‘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!’
17
Vali stayed in the hall, drinking away the raw emotions that were in him. Adisla did not join the party. She had said what she had to say and could see that her presence was causing him torment.
Vali collapsed with the others who had celebrated his return — a collection of old warriors, youths and the handful of un-favoured jarls who had stayed behind when Forkbeard sailed east. He became drunker and more unhappy with every sip he took. Eventually — he couldn’t remember how it happened — he was fighting someone. His opponent was worse for wear than he was and collapsed on the floor under his blows, cold unconscious. All Vali could focus on was Bragi’s face, red and roaring, holding up his arm and saying what a mighty man he had raised. The acclaim of the hall rang in his ears. He could drink no more and crawled beneath a bench, where he slept, his body restless but his mind dead.
Adisla, however, did not sleep. She returned to her mother and told her to accept the offer of marriage from Drengi. Disa, who had not been able to leave her bed since she was burned, hugged her daughter to her.
‘You’re sure. You’ll leave your prince behind?’
‘This is the fate that has been woven for me. The shore may as well wish to be the sea as I to marry him.’
Disa held the sobbing girl to her.
‘Go on,’ said Adisla. ‘Let it be done quickly.’ Disa let her go and sent Manni up to the hill farms.
Adisla could not sleep that night — though it wasn’t the enduring sun that kept her awake but her thoughts. It was no use, her bed might have been made of nettles for all the chance she had of sleeping in it. She got up and wandered down to the sea. It was as near to night as the midsummer had to offer, a pale washed-out light like that of the pre-dawn rather than true deep darkness. She found herself by the hall, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter from inside. It was late but the drinking showed no signs of stopping.
Adisla couldn’t bring herself to share in the fun, even though she had the most to celebrate. She felt hollow with misery but knew she had done the right thing. Her thoughts were like trolls, reaching at her from the darkness of her mind. She tried to lose herself in the beauty of the moon, low and huge against the sky of smoky silver. It was nearly full. For a month or more her destiny had been tied to it. Now, in days, she thought, Forkbeard would be home. She thought of the story of how the god of the moon had snatched two children while they drew water at a well, and how those children now rode with him in his chariot in the sky, pursued by a dreadful wolf called hate, who snapped at their heels. She had a wolf following her, one that had been set on her at birth — her station, her rank. She had seen what she wanted as if from across an impassable river.
Suddenly she felt very cold. She was, she noticed, sitting in the shadow of a pale birch tree. The darkness there seemed unnaturally deep and the air around her was very still, as if it had a weight to it, one that she would struggle to push away. And behind her she felt a presence, something quite unlike anything she had felt before, something that seemed born of cold waters and dark, damp spaces.
‘Is there someone there?’ She felt ridiculous saying this.
She stood and looked around. Like an arrow storm, starlings broke across the moon, wheeling in a shifting black cloud that turned and darted as one. The sudden changes in the birds’ direction made Adisla think of a thousand tiny gates opening and closing in the sky and of a story Vali had told her, one he’d got from Arab merchants, of a djinn, a demon of smoke, towering over her.
As quickly as they had come the birds were gone and with them the cold and oppressive feeling in the air. It was then she thought of the wolfman. She looked up past the last of the houses to the single birch where he was tied.
She was curious to see this strange bandit who had been forced to trade his life for hers, so she made her way up the hill. When she got to the birch, Tassi, the fat old man who had been charged with guarding him, was sitting on a low three-legged stool and looking very unhappy. Next to him was the wolfman, seated on the ground, leaning against the tree with his hands tied to it behind his back. He still had the bag on his head. The people of Eikund shared Vali’s superstition about sorcerers and were not about to allow him to enchant them.
‘Hello, Tassi,’ said Adisla.
‘You’re not about to start singing, are you? He might be a wolfman but he doesn’t deserve that. We draw the line at hanging ’em round here.’
‘No,’ said Adisla.
She looked at the wolfman. He was naked apart from a wolf pelt around his back and his body was smeared in a grey substance that she took to be chalk dust. The only places free of the grey were two red sores on his stomach and chest.
His muscles were remarkable, even to a farm girl who lived among people strong through toil. Even the berserks, with their potions and their constant drilling with weapons, their wrestling and their tests of strength, were not made like that. The man’s muscles seemed almost twisted onto his bones, like willow roots around stone.
She was almost inclined to check he was securely tied — she wondered that a normal rope could hold him.
‘Quite a specimen, isn’t he?’ said Tassi. ‘Although I got tired of looking at him after about ten breaths and now I wouldn’t mind just getting slaughtered.’
Adisla didn’t reply. She was scared of the wolfman but intrigued by him. Was it true what people said — that he had the head of a wolf, or that only the best steel could cut him? The man didn’t look dangerous now. He was clearly exhausted and breathing heavily.
‘I said,’ said Tassi, ‘that I wouldn’t mind the chance to take a cup of ale.’
‘So?’
‘Well, if you are going to be here for a while, couldn’t you watch him and if he tries to get away just come and get me?’
‘Couldn’t you have paid one of the children to do that?’ Then she remembered: Tassi was notoriously mean. He didn’t pay for anything if he could help it.
He shrugged as if she had made a ludicrous suggestion.
‘Go and have a drink,’ she said, ‘but don’t be too long, I want to go home to bed soon.’
‘Make sure you don’t take him with you,’ said Tassi, smiling and getting up.
‘What?’
‘I see the way you look at him,’ he said. ‘He’s out of bounds but, should you be in the mood…’
‘Go and have your drink,’ said Adisla.
‘As you like,’ said Tassi. He slouched off towards the hall.
Adisla didn’t like to admit it but Tassi had been right to a point. She did find the wolfman fascinating, but she couldn’t find a man like that attractive. He stank for a start, a musty smell more animal than human. She sat down on the stool. She wanted to say something sympathetic, something to make him feel better, but couldn’t think of anything. Instead, she heard herself ask: ‘Are you sorry for your crimes now?’
The wolfman said nothing. A shadow flitted across her and Adisla looked up to see what it was. There was nothing there, though the speed of its passing made her think of the starlings. She was possessed by a sudden urge to see what he looked like. She thought that if he tried to enchant her then she would just look away.
There was no one about and the riotous sounds from the hall were as loud as ever. She leaned forward and touched his arm. It was just as it looked, hard as a tree. Some of the grey came off on her fingers. She licked at it. As she had thought, it was some sort of chalk. The wolfman had not flinched when she touched him and this made her bolder. She lifted up the hood on his head. Now he did move, his head lolling forward. At first she thought he really did have an animal’s head. Then she realised it was the pelt of a large wolf, which had slipped down to cover his face. He coughed, and stretched his neck. Gingerly she lifted the pelt and was so surprised she sat back down
