Ringast grunted and turned to address Galdalf’s twins. ‘You know what to do with the body.’
They nodded and, without further ceremony, seized Saldas’s shoulders and feet.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The night-fires were lit. The councillors had been recalled. Lilla had long grown weary of their talk. The wound inside her ached. She needed air, needed to get away from the closeness of the hall and the thoughts that had plagued her every day since Saldas’s death.
Wrapping herself in her cloak, she went outside into the night, hardly giving a thought to where her steps might lead. It happened they took her away from the smoky halls, beyond the byres and the barns, and the dwellings huddled about them, out onto the river meadows.
The night was clear. For a long time she gazed up into the sky, letting it fill her with its silence. She walked on a little until she could hear the stream running off to join the river, could see its silver spray scattered by the ancient stones. Her gaze followed the glimmers downstream until it was checked abruptly at the sight of a figure seated on the bank.
She pulled the cloak about her and glanced back at the halls. Whoever it was seemed deep in thought, tossing stones, one after another, into the water. As she watched, the figure turned, seeking another pebble, and she recognized his silhouette.
‘My husband says you’re a hard man to persuade,’ she said.
Erlan lurched to his feet, his hand reaching automatically for his knife. She pulled back her hood and his hand fell away. ‘Shouldn’t you be nursing him?’ he replied. ‘He’s a sick man.’
‘He’s in council.’
‘Still? It must be midnight.’
She shrugged. ‘There’s much to be done.’
He nodded. The strands of his hair fell in shivers across his face. She could see the cut across his cheek, vivid and dark. ‘I hear he’s changing his name.’
‘He is,’ she answered. ‘He wants to bridge the divide between Dane and Sveär any way he can.’
‘With a name?’
‘Among other things.’
‘Only a fool changes his name.’
She came a step closer. ‘Your father didn’t name you “Erlan”, did he?’
‘See? I should know.’
She watched as he tossed another stone into the stream. ‘Why won’t you stay?’ she said quietly.
He sniffed. ‘He’s a good man, that husband of yours. Your father chose well for you.’
‘He did,’ she said, letting him avoid the question. For now.
Another long pause. ‘Is it true?’
‘Is what true?’
‘What Saldas said.’ He turned to her, half his face bathed silver in the moonlight. ‘That you’re barren.’
‘I don’t know. I—’ She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want him to know about the child that was lost to her. The heir that was lost to Ringast. That one last life which Saldas had stolen from her. Stolen from him, too. Better that he never knew. ‘Time will show.’
A growl hummed in his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Ringast told me he gave you one night to think about his offer.’
‘I don’t need another night.’
‘A night may change a man’s mind. And so his destiny.’
‘Not mine. I’m resolved.’
This all felt so stiff and cold. She touched his shoulder, softened her voice. ‘Why won’t you stay? Tell me.’
There was a long silence. She saw in the gloom his brow crumple. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
He suddenly turned to her, fixed her with those dark eyes that had so struck her when her father first summoned him to their table. She dared not admit what she saw in them. ‘But I – I want you to stay.’
‘That’s exactly why I can’t.’
‘But we would be good to you. We owe you a debt of—’
‘You owe me nothing. All debts are paid.’
‘Is there nothing I can say to make you—’
‘I’m in love with you, Lilla,’ he said sharply. ‘Don’t you know that? I love you. Just like I did before.’
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t look away. The words sort of thrilled her. But she knew they shouldn’t.
He shook his head. ‘If I stay here, it will destroy me. Destroy us both.’ He looked at her again. ‘Wouldn’t it?’
She still couldn’t speak. She knew he was right. Why else did she care whether he stayed or not? ‘Yes,’ she whispered. Her hand sprang to her throat as if it had betrayed her.
‘Hmm.’ That same pensive growl. ‘If he didn’t so clearly deserve you, it might be easier. But there it is. He’s the better man. And you chose him.’
‘That’s not fair. I had no choice.’
‘Of course you did. And you did choose.’
Her heart twisted. If he only knew how many tears she had shed at that choice.
‘What I offered you wasn’t enough. Maybe what he can will be.’
‘But I don’t love him.’ The words escaped her like a moan.
‘Still... it’s done.’ Abruptly, he turned away and tilted his face to the stars. ‘Our fate is woven.’ Suddenly he scoffed. ‘You know I can’t figure it out. I’ve been sitting here trying to. But I can’t. Sometimes it’s easier to think we’re all just slaves, after all.’
‘Slaves?’
‘Aye. Bound by the fate the Norns weave for us, the strands of their web hard as the bars of a cage.’ He turned to her sharply, his dark eyes bright with intensity. ‘Or maybe we’re free. Dangerously free. Free as the gods and powerful enough to change the world. To change everything.’
‘Maybe it’s both,’ she said softly. ‘Sometimes we’re forced to make a choice we don’t want to make.’
‘Like now,’ he growled, casting his last stone into the chuckling stream. ‘To stay or to go. To keep looking...’
‘Looking for what?’
He gave a weary sigh. ‘I must find another kingdom. Another king.’
‘There are many kinds of kings in the world. Ringast would have been a good lord to you.’
‘Wherever I go, men demand an oath. Some good like Ringast. Some wicked, like your brother. Or the Watcher.’
A chill passed through her at mention of that name. ‘Why do you think of him?’
‘I – I think of him often. I don’t know why. So many threads lead back to him, I suppose. Do you not?’
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘When I’ve wished things were different. But then I remember what might have been, if you hadn’t come for me. But he’s gone now,’ she added. ‘His power is broken.’
‘Is it, though?’ he said darkly. ‘Or will there always be another lord like him? In all lands and all ages, just like he said. Calling folk to him, as he called me. As he called those wretched Nefelung all those moons ago.’ He gazed up, his mouth agape, transfixed by the beautiful abyss above him. ‘The curious thing is, people will listen. They will fall under that thrall. And all this – Vargalf, Sigurd, Saldas, the slaughter of all those men – it will all happen again and again and again.’ His gaze dropped and he scuffed his toe at the ground. Seeing something, he stooped and picked a flat stone out of the grass, turned it over in his palm. ‘Seems to me this is our only real choice. There are two ways to live. By power. Or by love.’
She hadn’t wanted to interrupt his thoughts. She was remembering that moment under the blood-beech, the falling rain. How she had thought that life was love, but she couldn’t explain that to him. Seeing he had finished, she murmured, ‘We all want to love. It’s part of life.’
He suddenly rounded on her. ‘No – I don’t mean the stuff of the skalds’ songs and sagas – shining moons and aching hearts and all that. I mean love that fights. Love that stands, that’s strong.’ He clasped his fist between them, his dark eyes burning like coals. ‘I mean a love that bleeds for you. A love that will die for you.’ As abruptly as it had come, his passion subsided. ‘Kai showed me that.’
‘You miss him.’
‘Of course. He’s the reason I came back. As you said...’
His face was clouded and sad. But there was a rugged beauty to it as well. She wondered what it must look like if it were shining with joy. Almost without thinking, she lifted her hand and traced a fingertip under the stitching across his cheek. The muscles in his face flickered.
‘Your wounds will heal,’ she whispered.
He reached out in turn and laid his palm against her belly. It was a gesture of astonishing intimacy – crossing a line. Yet she let it rest there. ‘And what of yours?’
She felt brittle inside, but his hand was warm. She drew a little closer, not taking her eyes from his. Quite naturally, his hand slid round to the small of her back. When he dropped his head, her lips rose to meet his. They kissed. He tasted sweet, like honey-wine. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, feeling the love that she had hidden away so deep, that she had bolted and barred, suddenly break free. A flood of light and hope and desire rushed out through her mouth, whispering into his soul as her tongue touched his. She grasped him tighter, fearing – knowing – that she would never hold him this close again.
But then he pushed her gently away, a shudder passing through him. ‘I can’t lead you into another betrayal. Not of him.’
She nodded. That way only led to sorrow. To sorrow, and blood. Her hands fell. His dark eyes were still on hers. Seeing them, she couldn’t help thinking of that other life that had died within her. That part of him. So she believed, anyway. Soon there would be nothing to link them at all. Nothing but her memories.
‘Then you must go,’ she said. ‘But let me give you this much to take with you.’
She saw he thought she meant to give him a gift, since he looked at her hands. Instead she laid one of them on his heart. ‘Close your eyes.’
He did as she said and she began to speak, to murmur, to summon that power that had spoken to her in those visions of the night. His eyes were calm. She knew he hated the hidden mysteries known to her and Saldas and few others. But this time he seemed to trust her. She let her eyes fall shut and felt heat flooding through her neck, felt her eyelids flicker.
‘Aurvandil.’ Her voice seemed to resonate more richly. ‘Go, my love. Go and find your kingdom. Go and find your king. But carry these words with you. Wherever your path leads, wherever your feet shall wander, my blessing shall carry you closer to love. A love that holds the world. A love that has no end, that lives even beyond the Final Fires when all things must die. A love that sets you free.’
He put his hand over hers and slowly opened his eyes. ‘Your hand burns like fire.’
‘May its heat stay with you then, wherever you go.’ Her voice cracked. ‘My love...’ She blinked away the tears she felt welling. ‘I must go. Ringast will soon miss me. I must go.’
Sleep took Erlan quickly that night, but lightly.
Sounds stole in and out of his ear – from the shifting recesses of his mind or the whispered taunts of night-spirits, he couldn’t say. The cries and yells of slaughter, pleadings in the darkness, murmured curses, muffled laughter. He turned over and over, trying to find some peace. At last he sank into a deeper sleep and dreamed of a breeze blowing from the east. A sea-breeze that licked saltily at his lips.
He is running. He’s run this way before, but this time his legs are weak and unwilling, as if they dread what lies ahead. He feels the hard-packed path beneath his feet, familiar as a pair of old soles. Then he hears the wailing, clawing at the sky. There is the pool again, its surface smooth as amber, and the kneeling figures. He stops, unable to approach. Then a darkness surrounds him and the wailing grows distorted, as if far away. A weight crushes his chest. He can’t breathe. He is underwater. Above him, something stirs. He sees waves of oak-brown hair, wafting folds of crimson. Scarlet billows swirl past his face.
Blood.
He cries out but the water seals him in silence.
It is her.
She begins to turn. He sees her pale cheek, the smooth line of her jaw. And then her eyes, lifeless beads of hazel brown. Her hands drift down to him, her fingers touch his face. They are cold with death. The waters chase away a wave of hair. He sees the wound. Blood beats from it in pulses. Her lips form the shape of his name and cold fingers close around his neck.
Hakan.
Suddenly he is choking and her face is gone. Bright, emerald eyes glare down instead. Sensual lips curve into a frigid smile. He feels nails dig hard into his neck, squeezing the life from him. Brown hair darkens to midnight black, laughter bubbles through the water. The hair billows again and the beautiful face cracks, fissuring again and again until it is shattered into a thousand pieces. Her hard beauty withers. The lines of her face grow old. Now her lips are pale as snow and her green eyes glow hotter, till they are burning red flames. The grip tightens and it is the Watcher’s sneer that mocks him as he fights to break free. But he cannot. His eyes grow dim, the cruel face blurs, his lungs are bursting, and he knows that soon the end must come. But then...
A hand appears around the Watcher’s pale throat. The hand jerks and the Watcher is wrenched from the water. The hand reappears, reaching for him. It is rugged and callused, dark-skinned, its back covered with coarse hair. He takes it and is pulled up and up until his face is about to break the surface. Beyond is the shadow of a man. In a moment, he will see...
Erlan awoke with a start, gasping for air. In the darkness around him the hall-folk’s sighs swelled soft and gentle as a distant sea. He lay back, his gaze lost in the shadows of the rafters.
He had to get away from here.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he would leave this land of ghosts far behind.
EPILOGUE
The wind licked hungrily at the sail.
The shallows of the Uppland firth were slipping behind now. The channel would soon open into the wider mouth of the Great Bay. Beyond that lay the East Sea. And then...
Ringast had known Erlan was set on leaving. At least so he’d said at Erlan’s final audience. Nonetheless, the Dane had been as good as his word, furnishing him with a sturdy knarr and filling it with all he needed.
And now, stowed in the bottom of his craft was everything he owned in the world: Wrathling – the sword of his ancestors; a spear; an axe; a new linden-shield; his seax and half a dozen assorted knives. All of it lay at his feet. Beside them rested a sea chest filled with enough salted pork, herring, flatbread and cheese for three weeks, together with a couple of good cloaks, a helm and mailshirt – Ringast’s gift – oiled and cleaned since the carnage of the Bravik plains. And finally a fresh tunic – Lilla’s parting gift.
She’d given it to him as he stood before her husband. A beautiful shirt spun from lambs’-wool, embroidered with scarlet thread. ‘It was my brother’s.’ She meant Staffen, whom Vargalf had murdered. As he took it from her, she had reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Farewell, my Erlan,’ she whispered. And that was all.
In the bows were wedged a large cask of water and a smaller one of ale, together with two skins of mead. ‘If it was me going, I’d need a dozen of those things,’ Einar had said, as he helped Erlan load his gear. ‘Yaah! You’re still young. Next time I see you, maybe you’ll have learned to drink like a man.’
‘If not, you can teach me yourself. At the All-Father’s table.’ It was something to hope for, even though he didn’t believe it.
‘Aye. We’ll drink there, if not before.’
‘See it ain’t too soon, fat man.’
‘And you, boy.’
Last of all, Erlan had said farewell to his old horse, Idun. He took her an apple, of course, which she devoured in a second, then plucked at his hands for another. ‘Be good, you old mule,’ he whispered in her ear.
And so here he was, with enough food and drink for three weeks. Three weeks would take him to any horizon of his choosing, Ringast had said. After that, he was on his own.
He tried to imagine what lands lay ahead, what folk dwelt in them. Was there some hearth be
yond the horizon with a place for a wanderer? A stranger like him?
The bubbles giggled under the clinker-hull. He’d just settled against the tiller when his eye caught a shadow skulking along the shoreline. It wasn’t quite evening and when he looked he could make out an animal of some kind.
A wolf, maybe?
Curious, he pushed the tiller away from him and eased the boat towards the shore. He soon saw it was no wolf but a large dog. He let the wind spill. The hull sank lower in the water. Drifting closer, he made out the shaggy limbs of a wolfhound, loping along. The dog slowed too, as if waiting for him to close the distance to shore.
Something about the animal was familiar. When he was near enough, he saw a single eye gazing back at him, bright and bold. The other was missing. Suddenly he recalled where he’d seen that eye before – staring at him then, silent and grim, as he emerged from that smoky pit of death and devils, while the flames devoured the body of his friend.
Strange, he thought.
He turned the prow into the wind and the boat came to a standstill, the sail gently ruffling. The wolfhound sat patiently by the water’s edge, and for a while, the two just looked at one another.
‘I’ll live to regret this,’ he muttered at last. ‘Hey, you!’ he called. ‘Are you coming?’ He whistled. In a second, it was in the water and paddling for the boat. Moments later, he was hauling a dripping bundle of thick fur and scraggy limbs over the gunwale. The dog scrabbled to its feet and immediately shook himself dry, soaking his new companion.
‘Gods – you filthy mutt!’
He grabbed it by the scruff of its neck to have a look at it. The dog’s one eye stared right back. There was something odd about that eye. The more he gazed into it, the more it seemed to draw him deeper into its stains and swirls.
He broke off abruptly. ‘I don’t know who sent you, mutt,’ he said, scratching behind the wolfhound’s ear. ‘But I guess I won’t refuse the company.’
The dog began licking his hand, then, without any warning, cocked his leg and sprayed the nearest thwart. ‘Piss on it,’ Erlan swore. Then realizing what he’d said, he laughed. ‘There’s no doubt what to call you, is there, you scruffy little bastard?’
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