Bloodtide

Then everyone else had a go. I was trembling. I was expecting the whole lift shaft to come down on our heads. Had hissed, 'Don't look so sodding scared!'

And I hissed, 'Are you really too stupid to be scared?' But I could see Val staring at me as well, so I put on the princely nothing-scares-me look he likes his sons to wear.

Up they all came. First Conor's family, his uncles and cousins and all the rest Then his top people – the generals and the traders and so on. They all failed. Then it was our turn.

Val himself had a go, and I'll say this for him, he wasn't bothered about making a fool of himself. But then, of course, he had the gift of making it look great He strode up to the shaft, wrapped his hands round the knife and went at it like an engine. The cords in his neck were sticking out like flanges. He looked like something out of a sci-fi film. I was scared silly the knife'd come out. He'd have gone flying backwards, but I needn't have worried, nothing moved. He turned round, flung his hands up to the ceiling and made his way back down.

'It'll be for a younger man,' he said.

Then Ben, then Had. Nothing. So then of course they had to make me have a go…

And I thought, shite.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't worried about looking like a twat, I can do that all on my own. It was…

The dead man smiled at me. Remember – before we killed him? And then when he came round the table he'd touched me. But even without all that I knew. All the time people were going to and fro having their goes I wasn't just biting my lips and wincing because I was scared the roof was going to come down.

That knife was mine. I knew the knife was mine. He promised it to me. No, he didn't say anything. He gave it to me with his smile and with his touch. I knew that was what it was all about as soon as he stuck it in the lift shaft. The touch on the shoulder confirmed it. And so did the way the halfman was staring at me and wagging his little tail, ever since Odin left the building.

If anyone had pulled it out, well, I'd have smiled and made as good a deal of it as I could but I'd've known in my heart that I'd been cheated. I knew: the knife was mine.

And I didn't want it.

Oh yeah, I wanted the knife part of it. I lusted after the knife. I could feel the way it would fit in my hand, I knew every chip on the rough stone blade even before I'd had a good look at it. The thing was a part of me, the way my bones are mine, the way my lips and my hand is mine. But, see, there's another part to owning a knife like that – a gift from the gods. Not that I believed in the gods, you understand, but even so… A present like that is wrapped up in a story that's not your own. I didn't want someone else to turn my life into an epic, even if they were a god.

All the time people were trying to get it out I was thinking, yeah, let Had get it He's the one who wants to be the leader of men! Or Ben- he'd die to own something like that! But at the same time I knew it wasn't going to be them. It was gonna be me, whether I wanted it or not.

I couldn't get out of it – no way. They wouldn't have let me, but even if they had, I wanted that knife by my side so bad I was willing to put up with any amount of that destiny crap if I had to. I walked up to it thinking, I'll be as gentle as I can, I'll just pretend I'm pulling. But the fact was I knew exactly what was going to happen. I could practically see the sodding thing winking at me.

I put out my hand and touched it oh so gently. It was none of my doing. I felt my elbow shoot back like the recoil from a gun. The knife and my hand together jumped back and I held it high above my head, and I let out a great shout It was surprise, and I looked up to see if the roof was coming down, but the whole hall took it for triumph and they rose to their feet in one leap, all two thousand of them, and yelled with me.

13

Then it was a roaring of voices, people crowding round the boy wanting to touch him. They all wanted to be a part of this. Siggy stared at the thing in his hand and he felt…

But this is not a feeling to be known. Who else will ever be given such a gift? Just to say, it was in the first place as if he had suddenly become a whole. Before he had been a piece, a fragment. He was himself for the first time.

And there was fear. Although Siggy had made up his mind long ago not to believe in such things as gods, although he told himself that the dead man came from Outside, that he was a creation of Ragnor or maybe from a city abroad, his heart told him that he had been in the presence of a god. He said to himself that this feeling of awe was itself manufactured by the technicians from Ragnor, who could make feelings as easily as they could a tin- opener. But tell himself what he would, his heart was certain that what he had seen was not mortal, and that what he held in his hand was not of this world.

He stood a long while staring at his gift. The rough stone blade was cleverly chipped to a sharp edge, but who would guess that it was the hardest thing on this earth? And who had so easily chipped it into shape? Then after a while Siggy became aware that the crowd was gone, and that only Conor stood by his side. He was leaning close and saying something in a quiet voice.

'What? What did you say?'

Conor smiled tolerantly, as a parent might. 'The knife, the knife,' he said. 'I have a favour to ask, a treaty favour.' He smiled, waiting. It was obvious. He waited for Siggy to make the offer. This was only a boy he was talking to. Siggy knew at once what he was going to ask.

Conor sighed. The boy's manners were not good.

'The knife,' he said again. 'As your kinsman… This is my wedding feast. I am the chief guest. The knife should be mine.'

Siggy said, 'You couldn't take it.'

'Oh, don't tell me you believe that sort of thing, boy. It means nothing, it was loosened by the time you got there, that's all. You did very well to take it out. But it should be mine. I ask this favour: give me the knife. As your brother-in-law. As your father's treaty-partner.'

Siggy looked sideways to where Signy was sitting at the table, watching anxiously. She saw him looking, and nodded. Yes, yes, give him the knife. Do it for me, Sigs, for old time's sake. Give him the knife…

Siggy weighed the knife in his hand and suddenly struck it, hard, in the wood of the table they stood by. It thudded home right up to the hilt.

'Then take it. And if you can, it's yours.'

The stillness settled all round them. Conor glanced at the knife but did not move a muscle.

'Go on. It's only in wood.'

Conor reached out a hand and grabbed the knife, but you could tell just by looking that under his hand it might as well have been the root of a mountain. He hefted. The table shifted. Conor scowled, but he wanted the knife. He put one leg on the table and heaved. He let out a savage grunt that gave away the effort; the muscles on his neck showed momentarily. Then he took his hand away, glanced briefly at the deep, angry marks he had made before he smiled and shrugged at Siggy as if this was just a game.

Siggy put out his hand for the knife and it leapt into his hand like a living thing. Gloating, he leaned close to Conor's face and whispered, 'You could cover this floor with gold and it wouldn't buy my knife. You'll never have this.'

Conor glanced over his shoulder and back. He was checking that no one was close enough to hear him spoken to like that. No one needed to hear. One look at the two faces told all – Siggy's, wide with a sick grin, Conor's, pale with venom and rage. Then he smiled at Siggy, and laughed good naturedly. It sounded entirely natural. He turned back to join the other guests. Siggy put the knife back home, into his belt.

14

The next day, in a small room in Val's apartments, the twins were having a bitter argument.

'You're barmy.'