Abarhild had not mentioned sending her to a house of nuns in all the weeks since Ingeld’s murder, but Elfrun was beginning to hanker for the haven her grandmother’s plan had offered. Take a bag of silver from the chest in the heddern, saddle Hafoc, ask Widia to come with her for escort, and ride the three or four days north. Knock at the gate, ask for the abbess, mention Abarhild’s name, and be received into silence and darkness, where she could give up being Elfrun of Donmouth...
Another foolish dream.
The equinoctial dark had come down quickly, and it was the last night before the new moon. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She might not be able to walk away from Donmouth altogether, but she could still walk down to the minster to share in the night offices. Perhaps she would spend the night with Abarhild, though there seemed to be nothing that comforted her grandmother these days.
And she would definitely take Gethyn.
At the thick stand of coppiced ash that marked halfway between hall and minster, she paused for a moment, one hand on the nearest smooth trunk, and tried to gather her chaotic thoughts, looking down through the clusters of bristling shoots and poles towards the tussocky grass and the salt marsh and the white-flecked sea beyond. The heavy branches of the untended standard trees were rustling and stirring with the wind; and it was a long moment before she realized that among all the slim dense verticals there was one that wasn’t quite right, a tree not like the others. No, not a tree. A human figure, a dozen yards away or more and wearing much the same browns and greens as the trees, staring up at her through the dusk.
Her first thought was that it was some kind of trowie spirit, and she stepped rapidly backwards, out from under the shadow of the trees, sketching the sign of the cross like a breastplate before coming to the realization that the figure was vaguely familiar.
That girl, the one who had been with Finn, three months back. Elfrun groped for the name in vain. Something outlandish. She was too distracted by the hot, shameful memory of herself screaming like a stuck pig and throwing that valuable beaker to shatter against the doorpost.
Gethyn had come running back to her, and now he too was looking at the girl, ears pricked.
She hadn’t moved. Elfrun went towards her again, back under the shade of the trees. The girl stood some way off the path, downslope, just where the trees began to thin out and mix with the long, fading grasses and brambles before running down to the salt-marsh edge. She was still looking intently up at Elfrun. There was something odd about her; it was hard to be sure in the failing light, but the darkness of her hair and her dress and the way the latter hung in thick clinging folds suggested she was soaked to the skin. Had she fallen in the stream? But that would never have got her so wet, not running summer-shallow as it still was. Elfrun frowned, and paused, and the girl beckoned imperiously. Ailu, was that the name?
‘What do you want?’ She could hear the peremptory edge and she tried to soften her voice. ‘Why are you here? Are you all right?’
The way the girl was poised, her eyes wide and her shoulders tense, reminded Elfrun of those times when she had found herself face to face with a doe in the woods, that moment of stand-off while the animal assesses its danger, the knowledge that if she were to take one more step the wild creature would break free from the moment of enchantment and hurtle away into the depths of the trees.
But this was silly. Ailu – no, Auli, that was it – Auli was just another girl. Even if they didn’t share a language.
She took another step, and Auli ducked her head and pelted away, hurtling down the hill despite having to haul her claggy, clinging skirts away from her legs with both hands.
‘Stay, Gethyn. Wait! Auli!’ Elfrun didn’t know why she shouted – the other girl clearly had no intention of coming back – and all she herself really wanted was to say sorry for screaming at her and Finn and throwing them out of her yards, and she couldn’t do that in words Auli could understand.
Elfrun looked for her but she was gone, down and out of the trees and vanished in the fast-fading light among the tall reed-beds of the salt marsh.
Auli had been trying to say something to her, with that peremptory gesture.
Why had she been beckoning if she was going to turn and run away? And what was she doing here, unannounced and alone?
62
Elfrun left the path, treading carefully among the mud and brambles as she worked her way down, trying to remember just where Auli had been standing. It was darker under the thickly pressing trees, and she thought angrily that here was another part of the life of Donmouth that had been neglected. With her father away there was little building going on, and less maintenance. Luda needed to send some of the men out here, from minster and hall both now the harvest was over, to thin the coppice and set the poles aside to season. The brambles needed cutting away, as well...
Gethyn gave a little whine.
‘What is it, boy?’
The dog whined again, sniffing along the ground, and Elfrun looked down.
She had almost trodden on him.
The man lay on his right side, his back to her, his hands bunched in front of his face and his knees drawn up high. His hair was dark and plastered against his scalp, and he was shivering violently. As she bent over him, she realized his tunic and leggings were soaked as well.
And then she understood it was Finn, and her insides did a slow turning-over.
Auli had been wet, too. What had they been doing?
But just being wet wouldn’t explain that curled, protective pose. Was he ill as well? Drunk? It was horribly reminiscent of crouching over Cudda’s burned body, almost a year ago, and she remembered that the first time she had seen Finn she had thought him Cudda’s walking spirit, coming up out of the depths of the sea. She reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm, braced for the scream.
It never came. Finn mumbled something and curled up even more tightly. It was sheltered here, but the wind still found its way in, those sharp little teeth. She gripped his left shoulder and gave him a shake, and when she took her hand away it was sticky, and she saw that her palm was darker than it should be. His tunic was soaked with blood as well as with water. Now that she knew, she could smell it.
Where was he bleeding from? Bramble scratches? No, something more serious, to soak his clothes. The dark-brown wool gave her no clues. She had to get that wet tunic off him, both so that she could get him warm and so that she could find the source of the damage.
If it was his blood.
‘Finn?’
He sighed again, and a shudder went the length of his body. Greatly daring, she put her hand on his face, then slid it down to the base of his throat. His skin was cold and his pulse hard to find, and fast and faint when she did; and Elfrun understood to her horror that perhaps she didn’t have long. She wasn’t so worried about his underlinen, but that sodden, heavy tunic would just keep him chilled and exhausted. She had seen enough of this kind of thing when there were accidents with the fishing boats.
Where had that useless girl run off to? An extra pair of hands was badly wanted, and Auli had had a handsome belt-knife the last time Elfrun had seen her. She herself wore a small knife at her own belt, good for little more than unpicking seams and peeling apples, but it was all she had. Shrugging her cloak aside she got to work, snagging and sawing at each tough fibre, peering closely in the gathering darkness. The tunic was made from coarse, greasy wool in a tight weave, and she was going from the back of his neck downwards. She wanted to be gentle and her blade was none of the sharpest, but she was more afraid of taking too long than she was of cutting her finger. There was a nasty little jerk every time the fibres parted, and the knife slipped as often as it bit into the wool. At one point she put the knife down and tried to tear the heavy cloth, but it resisted her grip, and she had to go back to bunching the fabric in one hand and cutting it one plied thread at a time all the way down to the hem. It seemed to take forever but she got there in the end. Straightforward enough no
w to pull it forward over his left shoulder, and ease it down over his arm.
She found the wound at once, just above his left collarbone, a sharp slit rather than a ragged gash. There was some bruising, and she guessed there would be much more before long. It wasn’t bleeding and it looked small, and Elfrun felt a moment of relief before realizing she couldn’t be sure how far the blade had gone in. Someone had stabbed with force, aiming for heart or lung or windpipe and by an extraordinary moment of providence had missed all three. As far as she could see there was nothing left in the wound.
And then she realized this might not be his only hurt. Blind panic gusted through her.
‘I’m going to get help.’
‘Ei...’
She leaned forward, her face only inches from his. ‘Did you say something?’
His eyes were closed. The gloaming was draining all the world of colour but she could see that compared to her own his skin was a worrying grey. ‘Auli, eigi hjálp.’
‘What? I’m not Auli. It’s Elfrun. I’m going to get someone to help. My grandmother will—’
‘Alvrun?’
He tried to sit up but had to stop and lean forward, visibly fighting nausea. When the shivering had lessened he said thickly, ‘No. Don’t get help. I don’t need help. It’s only my collarbone.’
‘But you have to get warm – here...’ And she bundled the cloak from round her shoulders and on to his. ‘Let’s get that tunic right off you, it’s chilling you.’ It was easier now that he could shift his own weight a little, and when she suggested that the wet linen should come too he shrugged and let her peel it from his flinching skin. She stopped at the sound of his indrawn breath, but he gestured her to continue.
‘Use the edge of the cloak to rub yourself dry, and—’ She stopped.
‘What?’
She was staring at him, back and shoulders and ribs.
‘Alvrun? What is it?’
‘Nothing.’ She pulled the cloak over his back and tucked it quickly and gently around him, defying the wind to nip through those fine soft layers.
Scars. Her fingers had found them first but her eyes could confirm that tactile evidence. The whole of his back was criss-crossed with a fine network of old scars, raised white lines darting this way and that like strands of sunlit gossamer on an autumn morning, standing out even against the pale skin of his back. She shook her head, trying to banish the memory, and the other pictures it summoned of how that latticework might have been inflicted. There was more recent damage to address. What would Abarhild have done? ‘Lie with your head downhill. You need to get the blood flowing back into your head and your heart.’ She thought of all that rich red life seeping out of him. What was left had to be coaxed, encouraged, cherished.
He tried to sit up abruptly. ‘Where’s Auli?’
‘She ran away. Shh.’
Elfrun was aware of a dozen pressing questions howling on the edges of her consciousness like wind round the eaves on a night of winter gales. Who had done this? Was it in a fight? Or had he been set upon? It was horribly reminiscent of Ingeld. And where had Auli gone running off to? If Finn was her man, how could the wretched girl ever have abandoned him in this state? But none of this mattered compared to the immediate challenge of luring the life-warmth back into him. The clang of the minster bell came to her faintly, its note fighting against the attempts of the wind to carry it away. She had forgotten all about compline.
‘I’m cold.’
‘I don’t know what to do. You don’t want me to go for help, but I can’t leave you like this.’
‘Hold me.’
‘What?’
‘Lie down with me. Hold me.’
‘I—’ Can’t, she was going to say. But she could, she found. Hesitantly, she sat against him and pulled the cloak over both of them, before settling down behind him, her breasts pressed to his back and her arms holding the cloak tight against his chest. He was still shaking, and she held him closer.
‘That’s better.’
‘Shh. You should let me go and get help. I don’t even have my strike-a-light, or I’d get a fire going—’
‘No fire,’ he said. ‘I don’t want them—’
‘Them? Who?’
She couldn’t see his face but the violent shaking of his head was enough to frighten her.
‘Shh,’ she said again, helplessly. ‘Stop it.’
Full dark was coming quickly. Inside her head there was a loud and assertive voice, telling her to get up and go, leave him with the cloak if necessary but get away. Someone had done this. Someone might come back. And even if there were no enemies, how could she possibly be here, lying down with a man in the dark?
He crossed his hands over hers and hugged them tight against his chest. ‘I’m so tired. Cold.’ He was still shaking uncontrollably.
‘Finn, are you lying on the earth? Your skin on the earth, I mean?’ She didn’t need him to answer. ‘You have to sit up. The cloak’s big enough. I need to put it under you.’
‘Don’t leave me.’ The fear in his voice broke her heart.
‘I won’t.’ She managed to get him propped up on his right elbow long enough to put a corner of the cloak between him and the cold ground before lying down again. ‘Gethyn!’ She whistled and pointed, and the dog lay down obediently on Finn’s other side, pinning down the edge of the cloak. ‘Good boy.’ She reached across Finn to ruffle Gethyn’s ears before pulling the rich fabric right over them both, from the crowns of their heads to their feet. Already it felt less strange than it had done only moments earlier to lie there holding this man; the darkness helped; and this time she squirmed until the full length of her body was against his and she could put her arms around him again, resting her right cheek against his bare shoulder. Perhaps the warmth of her breath would help, especially in the cave of the cloak. His leggings were still wet and she could feel the moisture seeping through the layers of her skirt, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Her hands were less hesitant, and she rubbed them gently up and down the smooth skin of his ribcage, trying to kindle some warmth without jarring him. His breathing was deeper and slower now and she began at last to feel that she was some use. Gethyn’s warm, heavy presence, leaning against Finn from the other side and snoring faintly, was an infinite comfort.
Finn covered her left hand with his again, and brought it up to his mouth, pressing his lips hard against her palm. ‘You have earned your mirror, Alvrun.’
He sounded so tired. ‘Go to sleep,’ she said.
63
When Elfrun woke, even before she opened her eyes or her soul had settled properly back into her body, she knew that Finn had gone. She lay motionless, sending out her awareness into the cold morning. He was not there.
But he had been there. Still she did not move, reminding herself of how his body had felt next to hers, and the pressure of his mouth against the palm of her left hand. The skin there still tingled. Perhaps if she went on lying there, not moving and not opening her eyes, she would find that it was still last night, that this was the dream and not the waking. But she could tell, even with her eyes closed and shrouded as she was, that it was dawn, and he had gone.
Gone. And he was wounded. The warm amber glow in which she had slept vanished like dew in the sun.
She pulled the cloak away from her face. It was a morning of mist, cold on her skin and so dull and thick that she couldn’t tell if the sun had yet risen.
Finn was sitting three or four yards from her, his back against a tree trunk, gazing down the slope towards the sea. He had put his stained and still-damp linen undershirt back on, and the damaged wool tunic lay bundled against him. Everything looked grey and sad in that light, but it wasn’t just the dismal morning that gave him that hollow-cheeked and weary aspect. He looked as though something inside him had broken. Gethyn lay next to him, with Finn’s left arm resting around his neck. Finn didn’t turn as she approached, but he held up his free hand and took hers to pull her down next to him. ‘Good
morning.’
‘You’re cold.’
He shook his head. ‘Last night I learned what cold is. I’m fine now.’ He was still looking down towards the sea. ‘Are you all right? Will anyone have missed you?’ He let her hand fall.
‘I’m fine too.’ And at the hall they would be assuming she had been at the minster, but no one at the minster had been expecting her. She wondered suddenly how long she might vanish for, before anyone thought to ask where she was. ‘Finn, what happened?’
He was silent for a long time, so long that Elfrun began to feel a slow burn of embarrassment at having asked such an apparently impudent question. She had no claim on him, after all. But at last he turned and looked down at her. ‘An attack.’
‘Was it Auli?’ She meant to ask the question that had been in her mind ever since remembering Auli’s efficient-looking blade. Had the girl stabbed him? But he evidently misunderstood.
‘Auli was out in the marsh. I don’t think they saw her. She hid in the reeds. The rest of us weren’t so lucky.’
‘Us? They? What they?’ Elfrun sat up so sharply that Gethyn whined and pricked his ears. ‘You’re saying someone – more than one – attacked you, on my land? What do you mean, the rest of you?’
‘Myr. Holmi. It was because of the bear.’
‘The bear? Do you mean the bear turned on you?’ She was frowning, shaking her head, trying and failing to match the stab wound in his left shoulder with what she had seen the bear’s claws do to Hirel and the dogs.
He was silent again, but this time she could see it was only because he was struggling after words. He opened his mouth once or twice and closed it again before saying, ‘Alvrun, there are things I can’t tell you. But the others, I think they may be down there.’ He jerked his chin towards marsh and sea.
‘Waiting for you?’
‘No, they won’t be waiting for me.’ His face contracted as though he had tasted ale brewed with bitter herbs. ‘If they were lucky, they’ll have gone, thinking I’m dead. I need to go and look, though. Now that it’s light enough.’
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