The Wolf Mile

by C. F. Barrington

  There was a roar from every throat and a clash of weapons on shields. Punnr realised that this must be the dream for all the warriors. To serve ten years. To survive. To earn the vast riches that the Pantheon offered. And then to live far away. At peace.

  The noise died and Atilius pointed behind him to the gap in the burning hazel from which he had appeared. ‘Go now. You will be delivered to Elysium forthwith.’

  The soldiers bowed to their respective Kings, then marched towards the opening, their helmets still under their arms. Two of the Vigiles filed away either side.

  Atilius turned back to the Royal parties. ‘We are done, my Kings. The Caelestia and the Curiate watch and wait for your actions in the Raiding Season. There is huge anticipation. As always, live up to their expectations. May Zeus and Odin give you strength!’

  He finished with a pompous flourish and waited while each king bowed to him, then spun on his heel and walked away.

  ‘Thank the gods that’s over,’ said Sveinn and proffered a hand to Alexander, still red with drying blood. ‘Good luck, Lion of Macedon.’

  Alexander considered before accepting the hand, then gave it a peremptory shake. ‘You too, King of the Vikings.’

  XXVI

  ‘Read it,’ Sveinn commanded when they had returned to the Council Chamber deep below South Bridge. They could hear the hubbub of the warriors in the vaults off the Throne Room. They would drink until the first commuter traffic began to filter through the black hours of the morning and then change back into their arrival garb and exit in unobtrusive groups through the Five Gates to an Edinburgh miserably waking up to its first working day of the year.

  Punnr opened the scroll and scanned the short message. The eyes of the Council were on him.

  ‘Well?’ Sveinn said.

  Look to the North – where swimming tests are always fatal. You will find me beneath the gaze of the genius.

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘That’s it?’ Sveinn demanded.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘What foolery is this?’ Bjarke exploded from one end of the table.

  Freyja leaned over the map. She had retrieved a marker pen, string and measure from a drawer in the table. Carefully she measured out from Tron Kirk, then attached the pen to the string and drew a circle that encompassed most of the map. ‘Radspakr, you said one-mile radius from the Tron. So the arena for the Raids lies within this circle.’

  Asmund came around the table to stand next to her. ‘Look to the North. Swimming tests. The only water in the northern half of the circle is a small stretch of the Leith at Dean and Stockbridge. As far as I’m aware, nobody swims there.’

  ‘We don’t need bloody riddles,’ Bjarke grumbled. ‘Just give me Titans to kill.’

  ‘What about the southern half?’ Sveinn asked.

  ‘Not much,’ Freyja checked. ‘Duddingston Loch is just beyond the perimeter. The eastern end of Union Canal falls within.’

  Bjarke swore and stalked away to a bench by the wall.

  ‘What say you, Thane?’ Sveinn turned to Radspakr.

  ‘Lord, the rules forbid Simmius and me from taking a proactive role in planning the Raids. It is for your military minds to solve. However, the clue seems clear about looking to the north, so I would suggest we focus our attention there.’

  A silence descended. Everyone except Bjarke stared blankly at the map.

  ‘What about swimming pools?’ suggested Halvar.

  Freyja walked to a mahogany dresser on the far wall and retrieved a laptop from a drawer. She began a web search and the incongruity of the screen’s artificial light shining on her silver chainmail was lost on everyone. ‘Dairy, Warrender and Commonwealth pools in the southern half. Glenogle and Drumsheugh in the north.’

  ‘I know those two,’ said Asmund. ‘Both fine Victorian pools. Beautiful heritage. They might fit.’

  ‘But there will be any number of hotel pools as well,’ added Freyja.

  Sveinn stroked his grey-streaked beard thoughtfully. ‘We have to be more specific than that.’

  ‘If I may,’ Radspakr spoke. ‘Atilius would not send us to hotels. Too many prying eyes.’

  Freyja interrupted him, still hunched over the laptop. ‘There was a drowning at Glenogle three years ago. Pensioner. Heart attack.’

  ‘This is a pile of goat shit!’ fumed Bjarke from his bench.

  ‘Jarl!’ Sveinn’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘If you have nothing positive to add, you are excused from my presence.’

  Bjarke bit back a retort and stomped to the door, knocking Punnr’s shoulder as he passed. Sveinn waited until he was gone, then sighed. ‘If truth be told, I don’t like these riddles any more than our departed friend. If we cannot solve them, we will have lost the Raiding Season before my warriors have even launched an attack. Thegn Punnr, your silence is thunderous. You may speak.’

  ‘Lord, I’ve little useful to add. I only wonder why the clue is so specific about swimming tests.’

  Sveinn harrumphed and stared blankly at the map. ‘The night is growing old and the troops call for our presence. We will adjourn. We have one week before the first Raid and before that, we must have this riddle solved and our approach plans agreed. Go now and share a cup with your warriors. We will meet again in three nights. Meantime, by Odin, solve this riddle and come to me with the answer.’

  Punnr descended the steps with the others. A wall of raucous noise hit them, as well as a heavy stench of alcohol. Fighters were packed into the vaults and were spilling out into the Throne Room. They had already given their weapons to the Schola youths to return to the Armouries and the scene could have been any other rowdy city party. Punnr saw Brante, Calder and a group of Wolf Company sitting at one of the tables and his tall friend raised a tankard of ale and cheered as he approached.

  ‘Hail the White Warrior! Come and join us.’

  Punnr took a proffered drink gratefully. He needed one. He hadn’t realised how drained he felt. He still wore the white armour and cloak, and other warriors came over to slap him on the back and push their beer-smelling faces into his.

  Brante winked at him, but then leaned forward and asked more seriously, ‘You okay?’

  Punnr just shrugged and tried to muster a smile.

  ‘You did well,’ Brante said, then sat back and continued more loudly. ‘Damn, those Titans liked the look of themselves.’ The troops around laughed. ‘Nice moving bastards. I thought I was at the ballet!’

  More guffaws. Punnr recognised this as natural tribal bonding after a confrontation with the common foe, but he felt too tired to join in. He knew the Council members would look to him to solve the clue and then, if he managed to do so, the Titans would use him as target practice on the first Raid. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. It was almost four in the morning and soon the Palatinate could stand down. He yearned to strip off his white clothing and go home to his flat and sink under a duvet. He was due to start his shift at the library that afternoon and the thought was ridiculous.

  Calder was next to him. She was studying her wine, moving the glass in small circles on the table-top so that the liquid spun to the rim and threatened to spill. He looked at her profile and it struck him that he hadn’t seen her smile since the Sine Missione. He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing.

  Then he saw Radspakr crossing the hall towards his Quartermaster’s office and anger shot through him, made rawer by the beer. He sprang up and paced after the Thane. ‘Lord, may I speak with you?’

  Radspakr scrutinised him then waved him into his office. He closed the door behind them, but didn’t beckon Punnr further into the room. Instead, they again faced each other by the threshold.

  ‘Have you shown my sister’s photo to your colleagues?’

  ‘My god, you’re persistent.’

  ‘Did anyone recognise her?’

  ‘If you must know, I’ve not let anyone else see the picture.’

  Punnr steeled himself. ‘Then I won’t be your pr
ecious White Warrior, not until I know the fate of my sister!’

  ‘Caution, Thegn. Have a care for what you say.’

  ‘Give me the photo and I’ll show it to Sveinn himself.’

  Radspakr’s eyes flared. ‘I will overlook your tone. You are understandably stressed after the Agonium, but you will not trouble our King with this matter or I will have you hung up and flayed until you scream for your mother. Do I make myself clear?’

  Punnr was shocked into silence and couldn’t hold the Thane’s glare.

  ‘Good,’ said the other man icily. ‘As it happens, I had no need to show the photo to others because I have discovered the fate of Morgan Maitland myself, after much time and energy on my part. It would seem you are correct, your sister was indeed a warrior of Valhalla, but I am sorry to inform you that she was killed last year. It was a quick death – a Titan javelin to the heart – so she would have felt no pain.’

  Punnr gazed at the Thane and he felt the blood rushing from his head. ‘Where are her remains?’

  ‘Cleared as always by the libitinarii. Their methods are thorough. All traces of your sister will have ceased to exist.’

  Punnr stood wordless, trying to understand this sudden news. Radspakr opened the door and gave him a firm guiding hand through it. ‘It is a shock, I understand. But it is the harsh fate of many in the Pantheon. You will get used to it. Go home and rest. You have a critical role to perform.’

  ‘When did she die? What date?’

  ‘In the Raiding Season. But I will have to refer to my Day Books for the precise date.’

  ‘What name was she given in Valhalla?’

  ‘Go home, Thegn Punnr.’

  He closed the door and Punnr stood unmoving in the tunnel outside. ‘By what name was she called in Valhalla?’ he yelled, but there was no response.

  He exited by the East Gate through the Market Street vaults. The Gate Keepers checked the coast was clear, then let him out into the morning darkness. The starlit night had been covered by a blanket of cloud which gave off a thin drizzle, so he pulled up the collar of his coat and let the rain patter on his hat. His mind rolled in turmoil. Images of Morgan slipped in and out of his brain, followed by the masks of Odin and Zeus, and the noise of Hammer Regiment as the Berserkers threw themselves into a frenzy. Beneath it all, like a stone in his gut, he felt the empty weight of loss.

  He let himself into his flat and collapsed on the sofa without even removing his boots. He must have slept, because the next thing he heard was a tapping on the door and he staggered up the hallway to find Oliver on the other side, holding a bowl of cereal.

  ‘An all-night shift at the library?’ he asked archly.

  ‘Something like that. What time is it?’

  ‘Eight.’

  Tyler moaned and wandered back into the main room. It was stuffy and cold, so he cranked up the gas fire and put the kettle on. Oliver still stood in the doorway and Tyler was tempted to tell him to get lost. He wanted to be alone, needed to compute this news that his sister was lost forever. Perhaps needed to grieve, though his mind could not yet grasp that concept. Instead a jarringly different question struck him. ‘You don’t know about any swimming pools in New Town or Stockbridge, do you? The Glenogle maybe or the Drumsheugh?’

  ‘Not really. Why?’

  ‘Someone told me a riddle and I want to solve it.’

  The lad stepped into the lounge, still holding his bowl. ‘I love riddles! What is it? Tell me, please.’

  Tyler debated whether to say more, then forced his brain to stumble back through its own labyrinths to recall the wording. ‘Something like – look to the north. Swimming tests are always fatal. Find me under the gaze of the genius.’

  Oliver’s bottom lip curled out in puzzlement. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, that’s the problem. All I know is it’s a clue to a location in a one-mile radius of the Tron Kirk and most likely in the northern half. I need an answer in three nights.’

  ‘This is important, isn’t it?’

  Tyler stopped stirring his tea. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Then leave it with me. I’ll see what I can find.’

  He marched out of the room and Tyler knew the lad would devote himself to the task day and night. He took his tea and sank onto the sofa again, staring forlornly out of the window and filling his mind with memories of his sister.

  XXVII

  The following day, in an attempt to process the sudden conclusion of his long search for Morgan, Tyler threw on his hat and coat and strode up onto Queensferry Road and across Dean Bridge, wandering towards the city centre. There was a greyness to the morning which was almost tangible, like Beijing smog, but when he reached the West End junction between Queensferry and Princes Street, he stepped into a churning mass of pedestrians fuelled by the New Year sales.

  He began following the current east along Princes Street, dodging bulbous shopping bags and trying to marshal the confusion of thoughts spinning through his mind. But then his eye was caught by something ahead. It was only a glimpse, instantly obliterated by the swarming masses. He craned his neck around a fat man and then a gaggle of youngsters. There it was again. Long, blonde hair, straightened to within an inch of its life, over a body that looked so small among the crowd. A black coat, blue patterned skirt and grey suede ankle boots. He followed as best he could, but she navigated the crowds effectively and he was afraid she would turn unseen into a shop and he would lose her.

  Could it be? If it was, he had only seen her hair straightened like this the first time they met and he could never recall observing her in a skirt. And then he realised the detail that had caught his eye. It was the clasp she used to pull her hair back, square and bone-coloured. Calder.

  On the first night he had ever seen her, Radspakr had said ‘You do not converse with one another beyond these gatherings’ – followed by the even simpler statement – ‘The Pantheon has eyes and ears everywhere.’ Tyler would do well to wheel away, but his feet kept him on a straight course and his eyes didn’t leave the little blonde head.

  She was approaching the corner of David Street and she glanced right. There she was. The pearl earring, the pale flawless skin and emerald eyes. Don’t let her see you, you fool. Walk away. Without a pause in her stride, she swooped left and through the heavy doors of Jenners department store, and Tyler found himself following before he could stop himself. It was the cosmetic area and his lungs were assailed by a tsunami of perfumery. He wandered past the Clarins and Dolce & Gabbana counters, feeling gauche in his hat, and then he spied her again heading up the wooden steps at the rear.

  On the second floor, he was just in time to see her disappear into the food department and weave through the aisles to the restaurant. He hovered uncertainly, staring at rows of Arran Oaties, Highland Fudge and Damson Gin Jelly, then peeked around the corner into the restaurant. She had paid for a tall latte at the counter and was walking to a table in the far corner with a view looking over Princes Street Gardens and the castle.

  Was she meeting someone? He thought not. A person awaiting the arrival of a friend looks around occasionally, checks the entrance and delays sipping their beverage. Instead, she seemed immune to her surroundings. She was hunching forward with her elbows on the table and absently holding the latte glass below her chin.

  The Pantheon has eyes and ears everywhere. He swivelled to take in the food hall. No one looked back at him, no face turned away. He retreated to the stairs, took four or five steps down, then dodged back up again. No one was exiting behind him. Cautiously he returned to the café.

  ‘Pot of tea, please.’ Once he had his order, he checked the room once more and advanced. She had her back to him. ‘Can I join you?’

  There was a split second as she turned when she was still somewhere in her thoughts, then her eyes widened. ‘Oh my god,’ she said looking beyond him and scanning the restaurant for the first time. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m planning to
drink tea.’

  She continued searching the room. ‘You can’t sit here. We can’t be seen together.’

  He ignored her and placed his tray across from her. ‘It’s okay, I’ve checked. There’s no one watching.’

  ‘Oh my god, Punnr,’ she said again as he sat, but less vociferously.

  He made a play of serving his drink, pouring a careful amount of milk from the little jug and placing the strainer on top of his cup. ‘Real leaf tea. Nice.’

  She was staring at him, a hint of teeth beyond her open mouth. ‘Punnr!’ she whispered. ‘You can’t just turn up and sit with me.’

  He poured his tea and finally met her gaze. ‘That’s what I kept telling myself. But then I thought, I’m here and you’re here, so what the hell.’ He had never seen her made up for a morning in the city. Her mascara, eye shadow and lip gloss lent a severity to her natural radiance. A different type of armour.

  She looked again around the café, then back at him. ‘So what are the chances of this?’

  ‘In a city of nearly five hundred thousand? Two hundred Valhalla warriors within a population of half a million. You know, it probably happens a lot more than the Pantheon would care to admit. But Atilius would need an army of Vigiles if he’s going to have them following all of us.’

  Finally she gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Do you suppose Radspakr and Bjarke bump into each other at the olive counter in Valvona and Crolla?’

  He found himself smiling and it felt good after the hours spent thinking about his sister. ‘And Sveinn’s always in my local Tums and Bums workout class.’ They laughed quietly and went back to their drinks. ‘It’s Tyler, by the way.’

  She studied him. ‘I’m not sure I should know that.’