Wolfsangel

15

Vali really did think he was dreaming. He came to himself with that strange sensation that you sometimes get when waking in unfamiliar surroundings, when reality makes a sudden lurch and you don’t know where you are or how you got there.

At his feet, sleeping face down, was a powerfully built man dressed in little but a wolf pelt. The ruins of the pack were next to him, all food gone, and his wineskin lay flat as a blanket at his side. At first he thought it was dark but then he realised it was the shadow of the horses. They had pressed in as close as they could to him. No wonder. From down the valley he heard the call of a wolf.

Vali grabbed for his sword and drew it, pointing it at the sleeping figure. This had to be a wolfman. Vali didn’t know what to do. He knew it would be far more impressive to take the bandit alive and — more than that — it would be proof he had a wolfman and not some dressed-up slave. But the man — no older than he was — was impressively muscled. Even the thralls who did most of the heavy labour on the farms were not made so powerfully. If he awoke while Vali was tying him up then the prince didn’t fancy his chances in a wrestling competition.

Vali looked around him. The pack was completely empty, everything in it gone. There were the little cloth bags in which he’d carried Disa’s herbs all torn; there was the empty honey pot and the one containing the sleeping draught.

He smiled to himself when he realised what had happened. Carefully, he pushed the tip of his sword into the wolfman’s back, drawing a little blood. That was a relief, knowing that ordinary weapons could hurt him. The wolfman didn’t even stir.

Vali took the cord from the saddle at his side. He had never actually needed to tie anyone up before and didn’t quite know how to do it, so he erred on the side of caution, binding the man’s hands behind his back, then his legs, then his hands again and his legs again.

He had never thought of himself as religious or superstitious but he was almost afraid to touch the wolfman and certainly didn’t want to move the wolf pelt he wore over his head. It was a magical item, capable of transforming the man into a snarling half wolf. Even the merchant Veles Libor had taken those stories seriously.

Vali thought of the remedies for magic that he knew — not many, he’d had no reason or opportunity to learn them. However, he knew that magicians were supposed to be able to enchant you with their gaze and a way to negate this power was to blindfold them. He had nothing that would do for a blindfold; he did, however, have the bag that he had taken the rope from. But as he lifted the wolfman to slide the bag over his head, he caught a glimpse of something extraordinary.

The man was strikingly similar to Vali himself. His face was far more weatherbeaten and lean, and his hair was wild, but his beard was sparse and thin, like Vali’s, his features virtually identical. Vali shivered. This was truly a shape-shifter.

He pulled the bag over the man’s head, taking care not to touch the magical wolf pelt, breathed out heavily and told himself to be calm. Was this a shape-shifter? It was possible, he thought, that the man simply resembled him. He had seen very few dark-haired men. Perhaps they all looked the same. Bragi said the people of the far west islands had dark hair, and you couldn’t tell one from another. He also said that they stank — and this man certainly did.

Vali thought on. He had heard rumours and stories brought back by traders of something called a fetch, an evil spirit that copied someone’s appearance. He couldn’t remember what it was meant to do but he was sure it wasn’t very pleasant. He tried to regain his calm. He told himself he had been tired. No wonder he was seeing things. The sooner he was back at Forkbeard’s hall, the better, he thought. He tacked up the horses.

Vali didn’t quite know the best way to transport the wolfman, so he improvised. He pulled the man up to a standing position and then shouldered him across the saddle of the horse. He tied the wolfman’s hands to his feet around the animal and then looped a rope around his waist. He wound that around the pommel of the saddle at the front and the cantle at the rear. All the time the wolfman lolled and flopped as if he was dead. Vali pushed and tugged at him to make sure he was secure.

When he was satisfied with his work, the prince tied the reins of his captive’s horse to his own saddle, mounted and kicked towards home. From somewhere up towards the black bulk of the mountain he heard the wolves call. He headed down the valley with the horses at a trot. The sooner he was out of this country, he thought, the better.

M. D. Lachlan

Wolfsangel

16 An Engagement

News of his arrival had spread from the outer farms and the people of Eikund were there in numbers to greet him as he arrived at Forkbeard’s hall.

He had gone there by the most direct route, bypassing Disa’s house. He’d asked the first person he’d met about her and had been told she was very poorly. Visiting her, he thought, would be too much for her at that moment and he decided to wait until the clamour that greeted his arrival had died down, though he sent her word of his success. Every child in the area was running ahead of him, shouting and whooping and calling him a hero. Some of them touched the wolfman as he passed, or threw mud and cursed him. Women too rained insults on the man, and hit him with sticks for good measure. Vali had to tell them to stop it, as they were frightening his horses. The men stood with their arms folded, shaking their heads and laughing to themselves. They had misjudged Vali, it seemed, and they were glad to have been mistaken. Finally, he had acted in a way they understood. One or two of the farmers came forward with knives, shouting that they would kill the wolfman there and then. Vali drew his sword and they backed off. They were glory thieves, he thought, and if they wanted to kill a wolfman they could go and get one of their own.

It had taken two weeks for Vali to make his way home. The return had been in some ways harder than his outward journey. Leaving Eikund, he had been in a trance and had had to make no decisions regarding his direction of travel. On his way back he had no such help and had to decide his way for himself. However, he did recognise the country he had travelled through, and in the lush northern summer his tracks were clear — hoofprints from his horses, the nibbled bushes and manure that showed he had made camp. He even managed to shorten his journey by getting fishermen to row him across a few of the fjords. They refused payment when they saw his captive, glad he had rid them of a dangerous bandit.

There were practical difficulties. The wolfman had woken up after a day and Vali had been forced to chase after his horse, which had been spooked by his kicking. Vali had talked to the man and he had become calmer, accepting his fate like an animal. The wolves had proved a disquieting presence. During the day he didn’t see them, although he felt always that he was being watched, but in the long dusk he heard them in the hills. He had expected the wolfman to reply. Vali knew these sorcerers were said to command wolves. He decided that if the wolfman called for help he would have to kill him. His prisoner remained silent though.

There was the problem of untacking the horses at night, and of replacing the wolfman in the saddle every morning but, these difficulties aside, the journey had gone smoothly. They passed farmsteads and Vali asked for supplies. The farmers would have been generous to any traveller but, like the fishermen, when they saw the prince had a captured bandit, they were elated. They gave freely and Vali ate well.

At first Vali was almost pleased to see that the wolfman had developed sores from the chafing of the saddle on his side. He allowed him to drink, sparingly, once a day — though he never fully removed the bag — but he gave him no food. This meant that if he should work free of his bonds he would be less able to fight or run. Part of him was almost inclined to let him die. But Vali had finally begun to appreciate the merits of portraying himself as a hero. It might be a lie, but it gained him the respect of his fellows and made life easier. A week from home Vali had begun to feed the wolfman, to give him more water and to sit him upright on the horse. He wanted him to look fierce when he arrived back, the better to reflect on himself.

Vali’s success, it was agreed, was spectacular. It had been thought the mission would take him a minimum of two months and that Adisla would hang. He had returned in less than one and she was free.

Adisla was not at the hall. With Forkbeard gone to the assembly at Nidarnes along with all the nobles and the rest of the court, enthusiasm for keeping her confined had waned. She had never been more than half a day’s walk from her farm in her life so was unlikely to run off, reasoned her guards. Her habit of singing in a discordant voice during the evenings hadn’t endeared her to them either, and they’d let her go back to her mother.

However, as Vali tied up his horses, he was led aside by Hogni and Orri, both in a fever of agitation.

‘Prince Vali, Prince Vali,’ said Hogni, ‘I must talk to you.’

‘You have nothing to say to me,’ he said. ‘Your animals are safe and you may take them back now.’

Hogni kept his voice as low as he could. ‘You are in great danger.’

‘Are you my vassals?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Then act like it: fetch me mead and be silent.’

‘Lord, we must speak to you.’

Hogni grabbed at his arm. Vali glowered at him. ‘Do you presume to touch your prince?’

‘You must leave this place. You must leave now,’ said Hogni.

‘Why?’

‘It is cursed. A calamity is about to befall these people.’

‘What sort of calamity?’

‘We have only heard whispers, lord. Some say it will be a plague, some say the Danes are coming, but your mother wants you out of here by the next full moon.’

‘Tomorrow.’ Vali smiled. ‘Well, my mother can wait. You have a choice: stay here and share whatever fate befalls us, or go back to my father and do the dead lord’s jig, should he keep his temper long enough to hang you. Personally, I think your chances of survival are vastly better here.’

Hogni and Orri stood tall.

‘We are warriors and not afraid to die.’

‘Then prove it. Stay to the full moon and then I’ll be happy to accompany you back to my father’s court. You are dismissed. ’

The Horda men walked away, overcome as much by the change in Vali as by his refusal to go with them. He was no longer the daydreaming sword-shy boy he had appeared before, but now acted in a way they would expect from the son of Authun the White Wolf.

Vali watched them go. The Rygir were beginning a celebration. A horn of mead was shoved into his hand and he drank it down. Something was happening, he didn’t know what, but his mother would never have acted on hearsay. What was most likely? A plague? There was nothing he could do about that. His mother might have seen it through a witch’s vision, he supposed, but Yrsa had a well-known dislike of magic. What else? He made himself think practically. Pipes were playing inside the hall; Jokull the Skald was already singing a song about him. The only eventuality he could do anything about was a raid. If that was going to happen then he should stay to defend the people who had raised him.

Vali looked down at the little port. It was empty save for a few fishing boats. Forkbeard had taken his three drakkars with him and the knarrs were all away on trading missions. He had chosen a bad time for glory, he thought.

He pulled the wolfman down from his horse and tied him to a birch tree near Forkbeard’s hall. He called out in a loud voice, declaring the man his prisoner and warning that no one should do him any harm until Forkbeard had seen him. More mead was offered to him. He accepted. Then Adisla was there, running down the hillside, calling out his name. She was laughing, almost jumping with joy. Vali couldn’t help but start laughing himself, the sort of laugh that comes from someone who bends to tie his shoe and feels a rock whizz past his head.

She fell on him and hugged him, and he kissed her as she clung to him.

‘I have to say,’ she said, ‘I didn’t have a great deal of faith you would make it back.’

‘We’re so alike,’ said Vali. ‘Neither did I.’

She laughed again, although when he looked down at her he could see she was crying.

‘How did you do it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear what the skalds come up with. I’m going to say I challenged him to three competitions, eating, drinking and fighting, and made him so drunk with the drinking that I tied him up. What do you think?’

‘They’ll say you fought him.’

‘Well,’ said Vali, ‘let them then. Who knows, maybe I did. I would have fought a score of wolfmen for you.’

‘Only a score?’ said Adisla.

‘There has to be a limit,’ said Vali, ‘and a score is mine. One more than that and you’d be on your own.’

This joking and teasing was familiar to them but there was more to it now, something more insistent. Vali felt that his only way forward was with this girl, the only way he could see the future. He had to tell her what had been between them since the moment they met but neither of them had ever quite managed to say.

‘I love you.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘You don’t say you love me.’

‘Because the feeling is too strong. If I speak it I would never be able to deny it.’

She hardly managed to get the end of the sentence out, stammering into sobs and putting her hand to her face to disguise her tears.

‘Do you intend to deny it?’

She said nothing and turned her face away.

‘You cannot forget me, Adisla.’

‘I’ll never forget you.’ She threw her arms around him and wept into his shoulder.

‘Will you marry him?’

Adisla stepped back from him, composed herself and looked directly into Vali’s eyes. Even through her tears she looked so pretty, thought Vali. He wanted to stop her crying, to make it all all right for her, to see her smile and hear her laugh, but he knew that he was the cause of all her miseries. He was a hair’s breadth from everything he had ever wanted — the girl he loved, a beautiful summer afternoon, the sun warm beneath the fresh breeze — but it may as well all have been an ocean away.

‘You will?’ he said.

‘Vali, I will not be your concubine and I cannot be your wife. What choice do I have?’

Vali nodded. ‘Drengi is a fine man. He’s been a good friend to all of us. I wish you could have picked someone who I could have consoled myself by hating.’

‘I didn’t pick him, Vali. How many men are there to choose from? Five farmers’ sons in the whole area, and three of those wouldn’t look at me because I have such a skinny dowry. And I am old, Vali, three summers past the time most girls are married. Fate put us together.’

‘No,’ said Vali. ‘Fate put us together. Our skein is woven into one cloth. The wolfman was given to me — I didn’t need to lift a finger. The gods were on my side.’

‘I’ve never heard you mention the gods before.’

‘I’ve never needed them before. I swear, Lord Odin, give me this girl or I will move against you in whatever way I can.’

On a tree behind the hall two ravens alighted.

Adisla’s eyes widened. ‘Well,’ she said, stroking Vali’s cheek, ‘he’s heard you now.’

Vali felt tears come into his own eyes, though he chuckled. ‘Well, listen to this then, you couple of mangy chickens. Tell your master that if I don’t get what I want then I’m coming for him. He should keep his spear by his side because if he defies me the gods’ final day starts here!’ He tapped his sword.

The ravens took off again, moving low across the buildings, their black shapes rising up and over the hill like forgetful little pieces of the night flapping out of the day.

‘Sshhh!’ said Adisla, almost ducking. ‘What if those are his intelligencers?’ She laughed but Vali could see that she meant what she said.

He smiled. ‘Let’s hope they are,’ he said, ‘because I want him to hear the message.’

Vali wasn’t sure at first if the blow had caught him on his chest or his back. It was so hard that it nearly knocked him into Adisla. He turned to see Bragi, the old man’s face glowing and his arms wide.

‘You did it, boy, you did it. I never had a moment’s doubt. How could you fail with the training you’ve had? You did it.’

‘Thank you, Bragi,’ said Vali. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

The old man almost danced a jig.

‘Let me see the old girl,’ he said, taking the sword from Vali’s scabbard. ‘I bet you had a good sup of wolf blood, didn’t you, my lady?’

Vali looked at Adisla. There was the destiny he wanted — home, hearth and love — ready to walk away from him. He looked at Bragi, the destiny that had been thrust upon him, and for the first time saw it was useless to resist.

‘I killed three of them,’ said Vali. ‘It was the crafty pommel strike you drilled into me that did for two.’

‘Good lad, good lad! More mead, more mead!’ said Bragi. ‘This is a king, didn’t I tell you, this is a king!’