Wolfsangel

45

Veles Libor was not in a good mood. His promise to King Hemming that he would find a way to rid him of the prince and make him a little money at the same time had come to nothing. The deception of the escape — played for the benefit of the mob — had been a good one but he hadn’t foreseen the pirate attack. Hemming would fall into a fury if Veles returned without Forkbeard’s gold and would assume he had pocketed it himself. That, thought Veles, would be a problem to dwarf the unenviable difficulties he was already facing.

He couldn’t believe how quickly they had lost Vali in the fog. They’d scarcely cut him adrift when he disappeared and there had been no sign at all of him since.

‘I’d just cut loose from this king if I were you,’ said Bodvar Bjarki. ‘You could disappear east and he’d never hear of you again.’

‘Neither would anyone else. A merchant without a prince to protect him is nothing,’ said Veles, ‘and besides, his name is worth ten on every hundred to me.’

The berserk was ungovernable, he thought. The crew would have been mutinous if they had not been so depleted and weakened by the attack, and the ship was low on provisions. His actions during the battle had made him an object of contempt to the men and he had to endure being called ‘barrel man’, ‘keg creeper’, ‘tun tickler’ and whatever other less than inventive nicknames they could come up with.

Despite this, Veles now assumed informal command of the vessel, in that he determined its next move. This was not because he had any authority with Bjarki or the hired crew but because he was the only one who seemed to have any idea what they might do.

They stopped at the little market at Kaupangen, where he managed to sell some of the taken battle gear for a reasonable price and to hire five passably hardy-looking Danes to replace some of the men lost in the battle. He made sure the Danes knew who paid their wages and picked them for their brawn and stupidity. He wanted stupid — it was an essential requirement for the expedition he had in mind. He had lies to tell and didn’t want clever men finding them out. The crew was down to twenty-six — five for him, at least in theory, and nineteen for the berserk. The odds were very far from ideal but they were better than they had been.

Luckily for Veles, the berserk wanted Vali as much as he did. Bjarki had vowed to take the prince to Forkbeard and that was an un-negotiable promise, so for the moment he found Veles useful. Bjarki was a brute but not a fool, and he knew the merchant’s brains would be useful in the hunt. After that, well, who knew who had been killed in the pirate attack?

Veles looked at the berserk. He was no mind reader but could guess what Bjarki was thinking. The merchant needed to make himself indispensable to him.

When Veles settled to thinking about a problem then, if there was an answer, he usually found it. At Haithabyr he had heard whispers that Haarik was using Vali’s farm girl to ransom his son. He had not told Vali this because he had very quickly seen that the prince wasn’t in a position to pay for the information, nor to offer any other sort of benefit. However, now he saw a happy meeting of needs between himself and Bodvar Bjarki. The girl had gone north. Haarik had gone north. The prevailing current would take Vali north if he wasn’t shipwrecked on the way. Veles would take his ship up the North Land coast, find Whale People and ask for information about the girl, Haarik and the prince. Find either of the first two and he would find the third, he thought.

There was another reason to go north. He had heard of an island where the Whale People made sacrifices to their stupid gods. There was a rumour of gold there. Bjarki was convinced it was defended by sorcery but Veles thought otherwise.

In truth, Veles had very little respect for magic or for any god. He had seen his children playing by the fire with the Whale People’s holy objects, hung embroideries of the Christ god on his walls for decoration, heard people all over the world singing the praises of Wuoton, Odin, Raedie, Svarog, Spenta Mainyu, Jesus and other gods. All seemed the same to him — pictures and carvings beautiful but empty.

He put more faith in himself, the swords of Hemming and the power of coin than he did in the supernatural. The sorcerer who had made his child’s mask hadn’t been protected by his magic from whoever took it from him; Jesus had been taken to the cross with no angelic defenders, no bolts of fire from the sky smiting his enemies. Veles had actually laughed when the missionary told him the story of the crucifixion. What had the mighty god done to avenge his son? Torn the curtain on the temple. Cross Hemming and you’d suffer more than a ripped wall hanging for your pains.

So, the prince was in the north and Haarik was in the north and even this girl who seemed so important was there. He suspected magical beliefs figured in her disappearance and a look around the Whale People’s holy sites might uncover her. The prince wouldn’t be far behind. Veles thought he’d give it a go. It was better than returning empty-handed to Hemming, and maybe there really was gold up there, though he doubted it.

The journey was excruciatingly slow, hampered by argument and indecision. The whole trip should have taken them a couple of weeks, even against the current. Instead it consumed months. The berserk wanted to go after Vali but didn’t seem to realise that they first had to find out where he had been. There was no point randomly hurtling around the coast, as Bjarki seemed to want to do. They needed to ask if there had been a shipwreck, if strangers had passed by, if anyone had taken captives.

The Whale People were simple and friendly folk. They started out hostile and threatening, waving spears and screaming but if you gave them a coin or two they thought you a very fine fellow indeed and no threat — otherwise, why would you have given them the coins? So they wanted to please. Yes, there had been a shipwreck. Yes, strangers had gone past. Yes, there were captives. In their little dwellings on the headlands behind beaches, in their tents and by their fires Veles listened to them tell their stories of great storms, men with burning eyes and princesses of southern kingdoms tied to reindeer sleds and taken north to marry water spirits. The most recent of the stories, he guessed, was around fifty years old.

He had been freezing on and off the boat for two months when they came to where there was no further land to the north and the coast turned east.

‘What now?’ said the berserk. It was cold, very cold.

‘We go on,’ said Veles.

‘To what end?’ said the berserk. ‘The prince is wrecked on the coast. We should turn round and look for him.’

‘Tell me, Bjarki,’ said Veles. ‘Is this near where you were wrecked with Haarik’s son?’

‘Half a day’s sail south,’ he said. ‘We never did get to the sorcerer’s gold.’

‘No. Perhaps we should just take a peek down the coast and see what we can see.’

Bjarki shook his head. ‘They enchanted me. I became weak.’

‘You’ll suffer fewer enchantments if you don’t drink their wine.’

‘It wasn’t wine.’

‘I dread to think what it was,’ said Veles. He knew very well — fermented milk, a drink he always found deeply unpleasant and one he’d had enough of in his travels.

‘It was enchantment,’ said Bodvar, ‘not the wine. Drums. They made me weak.’

Veles raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, I’ve been weak all my life, so I have no strength for these sorcerers to rob. Come on, just a peek. I think I can only guarantee a rock in the sea, but who knows? You might get enough to pay Forkbeard his compensation. You did vow to pay him, didn’t you? You should do something to show your mettle. You do have something of a history of failure.’

Veles was treading a fine line between goading the berserk to action and enraging him.

The berserk looked at him. ‘I saved you,’ he said.

‘And now I will save you. The prince, if he is alive, will be on the holy island. If not, then their holy men will have heard of him. And these are peaceful people — they lie down at the first threat. If there is no treasure then there will at least be fine furs to be taken.’

‘They are sorcerers.’

There was no point in appealing to reason any more. The best way was to agree that the Whale People were powerful sorcerers — in which case they were doing rather badly — and that their spells needed to be taken seriously.

‘I have thought of that,’ said Veles. ‘I have brought this mask with me. They use it in their ceremonies and it deflects their power away from you.’

‘Then the mask is mine,’ said Bodvar Bjarki.

‘As you wish,’ said Veles. ‘But if we are enchanted, I shall rely on you to come to my rescue.’

Bjarki nodded and took the wolf mask from Veles. He put it to his face. It was tiny against his massive skull and the ties at its back hardly reached around his head.

‘This will protect me?’

‘All of you, the crew included.’

‘Good. If you are lying, Libor, then I’ll cut off your head.’

Veles thought that if he was lying and the sorcery was real Bjarki might not be in a position to cut off anyone’s head. If the sorcery wasn’t real, well, he was sure the mask offered good protection against people clicking their fingers and banging their drums at you. The berserk didn’t really think things through, thought the merchant.

The boat travelled east down the north coast into the falling cold. The sea didn’t freeze but they began to see smears of white on the landscape. The little ballast fire did something to keep him warm but Veles couldn’t quite stop shivering. It was a sort of crafty chill that you could banish momentarily by the fire or by adding another fur but that always seemed to work a freezing finger in — a cold of the bones, dropping from iron skies.

Two weeks past the turn east they came to what he thought he was looking for, but when they stopped, the local Whale People told him that the island he was seeking — Domen, also known as Vagoy, the wolf island, the blood-red rock — was further east still. He gave them a little money and said he would prefer that island to be beneath his feet as he spoke but only a couple then said that it was. The Whale People weren’t liars, he knew, just very eager to please.

‘Is there treasure there?’ asked Bjarki, but Veles did not translate this. Instead, he said, ‘Do your people hold it very holy?’

‘It is the place where our ancestors are. It is the mouth of the other worlds.’

‘And offerings are left there?’

‘More riches than you can imagine.’

‘That’s quite a lot,’ said Veles in his own tongue.

‘What did he say?’ said Bjarki.

‘I don’t think we’re going to be disappointed,’ said Veles.

They went on, and a week later, under a sickle moon, spotted the island. The dusk was flat and cold and the island rose from the sea in a featureless hump with a thin snow covering.

‘This?’ Bjarki was at his side.

‘Fits, doesn’t it? The blood-red rock?’

‘Looks more black to me,’ said Bjarki.

‘Use your imagination. No, on second thoughts don’t bother,’ said Veles. ‘Just find a landing spot, will you?’

‘Will the prince be here?’

‘I think we’ve established that I don’t know,’ said Veles. ‘Something may be here that may lead us to him. If not, there may be something else for us. And if not that, then the next time I hear of treasure in Ultima Thule I’ll be able to tell whoever it is they’re talking rubbish. Or perhaps I won’t. Perhaps I’ll send them up here to freeze their backside to the boards as I’ve done.’

The ship reached a small beach, grounding easily in the calm sea. Veles noted that anyone on the island wouldn’t get off without help. There were a number of little boats across the narrow strait drawn up on a mainland beach but none on the island itself.

Veles disembarked, as did the berserk and his men. Bjarki had his sword drawn. Veles glanced at it. In his experience a sword was more of a liability than a help in some situations. What was the berserk going to do if two hundred baying Whale Men appeared to defend their holy island from invaders? Wasn’t it better not to appear threatening? Particularly and especially if you actually were offering a threat.

They made their way up a rusty slope of loose stones. Veles thought the Whale People had chosen a very unpromising location for their gateway to the gods. He had been in many such places and some of them were very pleasant — gardens in the sunshine, vineyards even.

Veles shivered. He wanted to get out of this place — but not until he had found what he had come for.

‘Aha!’ said the berserk. ‘Maybe you are right, Veles.’ He was holding up a fine reindeer coat. ‘This’ll fetch a decent bit when we’ve given it a scrub.’

Veles looked at the coat. It was well made and relatively new. It would fetch a reasonable price, he thought, though he was more inclined to put it on against the cold. He stroked the fur and something came off on his hand. Blood.

‘That, as my mother used to say,’ said Veles, ‘is the mule of stains, and very difficult to get out. It’s dried on too. It won’t fetch much.’

They went on and found other things. There were drums and shoes, clothes and packs. Everywhere there was blood. Then they came upon their first body. And another. And another. All were awfully mutilated.

‘It’s a corpse hoard,’ said Bjarki, ‘a trove of slaughter.’

Veles might have argued with his choice of words but not with the sentiment. The top of the island was a field of the dead.

‘Lord Odin has had some fun here,’ said Bjarki. He had the wolf mask over his face. He looked slightly ridiculous, as it only stretched to just below his mouth.

‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Veles. He looked around and was glad he had given the mask to the berserk. Whatever had done the killing seemed to favour men who masqueraded as animals. There were about thirty corpses, or what the birds had left of them. A wolf’s nose jutted out here, a gigantic beak there. The ears of a huge Arctic hare lay at his feet. Veles could read what had happened. The coats and drums had been dropped by people who had not wanted to risk anything hampering their escape.

He kicked over a mask with his foot. There was a head inside it.

‘Looks like somebody beat us to it,’ said Bjarki, ‘though they’ve left enough furs. Doubtless their ship was too laden with gold.’

He was more used to this sort of sight than Veles and he picked his way through the corpses while the merchant caught his breath and composed himself. Veles looked about him. He wanted to be certain that whoever or whatever had caused this mess had gone from the island. The bodies had not been there for very long and the ravens still had some rich pickings. One pecked at a corpse next to him, watching Veles as the corpse itself seemed to watch him through the eyes of a stag mask. He didn’t like this at all and shooed the bird away. His confidence in the non-existence of supernatural powers was always stronger by a fire, drinking with his fellows, than it was in such wild places.

The crew spread over the island, looking to loot the unlootable. There was the odd fur, the odd knife, but these people had been very poor. Their drums might be worth a bit, Veles thought. He could always sell them back to them, or offer them as curiosities to the courts of the south.

‘Here’s your treasure!’ It was Bjarki’s voice, shouting from somewhere down the slope towards the open sea.

Veles couldn’t see where he was calling from. He walked down. This slaughter must have been some sort of mass human sacrifice, he thought.

‘Some Blot, eh?’ said Bjarki as if reading his mind. ‘Old King Hrutr did nine slaves at midsummer one year, but this beats that head or rump however you look at it.’ He pointed into a cave. ‘Down there,’ he said. ‘Look.’

Veles squinted into the darkness. He could see nothing. Anxiety gripped him. He wondered if Bjarki was luring him into the dark of the cave to kill him. No. The berserk would have had no qualms at all about splitting his skull in broad daylight, in front of a market-day crowd if the mood took him. If Bjarki had wanted him dead, he would be so already.

‘Do you have any way of seeing better?’

Bodvar Bjarki picked up a dead brand from the fingers of a corpse with as little disquiet as if the man had still been alive and simply passed it to him. Veles struck a flint, kindled the sparks on some wood shavings he had in his pouch and applied them. The torch flamed and the men went down.

Shadows danced around them as they descended. The light of the torch seemed merely an absence of dark, not a thing of itself. In it they saw runes painted on the walls.

‘Can you read them?’ said Bodvar Bjarki.

‘Treasure,’ said Veles, ‘and good fortune.’ He had never bothered too much with runes, preferring the Latin alphabet. He could read them but with difficulty. He wished they did say that, but it seemed to be the normal bilge about spirits and gods.

‘How did you see in here?’ said Veles. It seemed very dark to him.

‘It’s obvious it’s a tomb,’ said Bjarki.

‘So you haven’t actually been in here?’

‘I have no intention of letting you out of my sight, merchant. I don’t trust you. You’d strike a bargain with the men, maroon me here, sell the boat and cheat them out of the profit if I gave you as much as half a chance.’

‘The idea never occurred to me,’ said Veles. It hadn’t actually, but it was good to know Bjarki feared a mutiny, and kind of him to suggest a way it might be done.

The passageway stopped at a large mound of stones. There was no sign of collapse on the tunnel roof, so Veles took them to have been placed there. On one large block a rune had been carved, a jagged sideways swipe with a line through it.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve never seen it before,’ said Veles.

Some other men were behind him now, peering through the wavering light.

‘It’s a holy sign of their people,’ said one.

‘Very likely,’ said Veles, ‘and whoever did this slaughter has taken care to secrete something here.’

‘What?’

Veles shrugged and smiled. ‘We won’t find out until we open it, will we? I suggest you get to work.’

Bjarki grunted. Then he began on the pile of stones.