and conquest.
Eyvind’s voice was shaking; he needed to sit down. He tried to brace his legs, to square his shoulders. The young islander women were leaving the hall now, ale jugs empty. The fine small features, the proud carriage, the moon-pale skin brought Nessa sharply back to his mind. Thor’s hammer, was it only this morning that he had held her in his arms, felt the whisper of her long hair across his skin, the warmth of her body close-folded with his own, his other half, his completion? The women were gone. He turned back; watching him, Somerled gave a slow smile.
“What are you trying to do here, Wolfskin?” Harald Silvertongue took a draft of ale and set the cup heavily back on the table. “Your account is rambling and incoherent. Are you laying charges against the king, that the penalty for your own misdeeds may be set against the price of his? Justice is not dispensed in the old way here in Hrossey. Did you not understand when the king explained that?” His tone was not without kindness.
“Eyvind’s never been quick to grasp such matters,” Somerled said gently. “I well remember the time I tried to teach him how to make his name in runes; that task tested my patience hard, I can tell you. I might make this a little easier for him, or we’ll be here all night. Eyvind, you can’t press charges purely on hearsay. You must have proof. If I tell you I had no part in what happened to Hakon, that must be good enough for you, unless you can find witnesses who will tell otherwise. A legal assembly can take no account of unsupported claims such as these. Do you understand?”
Eyvind’s vision blurred again, and cleared. He didn’t seem to have any feeling in his legs. He set his jaw and made himself look directly into Somerled’s dark, unreadable eyes. “I understand,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “I will speak no more of Hakon, whose killing was designed to inflame us against Engus’s people. I will not speak of other actions that must lie heavily on Somerled’s conscience: the rape of a girl who was little more than a child, the cold-blooded killing of a man who sought to avenge that ill deed. I asked for an open hearing for one purpose only: so I could tell all assembled here that this man murdered his brother. He did it to achieve the kingship he has craved since boyhood. His rise to power has been based on a heinous crime against nature and kinship. That morning at the Whaleback, I knew I could no longer follow him, and I believed all had a right to know the truth about this fine new leader before they made their own choices of allegiance. Either Somerled did the deed himself, or he hired others to do it for him. I know how ruthless he is. I have seen it over and over, since he was a mere child. I know him better than anyone. The mark of his hand is clear in the manner of Ulf’s death, so carefully planned, so faithful to every detail of the foretelling whose shadow our good chieftain bore with him even to this fair place. Believe that I speak the truth. That is the only way I know.” His breath was coming shorter, as if he had run a race; he ended on a whisper, and the lights seemed to brighten and fade in a sort of pattern. He wondered if he were about to faint.
There was a scraping sound; Grim had come up behind him, kicking a three-legged stool in place next to Eyvind’s hobbled ankles.
“What’s this, Wolfskin?” Somerled’s voice, for the first time, betrayed a hint of annoyance. “Did I give you permission to approach the prisoner?”
“Sit down, you fool,” growled Grim under his breath, and Eyvind sat. He would be precious little use to Nessa’s cause, or to himself, if he collapsed unconscious on the ground. Somerled would not hesitate to conclude the proceedings without him, pronouncing both verdict and penalty in his absence. He must keep going: every moment was time gained for Nessa.
Somerled’s eyes bored down the long chamber in Grim’s general direction. “I’ll speak to you later,” he said crisply. “A man who does not heed orders has but a short stay in my household, and there’s precious little else offering in these parts. Now, where were we? Ah, yes: my brother. I’m impressed by the boldness of your statement, Eyvind. I can’t conceive of how I could have carried out the murder. Indeed, it’s difficult to imagine anyone committing a crime in such bizarre circumstances. To do such a deed would have required a man of exceptional strength. My brother was no weakling, and his will to survive would have been formidable. He had a quest here, a vision that had driven him a long time. It was Ulf who was the ruthless one, Eyvind, not I. He could barely wait for our father’s death to sell up and start making his great ship. The old man was scarcely cold in his grave when the agreements were drawn up.”
“And you lost your birthright,” Eyvind said softly, feeling the strange dizziness come and go in his head.
Somerled shrugged. “That meant little. I have always gone my own way.”
“Wolfskin?” Olaf’s voice was sharp. “You accuse the king of no less than fratricide, a crime abhorrent to any right-thinking man or woman. Your allegation appears to be entirely unsubstantiated. We can go no farther down this path unless you have proof. Are there witnesses whom you can call? Is there material evidence? If you have neither, then we will hear no more of your arguments. I remind you, Somerled is not on trial here, but you are, and it is your life that rests in the balance. You’d be wise not to forget that.”
“I understand,” Eyvind said, wondering vaguely whether the odd way his sight and hearing were behaving had anything to do with the injuries he had sustained during the day, or perhaps with Grim’s well-aimed hammer blow. “If I had been afforded time, as I would have been had Jarl Magnus presided over this hearing, I would most certainly have found witnesses. A crime such as Ulf’s murder, carried out with such delicate attention to detail, is not achieved without the knowledge of several men, at least.”
“Not unless the fellow that does it is of superhuman strength,” observed Olaf. “So, you’re telling us there are no witnesses?”
“I cannot produce them tonight. Will you not at least consider the manner of the killing? Ulf and his brother were together on the cliffs. They disappeared together when the mist came down. We did not see Somerled again until the sun had risen high on another day, and when he did reappear, his account of himself was sketchy and implausible. My lords, I myself trained Somerled in hunting and tracking, in the pathless forests of Rogaland. High Island is a bare, open place, where crags and hillsides offer wide vistas of land and sea. Somerled could never have been lost that day. He knows his way by sun and shadow. He knew the foretelling in every aspect. He had influence, men who would spring to do his bidding, men whom he had charmed into becoming willing lackeys, men who would murder without scruples to win a place among his inner circle.” Eyvind glanced at the knarr’s captain, and the man stared back, red-faced, his small, angry eyes full of dislike. “There was nobody else there that day who could have done this.”
“Nonsense.” Somerled’s tone was smooth. “There were four men scattered on the hillside that night, and none returned at dawn.
There were nine men waiting at the starting point, sleeping rough, unable to see their own hands before their eyes in the mist. I put it to you that any one, or two, of those men had as much opportunity as another to carry out the killing. All was confusion in the morning, so I’m told. I wandered dazed for the better part of the day, as did others. Who can say what took place there on the cliffs, and in what sequence? I only know my brother was cruelly slain, and that the nature of it pointed to King Engus. These island folk don’t think the way we do. The place is rife with superstition and sorcerous practices. Does not the manner of this killing suggest a sacrifice, perhaps to propitiate the anger of the ocean? One cannot make allies of a people so different in beliefs and in blood.’”
“Eyvind.” It was Olaf Sveinsson who spoke, his gaze intent on the accused man. “Without evidence, there is no validity in your accusations. It is time for these proceedings to be drawn to a close. We’re all weary. If the king agrees, I think we should take time now to discuss this in private, and you should be returned to your cell. You seem unwell; rest will prepare you better to face what is to come. Are we agreed?” He turned to Somerled, and Somerled nodded.
“There is evidence!” Eyvind sprang to his feet, his voice cracking with desperation. This could not end now, so soon: what about Nessa? “I had it in my possession that morning at the Whaleback, and Somerled stole it from me. Ask him, if you dare.”
Harald and Olaf both looked at Somerled. Somerled was watching Eyvind, and he wore once again that smugly anticipatory look. Now, thought Eyvind, now Somerled will say something like, I can’t imagine what you mean, Eyvind, and remind them all how dangerous a strong man can become when he loses his mind.
“Do you know what he means, my lord?” asked Harald. There was a little pause. The hall had fallen very quiet, save for a slight disturbance at the far door, where it seemed somebody had just come in.
“I believe I do,” said Somerled smoothly, reaching into a pocket of his tunic. “You mean this, do you, Eyvind?” He drew out a small object and placed it on the table before him. Eyvind shuffled closer. Thor’s hammer, Somerled was indeed a bold player; there was surely no way he could twist this to his own advantage. Eyvind’s heart was drumming violently; he felt the rush of blood in his ears, the sweat breaking out all over his body. For there on the table, clear and plain for all to see, still twisted in a tangle of knotted, bloody cords, lay Ulf’s silver belt buckle.
There was one peg left. The sea woman held it between her sharp white teeth. She gnawed gently, taking it out from time to time to squint at the shape, slipping it back to grind away again. At length, apparently satisfied, she fitted it into the last little hole and sat back on her heels with a contented burble of melody. The others reached out their hands, gravely offering Nessa the six strings they had crafted from close-plaited hair. Though the strands were silk-fine, she had seen the making and knew each had its particular thickness, its note, and its place. Now she must string them on the frame and awaken the voice of the dead. But it was dark; none but an owl or night mouse might see to perform such a task. Without these wondrous daughters of the ocean, she could not have come even this far. Still, she almost wished for the Hidden Tribe again; at least they brought their own light with them.
“I can’t see,” she said, her voice trembling. “How can I do this?”
Around her, the women of the Seal Tribe sat in silence now, as if waiting. Think, Nessa. It was hard to obey her own command, for she was weary, and her back hurt, and it seemed like a very long time since she had last eaten. And there was the nagging fear: her own folk enslaved, abused, Eyvind at terrible risk, because of her. Think. The beach, the stillness, the knife in her hand: the knife, that was the key to this. Nessa rose to her feet; she faced the west and moved in place to cast her circle, quite a small one in the darkness. She breathed the words of salutation and acknowledgment to each quarter, and turned back toward the ocean. Now her voice was not a whisper, now her chant did not waver but came pure and true. Around the circle, the five sea women stood silent as the last priestess of the Folk uttered her invocation.
“Powers of the earth, spirits of the ocean, deities of air and fire, I salute you! I acknowledge your power; I thank you for your guidance. My call is a grave one and desperate. You who watch over our steps day by day, season by season, you have seen what has befallen these peaceful isles. Our king is slain, our men cut down like stalks of barley harvested too soon, lost and wasted. Our women are captive, our little ones walk with fear-filled eyes, the wisdom of our old folk is cast aside. The Kin Stone is thrown down, the Folk are shrunk to a shadow of what they were. We cling on by the merest finger; we are a hair’s breadth from destruction. So soon have the islands been shorn of their human guardians, in the space from one springtime to the next. An evil has come to this shore, a darkness, which has stolen our lands, our homes, our lives. Somerled Horse-Master would rob us of our future; he would erase even the memory of what we were.”
The sea women had begun to sing again, low and pure, a flowing chant that wreathed itself around Nessa’s words. Their voices hummed in her blood, chorused in her breath, lending her strength.
“These men from the snow lands were not all bad. He who led them here sought peace; he came in friendship. For that, he was himself struck down. I seek to awaken his voice. I would bear him home to his own hall, and let him speak truth for all to hear. And there is another, who even now risks death to bear witness on our behalf. If I am not by his side in time, he will be slaughtered as our own men were. This must not be. I have heard the voice of deep earth, the voice of Bone Mother. Eyvind is our warrior. He fought and fell for us on our day of blood and terror, because I sent him forth to speak for the Folk. A lesser man could not have survived what was done to him, but he freed himself and came to aid me. This champion has yet a part to play here, a part far greater than simply to suffer a senseless death. We have lost too many good men in this season of carnage. Help me to save him. Help me to save the daughters of the Folk, held captive in Somerled’s settlement. Help me awaken the voice of Ulf, dreamer of dreams, the only true witness to what this cruel chieftain really is. Give me light! Guide me forth on this journey!”
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.
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