by Suzie Wilde
Cronan’s blind, darting eyes were like a rabbit’s before an eagle-strike.
‘You did, Cronan. The healer, the poet and the silversmith. Remember?’
The humpback shook his head weakly. Bera hoped he would not tell the Abbot how she denied it all the time. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what to say for the best.
He speaks only truth. Or so he believes.
Egill chipped in again. ‘She brews potions to take coughs away.’
‘It’s true that I can make the right plants potent with my – Brid’s – healing power.’
Cronan brightened. ‘We have a medicinal garden here, tended by the ermites.’
‘Then she is no better than you.’ The Abbot caught his breath. ‘And so must die.’
There was a scuffle and Hefnir burst through. He would gain standing by killing her. This would be his revenge for what had happened on the black beach and fulfil his bargain with the Serpent King, cancelling the blood debt. He came into the centre of the circle.
‘Bera has heard voices as long as I have known her.’ He looked intently at the Abbot. ‘There are moments when she looks distant, listening to things the rest of us can’t hear and her lips move silently in answer.’
‘Or she is mad,’ said the Abbot. ‘And only a madwoman would dare touch me.’
‘If I had not touched you, you would be dead,’ Bera insisted. ‘You yourself said only Brid could do that and survive.’
Hefnir murmured, ‘You may not survive very long unless you convince them.’
Bera said, ‘I can prove who I am. I know what is coming, and how to save you.’
‘You shall speak. I demand it.’ The Abbot sank back onto his cushions. ‘But I need strength to hear. I shall retire to my cell now and you will talk before supper.’ He closed his yellow eyes.
Bera knew he wanted all her knowledge and then he would kill her.
‘Please! If you are prepared to wait you shall hear much more. Let me get into the tower and scry. I will tell you everything.’
‘Never. I do not believe you are Brid, even if you wear the black stone. Where is your serpent? And unless you convince me otherwise, this is merely a stay of execution.’ He raised a hand. ‘And if you have passed some filthy female miasma into me, you will die instantly, no matter who you think you are.’
His warder put on leather mittens, bowed, and wheeled the chair into darkness, the crowd falling away with lowered heads as the Abbot passed.
Cronan made Bera an odd sort of bow. ‘I truly believe you are she.’
Hefnir chuckled. ‘Slippery as an eel, my wife. Good at getting her way. And she wants what we want, don’t you, Bera?’
‘Obsidian, at the start.’
‘Then we must plan, together.’
Their eyes met and Bera was on a honeymoon shore with him, the rest of the world forgotten. She reminded herself that as soon as the honest pairing of their bodies was over, Hefnir had hidden the truth, as he always did. As did Egill, who had secretly watched them.
An armed warder stepped forward to hold Bera.
Hefnir waved him away. ‘Where would we run to?’
It was horribly true.
The man gave a curt nod and let her go but escorted them towards their cell. In the passageways the humming and its echo was so loud that Bera thought her head would burst.
Hefnir said, ‘Lauds.’
Lords? Bera could only think about Heggi. She burst into the billet and ran to him. He was completely unconcerned and all he talked about was Cronan.
‘He promised to show me his ravens! They can speak and everything, like Woden’s!’
Hefnir said, ‘I’ll get a warder to fetch him.’ He looked at Bera and winked.
Bera supposed he was helping: if Heggi did not know their plan, they would not torture him to find out. What would happen to him? Could she rely on Egill to make sure they all managed to escape once she had the stone? It was hard to stay determined when the future was unclear.
Cronan spoke quietly to Bera before they left. ‘If I have Heggi, they will think you will stay and not guard you so closely.’
Bera sat beside Hefnir on her bed where they could talk quietly and pretend to be on marital duty if a warder came in. Whatever was decided, she hoped he would keep his word. Which husband was he today? Which man? Success depended on him, though she groaned when he said it began with a scheme of Egill’s devising.
‘It’s to get you through the first gate.’
She had to do it. ‘So my first task is to get onto the trolley and past the wolves.’
‘We will make a diversion for you.’
‘It’s downhill, so it will easily reach the tower. But I will need help hauling the chains to get back.’
Hefnir ran a hand over his beard. ‘Once you’re through this gate, Bera, that’s it. There will be no coming back.’
There was a tiny version of herself in his blue eyes that looked candid, open. Like Heggi’s.
‘Is your skern speaking to you?’
‘He says he will stay with you here, Hefnir, to make sure all goes well.’
Her skern flickered in fright. For once, she had surprised him. Both of them, in fact.
I c-c-c-can’t leave you. Her skern’s face lengthened with distress.
‘I do need you to watch Hefnir. He wants Obsidian so much he might betray me once I have it – and take Heggi.’
But n-n-n-n-not that. I don’t know what would happen to either of us.
‘Saying “either of us” makes me feel sick.’
The ache in her ribs reminded Bera how even a small distance hurt; she worried her heart would rip if they were sundered.
‘Stay close to me, please,’ she said and felt her skern’s relief.
‘Time to start,’ Hefnir said. ‘How long do you need in the tower?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t know how to get into the outer tower, or what I have to do in there, or whether I’ll be able to scry even if I do.’ She had not meant to be so honest but all the shocks of the day had burst through her guard.
‘Poor Bera.’ He took her hand. ‘I’ll wait for you as long as I can at the Raven with Heggi and Egill.’
‘Is she beached?’
‘Too many hazards to land. We’re anchored in the next bay, south of the jetty. You’ll have to row to us.’
‘Keep Heggi safe.’
‘With my life. But, Bera—’
‘What?’
‘If our lives are threatened I shall leave you behind.’
‘I know.’
She only hoped his desire for the stone was enough to make him wait for her at all.
22
Egill took her a secret way to the skull spring. The small globes gleamed wetly and Bera silently asked her mother to look after the children who had been sacrificed for their protection. Egill dipped her fingers in the water and made a cross on her own forehead, then repeated it on Bera’s. She shivered, as though Egill had drilled a hole in her skull to let water pour through.
Egill leaned in close. ‘You’ll have until sext.’
‘What!’
‘Not what you think. It’s when they eat, so our absence will be noticed. But Hefnir won’t wait even that long if he thinks there’s danger.’
‘Just make sure Heggi is safe. On your life, Egill.’
‘I’ll go to him now. We’ll be waiting, Bera, onboard the Raven.’
She took Egill’s hands because they had both loved her father and his boat. It might also be the last time they ever met.
‘Watch for the smoke,’ Egill said, and left.
Bera carefully watched the warder at the trolley. From inside the Abbotry there came a burst of smoke, shouts, and the man left his post to go and sort out the fire, as expected. She ran to the trolley, clambered up, unlatched the chain and had to snatch her hand away as it leapt from its blocks and hurtled towards the tower.
Look at the wolves, look at the wolves, look at the wolves, chattered its wheels.
The pack heard the clanking of the trolley and grouped in a grey, bristling mass. Their leader stood between them and the tower, a lone, threatening presence. Bera could feel his guarding hard as granite and had no idea how to get past. She would not use her sword on such a creature. He was doing his duty and staying true to his nature. Besides, if she killed one wolf the others would tear her to pieces. The danger was getting closer all the time, too fast for planning, but she trusted her Valla instinct would supply the answer when the moment was upon her. The trolley slowed as it went over the top of the mound. Time to get off – and she knew what the long loop of rope was for. She flung it over a post in the sward, like catching an animal, and the trolley jerked to a stop.
Even though it had put her nearer to the tower than the wolves, she was not prepared to risk running for it. If she could even get her legs to move: the thought of being chased had rooted her. Bera touched the runes ALU on her sword and carefully stepped down.
The tower’s steep walls were rougher, sparkling in the sunlight, now she was so close. Could she climb to the high window? No footholds on the snug granite blocks. Cronan’s friend lived in there though, so there must be a door to get food to him and the wolves close to the trolley stop. There was no outline of one. There would be no time to find it before the pack was on her. Her scalp flamed.
Trust your new skills, dearest, and look to the leader.
The wolves were slinking forward, yellow teeth bared in their wide heads, only waiting for the signal to kill. There was nowhere for Bera to run. Now she was off the trolley they were as tall as her, with hackles raised. She could sense their lust for the hunt. Their bodies were big-boned but thin and their ribcages showed. Bera felt her palms prickle, as though the wiry pelts had brushed them. Despite their recent meal they looked hungry and this made her pity them. She knew all about hunger in the lean months. Was that dangerous?
Bera was mesmerised, knowing she should concentrate on the large male but unable to tear her eyes away from approaching death. She could smell its mix of fetid breath and old blood. Then she did the bravest thing and closed her eyes. She was able to gaze into the wolf’s amber eyes, just as she had done in the scrying. She found and held her warm amber bead to strengthen the bond between them.
‘I am not your foe,’ she told him.
He was aware of her, she knew it from the widening circles of golden ripples in his mind. He was considering. And all the time she sensed his pack making its hunting circle around her. She fought down the urge to open her eyes. Stay strong. Stay fixed. ALU. The runes sharpened her wits and she let their shape work for her instead of putting so much of herself into every contest.
‘I can free you.’ Bera pictured Heggi running with Rakki along the wet sand. ‘I promise that if I get out of here, you will have freedom.’ She put her long journey into his mind, all the huge expanse, very glad that the Abbotry was not, after all, on an island.
The wolf was testing her. Humans lied; humans kept them imprisoned and short of prey.
‘I can save you and your kind if you let me pass. If you kill me, you are doomed to die, as we all are.’ She made him see the devastation in Smolderby. Brymstones, firestones, death.
All she could hear was the pounding of her blood and sense the grainy thought of the wolf. Too long! She pushed down panic; pushed away the thought of warders realising she was gone and hunting her. If the wolves didn’t get her the Abbot would kill her more slowly.
Concentrate!
The smell was a thousand times stronger. A low rumble, a snarl deep in every wolf’s throat made the hairs on her neck rise. She must be strong. If she broke contact with their leader now…
He howled. He was calling them to him.
The rumble continued, a fight of will over hunger. His mind sharpened, grew as ridged as the mountain chain and steep as the sea in a storm. His pack obeyed and were loping back, a threat no longer. He was clever, this wolf.
And so was she. Bera opened her eyes. One wolf covered the ground in a few long strides and sprang. She turned and sidestepped. It twisted in mid-air, fell, then seized the back of her leg. Bera was down. The speed shocked her and at first she was rabbit-still. Her leather sea boots and thick bindings had stopped its teeth going through to the bone but her leg was in an iron clamp. The wolf was dragging her further from the pack, growling a warning to keep away from its prize, keeping hold of its prey whilst keeping its own body out of danger. Even if she managed to reach her sword, it would be hard to do any real damage and it was all happening too fast.
There was a grey blur. With no warning, the pack leader barrelled into the other wolf, knocking it to the ground. He held it there, on its back, snarling ferociously. Close up, he was as big as a trole. Her attacker suddenly reared up, gnashing. They rolled, broke apart, snapped, growled, lunged and then the leader struck. With fierce strength and one shake, he broke its neck and ripped out the throat to make sure it was dead. He bared his bloodstained teeth in a snarl of victory and as a lesson.
Bera should have already made for the tower but her legs were too weak to stand. The leader looked at her. This was real: there was no meeting of minds in a Valla vision, this was a wild beast that had just killed one of its own and been hurt in a fight that she had caused. His eyes burned. All Bera had was her promise. She had vowed to save the wolves and she would. Somehow she found the strength to stand and she spoke to him softly, like Faelan would, hoping her voice would sound true.
‘I swear to you now, leader to leader, as a true Valla. I have a duty here. What I am doing will keep all creatures alive: you, and your pack too, but first I will free you. I cannot return you to where you were born but when you have the whole of this island to roam, with better prey, you will form a bigger pack.’
The wolf’s fury had passed but he was weighing her words.
Bera risked taking two slow steps towards the tower, holding his gaze, keeping her mind away from her wounded leg. The pack slowly gathered behind him but kept their distance. He was guarding her. She risked glancing away from him and the tower was closer than she expected. There was a deep, warning rumble coming from the leader, who was giving her one chance to live. Walking had never been so hard but she kept on, limping, easy prey, trusting the wolf, all the way to the tower.
And then she was there – but she could not see any door. Then real pain began.
*
Words of protection kept the wolves at bay for the moment. Bera ran her hands over the stone, desperate for entrance. The sting from the wolfbite scorched up into her groin and she remembered the rampaging pains of miscarriage and birthing. This pain was nothing. She was tough and too many lives depended on her to give up now. Bera went further round, patting and probing to try to feel a doorframe. She was leaving a trail of blood on the stone that the wolves must smell. Would another defy the leader? How much time would he allow her, himself? She wanted to stay hidden here, where she couldn’t be seen by the pack.
You’re not playing trole’s footsteps. Ask me for help.
‘I ask for help all the time.’
You don’t mean it. You’re stubborn and want to do everything for yourself.
‘How else can I learn anything?’
Are we going to argue or get inside?
‘Both. Look.’
A small door was opening inwards. Bera crouched low, stepped through the gap, and the door quickly fell shut behind her. The world was lit only by a long candle that made the tall, thin man holding it look like a carved ebony taper-holder, in his black robe and hood. The Warden.
‘You are Cronan’s friend.’
‘From childhood.’ He pulled down his hood and his face was the deepest black of a tarred hull. ‘I thought the wolves had taken you.’
‘Northmen do not grow as old as you,’ Bera said. ‘Your hair is white but yet you look young.’
‘You fight.’ His voice was also youthful. ‘We spend our lives in prayer.’
‘Where is the black stone?’<
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‘It seems Northwomen are as avaricious as their men.’
Greedy. And unsubtle. The last part’s right.
‘I need only to see it.’ Probably. Bera crossed her fingers.
‘Why would anyone risk their skin to simply see a stone?’
‘Because it’s so important. Which is why you guard it.’
‘I am put here solely to feed the wolves.’ He was lying too.
He held up the candle. Its light made sense of the smell: they were surrounded by dark red carcasses. It was like being in a whale’s stomach. No time to be squeamish, she had to gaze into that stone and find out how to stop the mountain exploding.
‘Please. I have risked my skin for it, as you say. I must hurry.’
‘What “it” do you wish to see?’
‘Is there a choice?’ Her heart sank. She had imagined there would be one precious black stone in the tower. ‘Obsidian.’
His face showed nothing, like black stone itself. ‘And if you discover it, what will you do with it?’
The trouble was, she didn’t know that either. She was sure it was more important than a scrying tool, for any puddle could do that in the right circumstances.
‘It is more potent than ensense,’ she said.
He brought the candle right up to her face and looked deep into her eyes. The flame carried on dancing in her vision after he took it away.
‘The black glass, forged in fire, has a rare beauty.’ His voice was also dark and beautiful. ‘Obsidian fractures in circles and sometimes flames with gold. It is the feminine to iron’s masculine; a woman’s curves and warmth to the man’s straight chill. Yet it cuts more keenly than any metal. A knife made of obsidian can slice a hair into six.’
Man’s straight iron chill was Hefnir all right and Bera liked the idea of a black, curved, womanly blade being sharper. Then she had a vision of a woman who was holding a black knife to her own throat. Heggi’s mother… Had that been obsidian? And what might that mean for Heggi?
‘What have you seen?’ he asked her.
‘That it can slit a throat with a single stroke.’