Foxmask

by Juliet Marillier

  “I see.” Asgrim’s tone was level still, his expression bland. “A challenge. And, of course, you are right. There were rules, once. Such niceties can hardly be observed in times of conflict such as we have endured. A conflict, I must point out, that you have survived only because of the quality of my own leadership, my unrelenting will to hold back the enemy. Who among you would have done what I have done for you? If not for me, many more would have perished. The Long Knife people would have been finished years ago. You can’t do without me. Try it, and the Unspoken will be on your doorstep again tomorrow with some new demand, and when you can’t meet it, they’ll be back to take your children, to sing them on their swift journey to oblivion—”

  “Enough!” This time, astonishingly, it was Wieland who cried out, Wieland who leaped to his feet, an accusatory finger pointed straight at Asgrim. “How dare you speak thus before my wife, and before the other women of our people who have seen their babes sacrificed thus? How dare you darken their minds with your fearful lies? The war is over! The seer is restored! We want no more of your falsehoods and your cruelty!” The young man subsided back to the earthen shelf, and his wife slipped her arm around his shoulders. There was a chorus of voices, both male and female, all of them approving.

  “Strongly spoken, lad,” Asgrim said, folding his arms. “I understand that emotions run high at times like these. It’s been hard for all of us. That’s why it seems to me that now is not the best time for formal debate of such weighty matters. You’re not yourselves. We should give it a few days at least, time to talk it through, time for Hogni to be sent to his rest and the others accorded a mourning period of some dignity. Besides”—he glanced to the back of the shelter, where Breccan sat by his friend’s side—“there are outsiders here, folk who should not be admitted to such an assembly. You speak of rules, Einar. That is one of the rules.”

  “Brother Niall is my father.” Thorvald was astonished by the pride it gave him to be able to say this, the courage he felt flooding back as he spoke. Perhaps this would not be so difficult after all. “I think you may find the rules allow him to be here by virtue of kinship. Sam and I, incomers as we are, are most certainly of your company of warriors, and have earned our places among you. Brother Breccan’s here to tend an injured man; Creidhe also. Let us proceed with this. I understand that, if there are candidates for leadership, they must be allocated time to speak, to set forth their claims each in turn. They may then request that two or three others speak in support of them. Then the people make a choice. Do I have it right?”

  Asgrim looked at him. “It is a long time since my own election as Ruler,” he said grimly. “I took the place of a man who died, and I was unopposed. What you suggest could be lengthy. If there were several contenders, we could be here all night.”

  “There’s only two contenders.” Skolli’s deep voice cut across the chamber. “Yourself and Thorvald. And we need no setting out of claims to help us choose between you. It’ll be over in a flash.”

  Asgrim’s dark eyes rested again on Thorvald. “True?” he queried. “You seek to oppose me?” It was the tone that had ever made men shake in their boots.

  “No,” said Thorvald, provoking a chorus of shocked exclamations, which he silenced with a raised hand. “I seek to be leader of these men and women. I seek to guide and help them to a better future, a future in which all of us work together for peace and prosperity. I do not seek to oppose you. But if I am elected Ruler here, I want you gone from this place, never to return.”

  Asgrim’s eyes had narrowed alarmingly.

  “Since I have already begun,” Thorvald went on, stepping up to stand by the Ruler, facing the assembled folk, “let this be my formal speech to you. We’ve won a great battle here; we’ve won ourselves a chance of a future. I don’t need to tell you how precious that is. All of us understand we mustn’t squander it; that we must work together to rebuild what was lost, and to seek new opportunities as well. I’ve fought alongside you. I’ve seen your courage and your comradeship, your vision and your commitment. Some of you here don’t know me. I am an incomer; that is something I must ask you to accept. It makes no difference to my promise to you: that if you choose me to lead you, I will strive to ensure the best future for the islands, and for every man, woman and child here. You are fine people, and you deserve no less.

  “I will not enumerate Asgrim’s faults; if you don’t know yet that he has undervalued you, insulted you by his lack of trust, and sought to frighten even the strongest of you into obedience, then nothing I can say is likely to sway your opinion. I simply offer myself as a replacement. I will not call myself Ruler. I cannot govern alone; if you choose me, I’ll institute a council of elected people to advise me. We’ll hold a Thing regularly to sort out our own disputes under due process of law, and we’ll also discuss making a formal truce with the Unspoken, to guard against future trouble. That’s for later. First, we need to make sure all are provided for, that crops are sown and harvested, stock tended to, boats and houses repaired. I’m told we owe a great debt to the womenfolk of the island for keeping all that going under great difficulty. You are hard workers, all of you: good workers. You are strong in spirit; I’ve seen that on the Isle of Clouds, and I see it in all of your faces here tonight. You’ve come through terrible times, and you’ve survived. If you elect me, I will help you to move on now, to make the best of this time of peace. I will give you a rule of justice and fairness. I will give all that is in me to give. I swear it.”

  A chorus of cheers greeted this speech, a clapping of hands and a thumping of boots on the earthen floor.

  “Stirring stuff,” observed Asgrim dryly. “I have no desire to make any emotive statements myself. I merely point out that Thorvald is a very young man and, despite his undoubted success in the hunt, entirely untried as a leader in times of peace. Don’t let the euphoria of the moment warp your judgment or rob you of any common sense. What you decide tonight, you must live with for at least three years under the rules Einar is so fond of. Thorvald’s not one of us. He’s an incomer who reached this shore entirely by accident. He hasn’t witnessed at firsthand the evil deeds our enemy can perform. He hasn’t shared our heartbreak and sorrow. The women among you don’t know him, and I see from the doubt in their eyes that they don’t trust him. Who’s to say what he’ll become if you elect him to lead you? A tyrant? An ineffectual weakling? Put him in charge and anything could happen.”

  There was a general muttering around the hall, and then one of the women stood up, a tall, solidly built personage of indeterminate age, with scraped-back hair and a grim jaw.

  “That’s all very well, Asgrim,” she said flatly, “but what can you offer us that’s better? It sticks in the craw to hear you speak as if you represent the women here, after what you’ve put us through. We’ve obeyed your orders and lived by your rule a long time now, and our existence has been all fear and mistrust. You’ve made us act in ways we’d have shrunk from if we hadn’t been too scared of your thugs to disobey.” She shot a meaningful glance at Skapti. “Which of us would have let her husband go, her sons, her brothers, year after year, knowing they might come back crippled or never at all? Knowing it was hopeless all the time? Which of us would have allowed that if we hadn’t been too frightened to speak up? You made us perform your own dark deeds, Asgrim, in the name of a peace that was not to be, not while you were in charge. You made us trick the girl so you could hand her over; made us conspire against a creature who had shown us nothing but kindness. Now they’re saying it was the same with young Sula: your own daughter. That sickens me. It would sicken any right-thinking man or woman. But it’s not your own evil deeds we spurn now, it’s the way you turned us into something no better than yourself. I want the taint of that off my hands. I want the taste of it out of my mouth. As far as I’m concerned, any leader will be better than you, whether it’s Orm or Einar or one of the others. If the men think young Thorvald’s the one, I’ll support them, and so will every woman here.�
� She sat down abruptly, her face red.

  “Well spoken, Gudrun,” Einar said quietly. “Thorvald, I think we can consider that a speech in support of yourself. Is there anyone else who would like to add a few words?”

  Many voices sounded; a forest of hands shot up.

  “Who do you choose, Thorvald?” Einar was smiling.

  “I would give all a chance to speak, if I could,” Thorvald said, feeling the flush in his own cheeks. “But it’s late, and we need sleep.” His gaze moved over them: Einar himself, veteran of many battles; Skolli with his broad smith’s shoulders; stalwart Orm and sad-eyed Wieland. Sam stood in the background, tall and fair. And there was one among them who sat quietly, not asking for consideration, merely fixing his small, reddened eyes on Thorvald in an expression as mournfully loyal as that of a devoted dog.

  “Skapti,” Thorvald said. “I wish Skapti to speak for me.” And heard, in Asgrim’s indrawn breath, that this was the last thing the Ruler had expected. The big warrior, undoubtedly, was the only one of them Asgrim had counted on as an unwavering ally.

  Skapti rose to his full, considerable height. The assembly fell silent. “Man of few words,” Skapti said. “Not a good talker. I’ve done some ill deeds, you all know about that, or if you don’t, you’ll find out soon enough. He made me do them,” glancing at the Ruler, whose features had gone rigid as a mask, “but that’s no excuse. Thought I was finished, done for. Nearly made an end of it myself. He pulled me back. Thorvald. Best friend you’d ever have. Best leader you could ever find. Thanks to him, I can go forward now, even without my brother.” A tear trickled down his broad cheek; he dashed it away with a large hand. “Even without Hogni, I’ve something to live for. Thorvald gave me faith in myself, faith that I can do the right thing. He gave me hope.”

  “He gave us all hope,” Orm said quietly.

  “You can’t go past him,” Skapti said. “He’s the best.”

  After that, it was quickly over. Asgrim, stony-faced, declined to appoint any man or woman to speak on his behalf. They took a vote; the outcome was entirely unsurprising. After the tumult of shouting, the acclamations, the pounding of fists and the drumming of feet had died down, Thorvald turned to the man who had been called Ruler. He chose his words carefully; best that this be concluded in a dignified manner, though his fingers itched to wring Asgrim’s neck for what he had done to Creidhe.

  “You’re to be out of your hut and out of the area as soon as possible after daybreak,” he said crisply. “You will not remain on the Isle of Storms, nor on the Isle of Streams. I will not have you near at hand to disrupt our endeavors. Your ill deeds have lost you the chance of any place in our community. We’ll undertake not to harm you on your journey to wherever you intend to go.” Thorvald’s glance swept around the room, taking in the angry eyes of many of the men. “If you wish, you may take one of the smaller boats and sail from Council Fjord to your chosen destination. Please take your belongings with you. We intend a clean start.”

  Asgrim said not a word. His mouth was set in a line, his face ghastly pale. He must have expected a struggle; perhaps, defeat. Evidently he had not anticipated a repudiation as thorough as this. His dark eyes raked across the chamber, dangerous as a snake’s, and then he turned his back on them and strode out the door. Einar made to follow, but Thorvald said, “No, leave him be. He’ll do as we bid. He has no real choice.”

  By the time they awoke next morning, still weary after the brief rest but already talking among themselves of the new challenges, the work that lay before them, Asgrim was gone. His hut was empty, everything taken, bedding, small storage chest, weapons, quills, inks and parchments. One of the boats was gone as well; it seemed the Ruler intended to take his chances with the Fool’s Tide, unless he planned to skirt the islets and head south. Wagers were made, jokingly, as to who would come off best in an encounter, Asgrim or the Unspoken. Then they turned their attention to more important matters. At midday a strong-faced woman walked into the encampment with two young boys at her side: Hogni’s wife Gerd and her sons. At dusk all gathered by the water’s edge to send her man to his long sleep.

  They had built a fine raft of driftwood, and on this the big warrior lay covered by a warm cloak of blue-dyed felt, with his weapons by him: thrusting-spear, axe, knives, staff. He wore his leather helm and breastplate, his best winter boots, his sheepskin coat and thick wool trousers and tunic. Hogni’s features were distorted by the manner of his death; there was no disguising that. But his brother had washed him clean with big, gentle hands, and combed his matted hair, and settled him as peacefully as he could. All knew the spirit no longer felt the pain of that last, cruel night when the poison worked its way through this strong body. That was an attack no human fortress could withstand.

  They packed the raft with oil-soaked cloth, with dried bracken, with anything that would burn fast and hot. They waited on the shore in a place where the current would carry this small craft away, waited until the sun dipped below the edge of the world and the sky turned to the blue-white glow of the summer night. They were all there, all who had survived the last hunt: Orm, Einar and Wieland; Skolli the smith and Knut the fisherman with the incomer Sam by his side; the younger fellows, Ranulf, Thorkel, Paul, and more. Breccan was not present, nor the wounded Niall, who could not yet be moved. Creidhe, too, had remained in the shelter, but the other women stood by their men, grave and quiet. Hogni’s wife, flanked by her sons, stood with Skapti and Thorvald, close by the place where her husband lay ready.

  Now it was time. Skapti should have spoken the words of farewell, but when it came to it, he seemed unable to summon the power of speech. His mouth worked, his eyes filled with tears, his broad, strong features crumpled with sorrow. So it was Thorvald who spoke.

  “Go forth, warrior, on your last journey.” He did not cry out. His tone was not grand and ringing, but quiet, respectful, intimate: it was as if he spoke to Hogni alone, directly, honestly, as to a dear friend. Around him on the shore men swallowed, scrubbed their cheeks, blew their noses. “You were ever brave and strong, honest and forthright. You taught us well; we all had bruises to prove it at one point or another. You gave all that you had for us; all that you were. Rest now, secure in your brother’s love, in the love of your woman and your sons. Go now on your journey, borne on the wind from the islands. Go straight to the god’s right hand, for you died as you lived, a true son of Thor. Know that in this place your children will grow in peace and security, for we will make a new world for them, all of us together: a world in which such seasons of blood and sorrow cannot come again. Now it is time to say farewell. Come!” Thorvald glanced at Skapti, and at Einar, and at the two young lads of seven or eight who stood wide-eyed by their mother’s skirts. They all moved forward and set hands to the raft, easing it down into deeper water; the sea washed to their knees, to their thighs, and the little boat was free to go.

  “Careful,” Thorvald said to the smaller boy, who stumbled in the halflight, in danger of falling in the chill water. “Here, take my hand.”

  Skapti gave one final heave, and as the raft began to drift out to sea, the others waded back to the dark sand of the tidal flats where Orm now stood with a lighted torch, and the archer, Paul, by his side. But Skapti stood with the sea around his knees, watching as the little raft bore his brother away, farther and farther from the shore, westward on his last, long journey.

  Then Paul fitted a certain arrow to the string, and drew the bow strongly, and Orm touched the brand to the tip of the arrow, setting it aflame. The bowstring twanged; the arrow arched through the air, out over the sea, winging swift and true. A flicker, a flaring, and at once the raft was engulfed in fire, robing the fallen warrior in a garment of light. Hogni burned long; they watched him pass down Council Fjord, a glowing vessel of flame, toward the hidden shapes of the Troll’s Arch, and Dragon Isle, and out into the grip of the Fool’s Tide. They watched until the raft shrank to a pinprick of light in the summer twilight, then winked out altogether.


  The children were shivering, yawning, worn out by the strangeness of it all. Their mother shepherded them close; when Thorvald spoke to her she looked him straight in the eye, as if assessing the worth of this man for whom her husband had given his life.

  “He was a brave man and a good one,” Thorvald said quietly. He looked at the two boys. “We’ll make sure you are provided for, all of you,” he added, not sure how this would be done, but knowing that from now on such things would be his responsibility, and that he must learn quickly. “Now you should rest and get warm. There’s a fire in the sleeping quarters, up yonder.” That building had once been the meeting hall of the Long Knife people, in a time before the hunt. It would be satisfying to restore it to its original purpose.

  “We will go home,” Gerd said. Her weary features were full of courage; it was the same look Hogni himself might have given at such a moment. “Tonight, to Brightwater. Tomorrow, to Starkfell. We have been long enough away; there are stock to tend to.”

  Thorvald was about to protest that it was night, and a long walk, and a dangerous path. But he bit back his words; all around him the men were settling small packs on their backs, fastening cloaks tighter, and picking up staves to aid the climb. And Skapti now came out of the water, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and took the hands of the small boys in his own.

  “Time to go,” said the big guard. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” Thorvald said. “Of course you must go. Take what time you require. But don’t forget that I need you here, Skapti. I rely on you to help me and advise me. I’ll be calling a council before next full moon, and I want all the men to come.”

  “I’ll be there.” Skapti’s eyes were bright.

  “And in the meantime, all of us must think of the future, of what there is to do, and how best to accomplish it. We’ll all play a part in that. I’m sorry Hogni isn’t here to see it, bitterly sorry.”