Wolfsangel

29

Drown, drown, just drown. Stop fighting, just drown. Adisla willed her self to sink but couldn’t do it. She was too good a swimmer and her body insisted on trying to survive, even in that cold swell.

There was shouting from the ship; the sail peeled back and men were pointing at her and yelling through the rain. The man in the four-cornered hat was there and had a drum in his hand. He began to beat it and to sing.

Adisla wanted to swim away from the boat but her instinct for preservation was too strong and she simply trod water, pumping her legs while willing her body to go under. Her skirts had filled with water and were heavy now, constrictive and tiring.

‘Freya, take me. Freya take me.’

She lost sight of the ship, then she lost sight of everything and knew she was sinking. Still she tried to breathe but choked. Then she was thrashing wildly, desperate to get up to the surface, desperate for air, her body moving to the demands of instinct not thought. But Adisla couldn’t find the air. It was as if a giant hand was holding her down, irresistible, pushing her into darkness while her arms flailed for the light. Her lungs were bursting and she couldn’t help but try to breathe in again.

And then it was calm and it was light and her mind wandered. She thought she was with Vali again, by the fjord on a hot sunny day, and they were laughing. The light weakened and dimmed and she realised she wasn’t outside at all but in a cave whose floor was submerged in water. There was something in there, a presence that seemed to bubble from the darkness, a formless animosity all around her. But when she looked, it was only Vali and he was saying, ‘Wait for me. I will find you. I am looking.’

But it wasn’t Vali, it was the wolfman. She reached out to touch him, but then there was pain and there was light and screaming, and underneath it all a strange chant and the beat of a drum that she knew came from the odd man who had sat next to her on the ship. She didn’t understand his words at all, nor did she like their sound — to her ears it was like a dog singing, rough and guttural, but inside her something stirred and she moved her arms, kicked off her skirts and struck out for the ship. The water seemed immense and strong, but the beat from the ship seemed to sustain her, and her movements became calm and purposeful even as she wept because she couldn’t drown. A rope was in her hands and then arms were reaching down for her. She was hauled back onto the ship wearing only her pinafore and leggings.

There was a face above her — the man in the blue coat and four-pointed hat. He had a drum in his hands marked with strange symbols. The red on the band of his hat seemed terribly vivid to her. The man leaned towards her, pushed back her head and held his ear to her mouth. When he heard her breathe, he took the cloak Adisla had discarded when she had gone overboard and put it around her. Then he hugged her to him to make her warm, holding her and whispering to her in his strange language. The Danes shot her lascivious glances but the man’s eyes kept them at bay. They were pale blue, the colour of cold sky, and the contrast with his dark hair was striking. Not a man in the crew doubted he was a sorcerer.

Adisla was coughing and shaking and frozen. There was an uncommon depth to the cold she felt. Whatever she had sensed in that cave had been real to her and meant her no good. But she had seen only Vali and Feileg, who she knew were her protectors.

The sorcerer crawled away down the ship and came back with a waterskin. She put it to her lips and drank.

The magician’s face was only just visible in the dim light beneath the sail. He grinned at her and she started. His teeth were filed to points, like an animal’s. He leaned towards her and said in halting Norse, ‘Do not hurry to that place, lady. You will go there again quickly enough.’