Wolfsangel

25

It was the brief night and the lonely voice of a wolf was in the hills, far away over the dark valleys, its howl testing the emptiness. It was almost as if Vali could understand what it was saying. ‘I am here,’ it said. ‘Where are you?’ A bright full moon lit the night sky, turning Vali’s skin to silver, even in the pit.

‘They sound hungry, don’t they? Don’t worry, little wolf, you won’t starve for long. We’ve got two juicy hunks of traitor flesh here in the pit for you.’

It was the voice of Ageirr, the rider who had taken Adisla, come to taunt him. Her brothers had come before of course, but they had said nothing. Leikr had looked down at him, and Vali had felt his friend’s anger and pain. He’d tried to talk to him, not to defend himself but to tell him his little brother had died a heroic death, but Leikr had just walked away.

Ageirr was not angry; he was there for fun. He pulled down his trousers and took a heavy piss into the dark of the pit. Neither Bragi nor Vali gave him the satisfaction of complaining.

‘I did it with your little girl, you know, Vali. She asked me to. She said you couldn’t do it properly and would a real man please her.’

‘You’ll have the same pox as me then,’ said Vali with difficulty. ‘I thought your piss smelled like mine.’

Bragi laughed like he might shake something loose. The old man’s arm-thumping appreciation of Vali’s wit almost made the prince wish he hadn’t bothered.

Ageirr chuckled under his breath. There was movement beside him. He had someone with him, it seemed, most likely some of his cronies from Forkbeard’s bodyguard. He poked his head over the side of the pit.

‘You don’t seem bothered by what I did. Is she such a slut?’

‘Adisla wouldn’t look at you, Jarl Ageirr; she prefers high-born men.’

Ageirr set his jaw. ‘I am a jarl and the same as you,’ he said.

‘Is a jarl the same as a prince of the line of Odin? Tell me, did your father grant your mother her freedom before or after he knocked her up with you? Or is it true what they say, that she loved the thrall Kobbi and that you are his child?’

‘Which Danish pig’s bastard will Adisla be fathering?’ said Ageirr. ‘She’ll have been ridden from here to Haithabyr by now, and when they sell her on she’ll be ridden from there to wherever she’s going.’

Vali had been trying to keep Adisla’s likely fate from his mind since she had been taken.

‘If you’ve anything behind those words, step into the pit and let’s debate them in the old-fashioned way,’ said Bragi.

‘Oh, do be quiet,’ said Ageirr. ‘I wouldn’t want you alerting anyone to the little present we’ve brought for you. No no, you’re far enough away that no one will hear.’

‘Where are the guards?’

‘We are the guards.’

There was a sound of dragging and then some conversation between Ageirr and the other man at the top.

‘Take the bag off its head as you throw it in. No, you idiot. Cut the ties on the legs but hold the muzzle, I don’t want the thing biting me.’

There was a low note of distress that Vali had heard before. He knew what they had. It was a wolf.

‘Forkbeard will want to know how that got in with us,’ said Vali.

‘It just fell in, I suppose. You know what wolves are like,’ said Ageirr. ‘They sneak up on even the most vigilant guards. If you kill it, we’ll just say it fell in. He’s hardly likely to believe a kinslayer.’

The word felt sharp as a spear to Vali. Ageirr could try to humiliate him in any way and he would ignore it as the spiteful rantings of a fool, but nothing was more bitter to him than the truth that he had murdered one of his own.

Vali heard a scrabbling at the side of the pit, saw a flicker as something moved across the sky above him, and then a body hit him, hard. Instinctively he flinched back, throwing up his hands to defend his face from the attack of the wolf, but nothing came.

He heard a shout and the sound of a sword coming free from a scabbard.

‘Who’s there? Who’s there? No, no! No!’

Something else, wetter, hit him.

The light was dim in the pit but Vali could see perfectly well. It was just that his mind was having difficulty coming to terms with what was in front of him. Across his legs was the body of Ageirr. He was dead.

With them in the pit was another body. It was Signiuti, one of Forkbeard’s bodyguards, pulsing blood from a huge wound at his neck. He had fallen flat on his back onto Bragi, his sword still in his hand. Vali saw he had no throat; it had been torn clean away. Vali pushed Aegirr’s corpse off him, the blood black and shiny on the white of his hands, light on darkness, life on death.

Then Bragi was on his feet, taking the sword from the corpse’s hand. A face looked down at them. At first Vali thought it was a wolf. Then his eyes adjusted to the light. It was his own face, framed by a wolf’s pelt.

‘Do you mind stopping throwing bodies at us?’ said Bragi, ‘second thoughts, chuck a few more down and we’ll climb out on ’em.’

A ladder was lowered into the pit and neither man needed a second invitation. Bragi was up first. Vali untied Signiuti’s sword from his belt and followed.

When he put his head over the lip of the pit, he could see Bragi looking uncertainly at the wolfman. Feileg was freeing the wolf. He untied the animal’s front paws, then took off the bag. The wolf snapped and bit but Feileg made a low noise, inclined his head and scratched at the dirt. The animal became calmer. It looked about it, first at Feileg, then at Bragi and Vali. Then it ran and was gone.

Vali pulled himself up to face the wolfman in the moonlight. His instinct was to attack him but he had seen where that had got Aegirr and Signiuti. The bandit’s hands and face were covered with blood and Vali didn’t need to be told where it had come from.

The wolfman fixed him with a stare. His eyes seemed to go right into Vali. The prince recognised the look — cold murder.

‘Where is she?’ said the wolfman.

‘Who?’

‘The girl. Adisla.’

‘I don’t know. I want to find her. Why does it concern you?’

‘I love her.’

‘What?’

‘I love her. She was kind to me. It means she loves me too.’

This was too much for Vali to take in, so he concentrated on more immediate concerns. ‘We have to leave. Now,’ he said.

‘You do what you like,’ said Bragi. ‘I’m going to find the berserk. To back down is to admit my guilt.’

Vali looked up at the stars. He couldn’t believe what Bragi was saying. ‘Who to? Forkbeard? You know he plans to make war on my father. That is your enemy, down there in those farms. The gods have proved you right by rescuing you from this pit. Don’t spite your fate by throwing your life away. I’ll need your sword where we are going, old friend.’

Vali’s reasoning did nothing to sway Bragi, but the declaration of friendship was unexpected. He had wanted that from the prince ever since they had been together.

‘Very well,’ said Bragi. He went to the ladder and started to climb back into the pit.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting us some clothes for wherever we’re going,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to freeze to death and I think we’d cause a stir if we turn up in Haithabyr on market day naked.’

Ageirr and Signiuti had a good deal of gear on them. Since his return Forkbeard had insisted on his warriors being fully armed at all times in case of another Danish attack. Aegirr, the richest man in the area after Forkbeard, had a good byrnie over a padded jacket, a helmet, sword, shield and axe. The poorer but still affluent Signiuti had no byrnie but a good coat, a fine knife with a whalebone handle, the sword Bragi had already taken and also a shield. Vali let Bragi take the byrnie. The old man also took Aegirr’s helmet and his other weapons. Vali took Signiuti’s stuff. He wasn’t sure how useful the shield would be but he knew its value as a shelter from the wind at sea. And it was to sea that he was going.

‘Old Brunn has a faering on the coast just a vika from here,’ said Vali. ‘It’s half a morning to get there, maybe more as we’ll have to be careful.’

‘That’s our surest way home,’ said Bragi. ‘We could be at Hordaheim within the week.’

Vali shook his head. ‘Forkbeard’s longships would run us down long before that,’ he said. ‘We’re going in another direction entirely.’ He turned to the wolfman. ‘Thank you. I don’t really see how I can pay you but, should you come to the court of my father, tell this story and say Vali the Swordless bids them receive you as they would himself.’

The wolfman just stood looking at Vali.

‘What?’ said Vali.

‘Is the girl there?’

‘No, not there. We don’t know where she is — that’s what I intend to find out.’

‘Then I am coming with you,’ said the wolfman.

‘No,’ said Vali. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘I swore to protect her. You are going to her. I will go with you.’ He said this as if it was an uncontestable chain of reasoning.

‘She doesn’t need your protection,’ said Vali.

‘Sir, I think we should move before much longer. They may come to relieve the guards,’ said Bragi.

‘Yes.’

Vali said no more. He just pulled Signiuti’s cloak — half soaked from the pit — about him and made his way to the path towards Brunn’s house. The wolfman went to follow but Vali turned and drew his sword, more in anger than cold reason. The images of the two dead men in the pit came to him as he did so.

‘I said no,’ said Vali. The prince couldn’t quite put his finger on why he didn’t want the wolfman along with him. He had no reason to mistrust him; he had after all rescued him. But still he didn’t want to take him. His talk of having sworn an oath to Adisla bothered him. Who had covered the wolfman from the sun when he was tied to the tree? Who had released him? Vali couldn’t recognise the feeling within himself because he had never had it before. He had never questioned Adisla’s love for him, nor did he now. Inside him though something had sparked to life — not quite jealousy, yet not far removed from that emotion either. He knew that Adisla could not feel affection for this man, but something seemed to shift within him at a deeper level than rational thought. It was just that there were too many uncertainties in his life at that moment. The presence of the wolfman would add more than it took away. Yes, that was it.

A look of blind fury passed over Feileg’s face. Then he composed himself. He looked from Bragi to Vali and said, ‘I will follow.’

Then he was gone, lost in the rolling country towards the beach.

Bragi and Vali watched him leave.

‘He would have made a brute of an ally, sir,’ said Bragi.

‘Or a liability,’ said Vali. ‘He’s strange and he’s noticeable. Where we’re going we’ll already stand out as foreigners. With him we might receive an even harder welcome.’

Bragi nodded. ‘But he’d be some back-up in a scrap. Ageirr and Signiuti might have been idiots but they were as good a pair of swordsmen as you’re likely to meet. He did for both of them with his bare hands. You have to respect that level of raw violence.’

‘If we survive then it’ll be wit not fighting that brings us through,’ said Vali. ‘Come on, let’s get to the boat.’

Vali had been concerned that it would be dangerous to use the path between the farms because it increased the chances of them being seen. However, he now reasoned that most of the warriors were down in the main settlement and that, if they did meet anyone on the path, chances were they would have fought with him against the Danes and be well disposed towards him. That said, they would be duty bound to go to Forkbeard and tell the king what they had seen. The only difference between friends and those who wished him harm would be how quickly they reported seeing him. They would take the path for the sake of speed.

They moved off, up the hill that led away from the sea, down the side of the copse where the battle had occurred. There was very little sign that anything had taken place there. Everything of value — from broken axe heads and spear tips to the clothes of the dead — had been looted. Only a pile of naked dead raiders had been left for the ravens and the crows.

They made their way down the back of the hill into the valley behind the port. Smoke was rising from the farmsteads, from cooking fires and dung heaps. The sun was creeping up, though the valley was still cast in a long shadow. Only one figure stirred among the houses, a wife off to tend her husband’s flock. Most of the men were still at the hall. The farm animals were braying themselves awake, though the dogs still lay asleep in the doorways.

Vali looked back and thought that he loved this place and that this was the last time he would ever see it. They climbed again. The path, as he knew it would, took them past Adisla’s house. He saw the destiny he wanted — there together with her, he to guard the flock, she to make the butter. No battles to trouble them, no concerns of kingship or inheritance. If he ever got her back, he would renounce his claim to the throne and take up a farm. Perhaps then he would be allowed to marry her.

As they ascended the other side of the valley, they were seen. It was only a girl, nine years old and chasing with her dog along the path, but Vali knew her and he had seen her at the assembly where he had been condemned. She was Solveig, a noted mischief, doubtless on some errand from her mother as a way of stopping her waking everyone in the house.

Her face told him that she understood the implications of seeing him and, as artless as she was, she exclaimed, ‘Outlaws!’

Bragi and Vali exchanged glances but neither did anything and let the girl run. Both felt that there had been enough killing in Rogaland for one summer.

‘Can you go faster?’ said Vali.

‘You run on and I’ll catch you if I can.’

Vali smiled. ‘I’ll never sail a faering without your help,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately it’s a job for two, minimum, or I’d leave you to cut Forkbeard in two for me. Do you need the byrnie?’

Bragi slapped Vali on the shoulder. Vali could see the old fighter’s offer had been sincere but could also see that Bragi was pleased it had been refused.

‘It doesn’t slow me down,’ said Bragi.

This almost made Vali laugh. He had heard Bragi swear that he could move faster drunk in his war gear than he could sober in a tunic and trousers.

‘Then you must have been rare slow to begin with,’ said Vali.

They could hear the alarm going up in the farms behind them — shouting, the barking of dogs and the excited voices of children.

‘We’ll have one chance when we get there,’ said Vali. ‘As soon as they realise we’re taking a boat they’ll be back to the port for a drakkar. There’s a good wind, so we’ll sail out of sight of land then take the sail down and hope they can’t find us. Do you think we can make it?’

Bragi was puffing and blowing beside him. ‘I haven’t got a better plan.’

The sky was giving way to cloud coming down fast from the inland hills. Rain began and Vali was pleased. Anything that lowered visibility was to be welcomed. He’d planned to make for Haithabyr, against what Forkbeard would assume — that he would run for Hordaland. There he’d try to pick up word of the ship that had escaped with Adisla, to buy her back or if necessary steal her. If she wasn’t there

… He couldn’t think about that. Haithabyr was his only hope and, though it was a slim one, he clung to it.

Brunn’s farm was just two huts on a sheltered inlet. He made most of his living by fishing in his one little boat. Vali had no choice though: he had to take it.

It was pouring by the time they got there. The smoke rising from the vent in Brunn’s low hut made Vali wish he could stay for some food. Ma Brunn was at the door shaking out a cloth when they arrived. Her face went white when she saw them.

‘Lord Vali, Jarl Bragi,’ she said, nodding tight-lipped at them, ‘this is a surprise.’

‘Is your husband here?’ said Vali.

‘He’s down tending the boat,’ said Ma Brunn.

‘Are your sons at home?’

Ma Brunn’s hand went to her throat. ‘They are at the court, as you know. Men of fighting age have been there this last week.’

Vali nodded. At least he wouldn’t have to kill them. They were boys of twelve and fourteen, strong from years on the sea, but they wouldn’t stand against two swordsmen, let alone one of Bragi’s experience.

There was shouting and the barking of dogs.

‘I expect your boys will be here presently,’ said Vali and walked towards the shore.

He found Brunn pulling the boat down the beach towards the sea, oblivious to the rain. It was a well-built craft, high-sided to handle rough seas, four-oared and fat. On the beach it was unstable and leaned to one side like a gigantic mussel, gleaming black in the rain.

‘Brunn,’ said Vali.

‘Lord,’ said Brunn. The fisherman was a phlegmatic sort who, if he was shocked to see two named outlaws appear before him, didn’t show it.

‘Brunn,’ said Vali, ‘I have to trouble you, I’m afraid.’

‘For what, sir?’

‘For your boat.’

The clamour was becoming louder. Vali didn’t have much time.

Brunn’s eyes flicked up to see what was causing the noise. Then he looked at the weapons Vali and Bragi had by their sides.

‘It seems I am not in much of a position to refuse it,’ he said, ‘though I doubt you’ll get it out to sea in time.’

‘Apply to my father in Hordaland for compensation,’ said Vali, ‘and if I return then I am yours for whatever service you ask. On my oath.’

Three skinny boys had made the top of the beach. They were all armed with sticks.

‘If I starve this winter, then your boons will not do me much good, sir,’ said Brunn. Vali did not have time to reply to him. He and Bragi began shoving the boat down the beach. It was not light but the slope was with them. Vali glanced over his shoulder. Two farmers from outlying farms had arrived next to the boys. They were only in Eikund to answer Forkbeard’s summons and Vali hardly knew them.

‘Are the thieves taking your boat, fisherman?’

Brunn said nothing. It was an unusual situation and he was a cautious man. To call a prince of the Horda a thief was a boldness too far for him.

More farmers and a few thralls arrived, though no warriors so far. Bragi and Vali kept pushing as the men made their way down the beach. When they came within eighty paces, the boat was still five lengths from the water’s edge. Vali realised that they would not make it. He drew his sword and turned. ‘There are ten of us, lord. Let’s make this easy,’ said a stout farmer who looked like a barrel with legs.

‘There will not be ten go back,’ said Vali. ‘You know Bragi, trusted bondsman of Authun the Pitiless. The wolves howl his name, so often has he fed them.’

Vali was careful to use fine words, to impress the farmers.

It had some effect and the men paused. Vali could see their courage had reached a tipping point and could go one way or the other. He began to walk towards them, sword pointed. Unfortunately two of the men were drunk and, slapping their staves into the palms of their hands, came on.

What happened next was a blur. There was a scream from the farmstead as Ma Brunn saw what was coming. Across the beach, moving at speed, came the wolfman. He was not upright but running on all fours, his massive arms propelling him forward across the shingle. Suddenly he was between Vali and the mob, facing the farmers with a low growl. His face and hands were bloody, his eyes invisible beneath the wolf pelt. Truly he did appear to be a werewolf, a man-monster created by privation, ritual, blood and, most importantly, fear. Someone observing the scene from the safety of a boat might have simply seen a man with a wolf pelt on his head loping in a weird way towards the farmers. The farmers though, brought up on winter night stories of sorcerers who donned skins and ran as animals, saw something different entirely. Here was a creature of fireside tales come to life, staring them down beneath a black sky on a black beach, a fiend that could drag them down to Hel. The drink that had so emboldened the two men a moment before now reversed its effect, loosing unimaginable fears within them.

Feileg lowered his head and then threw it back, letting out an unearthly howl. The two drunks turned and fled. The others held their position but Vali could see they were ready to run. They seemed almost to dance upon the spot, taking a step forward, then to the side. Knives that were drawn were sheathed, and knives that were sheathed were drawn, weapons moved from hand to hand. The men glanced behind them to look for support. There was none.

‘The boat!’ It was Bragi.

Vali turned and resumed shoving as the wolfman stood seething and growling in front of the farmers.

The boat scraped and slid across the stones to the ocean’s edge. Another push and it came upright in the water, floating. Vali and Bragi pushed for all they were worth and then jumped aboard, leaping to the oars.

Vali bent his back, rowing hard. Twenty paces from the shore, he looked back at the wolfman on the beach. He was now running for the water. The farmers took courage from his flight and gave chase. Vali heaved at the oars, no time to get the sail up, as the wolfman splashed after them, thrashing through the surf in extravagant swipes. It was then that Vali realised he couldn’t swim.

Willpower alone was keeping him going but he was taking huge gulps of water with very little progress to show for it. The farmers were now raining stones at them. Vali ducked and turned to Bragi. He had been going to tell Bragi to pull them out of range of the farmers as quickly as he could but he heard his voice say something else. ‘Get him.’

Bragi didn’t hesitate, just rowed the boat around under the hail of missiles. A rock bounced off his helmet as they turned.

‘That works then,’ he said, tapping his helmet, but Vali could hardly hear him. They came alongside the wolfman not twenty yards from the shore. More stones crashed into the boat. Bragi had armed himself with pebbles for Ageirr’s hunting sling but his attempts to balance in the boat and return fire were doomed to failure, so he opted to do one task well rather than two badly and put the sling away.

‘I’ll come back on that beach and shove those stones somewhere they’re not meant to go!’ shouted Bragi. He took up his shield and started insulting the men on the shore, to draw their fire while Vali worked.

Vali leaned over the side. The wolfman’s legs were pumping to little effect, his arms thumping at the water. Bragi moved to the opposite side of the boat as Vali bent down to grab Feileg. Every part of his conscious mind told him this was stupid. He didn’t know why he was rescuing this dangerous wildman. All he knew was that after the mire he would never be able to watch someone drown. But was it something even more fundamental? He remembered that rune, the floating body beneath him that he had seen in his visions — the body that was him, the wolfman and Adisla all at once. He grabbed the thrashing man.

The prince took a couple of blows on the shoulder and back from Feileg’s flailing arms but then he had him. As he took the wolfman’s weight all the tiredness of the last few days seemed to descend on him — the battle, the ordeal in the mire, the pit, the flight to the beach — but then he looked into his face. It was his own, looking back at him.

The stones suddenly stopped, which Vali thought strange. He hauled Feileg into the boat and regained his oar. As he and Bragi heaved on the oars to get themselves to a distance where it was safe to put up the sail, he looked back. Brunn the fisherman was standing in front of the stone throwers, begging them not to throw any more.

‘He thinks they’ll damage his boat!’ said Bragi. ‘You bastards throw one more rock and I’ll chop it to bits and swim just to spite you!’

Vali felt guilty. He realised there was no hope of Brunn applying to his father if a war broke out and his promises had been useless. He had made a poor man poorer. Still, Brunn wouldn’t starve; the community would rally as it always did.

One hundred paces from shore, they fitted the mast into the socket sailors called the old lady and let the offshore wind take the sail. As the boat surged forward, Vali allowed himself a glance back at the land.

‘We shan’t see this place again,’ he said.

Bragi was lost in practical concerns.

‘There’s no chest for this byrnie,’ he said, stripping off the mail. ‘It’ll be a game keeping our war gear dry.’ He was right. The seats for rowing were just strengthening spars across the ship. They kept the vessel sturdy but they offered no storage.

The wolfman lay coughing on the bottom of the boat, looking very ill.

‘No sailor,’ said Bragi, nodding towards him.

‘Well,’ said Vali, as the land receded, ‘he won’t be murdering us while we’re at sea, at least.’

He looked down at the wolfman, as he had looked down on him in that vision in the mire. From now on, he knew, their destinies were inseparable.