The sleek thin yellow of his hair lay loose and well combed, spreading over his back and shoulders like a silken cloak. His beard and moustache, thick and wiry red, seemed to belong to another man. He did not remove his hand. “Just happens I was thinking of some special ways,” he said finally, “to entertain a lady, as would please both her and the man besides, if she were willing.” Startled and wary, Skarga looked up at him abruptly, and caught the wink. “No offence,” he added.
She’d heard this sort of remark before, had always found it offensive. “Since you’re Lord Thoddun’s Second,” she said carefully, “and he trusts you, so I do too.”
Orm sniggered through his moustache. “Right and proper, lady. But right and proper can leave a lady lonely as a fish out of water. Just thought I’d offer.”
Skarga sniffed. So everyone knew that Thoddun did not sleep in his own bed and took no further notice of the human in their midst’s.
“Please don’t offer again,” she said. Having walked a great loop of ice corridor, Skarga again recognised the doorway of the feasting hall and managed a dignified release from Orm’s grasp. The noises of talking, laughing and activity came from inside, and the smell of wood smoke. “Thank you for your escort. I’ll look for Kjeld now. We arranged to meet here before.”
He smiled, seemed not to recognise the lie, bowed, and strode away without looking back. Breathing deep, Skarga leaned back momentarily against the ice. Perhaps, she decided, she was better left alone after all, and should no longer crave company. And she had, she hoped, passed the test.
CHAPTER TEN
When Skarga saw Mandegga later the same day, they met in the narrow corridor just beyond Thoddun’s bedchamber.
This was not a passageway that led directly elsewhere, and the wold-woman’s appearance was at the very least unaccountable. Skarga suspected that, since she was known to have no intuition and so would not be alerted in the transanima manner, some, with the intention of casually stumbling across her, increasingly adopted a less than accidental maintenance outside the chamber. Humanity, they assumed, meant stupidity, and surreptitious lingering would therefore be accepted as pure coincidence.
Yet an innocent desire to meet with the human interloper into their realm could easily have been accomplished by knocking on the door. No one had knocked. Innocence was not the obvious assumption.
“Ah, the lame human.”
Skarga smiled, which was not how she felt. “Day’s greetings,” she said, having no idea if it was morning or night, but polite from one guest to another.
Mandegga was never alone. Her retinue trailed behind her, sweeping the echoes of her own silken capes along the ice. Now they stood dutifully silent at her back. Mandegga said, “I was just passing, and thought of you. I’ve heard that my people here avoid you and of course, my husband has no time for you now. I sympathise. On reflection, I shall be kind. I shall befriend you.”
“I think not,” said Skarga, chin up. “I choose my own friends.”
“My dear,” said Mandegga with a small wolf’s smile, “I understand and admire your pride. No woman admits to such solitary boredom. I shall take you up and show you around, this being my own realm. First let’s go in, where we can talk.” She pushed close, breathing quick and hard. “We’ll have such fun, you’ll see.” Her decorated silks swept against the ice with whispers of their own.
Skarga firmly snapped shut her thoughts. “Your idea of – fun – lady, would not be mine.”
Mandegga bit her upper lip, which was fleshless. “Females, of course, being so rare. You know, perhaps, what a valued position I hold? Has anyone explained to you how uncommon a feminine transanima truly is, my dear? Whereas, of course, human females are – well, let us say, the normal occurrence.” She tapped her foot. “So now into the comfort, a bed to recline, and women able to chat and to laugh together – in private. Come, come.”
Behind Mandegga, her jarls waited. A well piled sled was part hidden in their shadows. A second man clutched an armful of colours, another a small wooden chest. Skarga shook her head. “You cannot enter here,” she said, standing firm. “If you wish to talk, we can go elsewhere.”
“But what an inconvenience that would be,” smiled Mandegga, wide mouthed and showing her teeth, “and you so sadly crippled, poor child. Here would be better I think, where we can be private, just two girls together.”
“I don’t invite guests into the king’s chamber,” Skarga said.
Mandegga’s frozen smile stared back. “Remember, that bedroom is still my own by right.”
Skarga found anger hindered balance and wondered if trapped much longer on one foot, the tips of the crutches might slip, sliding her ignominiously to Mandegga’s elegant leather toes. She said, “Then you must speak to Thoddun about it.”
“My husband,” said Mandegga, “now shares as much of his time as he can with me, but a king’s time is precious, and his cares are mountainous. I hate to bother him with small matters. Of course now we sleep together in my little room, but it’s less comfortable for us both. He feels, having offered this chamber to the human, he should not now demand it back, but -”. Mandegga paused, and sighed.
Skarga clung to her crutches. “Absurd. I know him better,” she said. “And now we seem to be talking only about this room. Did you come to see me or just to get your bed back?”
The wolf retinue, shadowed and hesitant, watched and waited. But Skarga thought their breathing was suddenly more animated, as if they prepared for movement. She stepped back.
And then there was Kjeld again, as dutiful and as prompt as his huge legs could support, stomping up from the distant tunnels, and a great sweated palm behind Skarga’s back just when she thought she might fall. “Sent,” Kjeld announced. “To see to the lady.”
With a tussle of five jarls turning in a tight space, the over-laden sled wedged. Too many legs scraped ice. As bickering concerning wolf hierarchy and precedence continued, Mandegga led her squabbling retinue and left. Kjeld stooped, looking warily into Skarga’s face. “Thank you,” said Skarga.
“Not me, lady,” said Kjeld. “But I wus’of, if I done knowed. T’was him as sent me. Like usual.”
“Lord Thoddun?”
“Ah,” said Kjeld.
So Thoddun did not want Skarga to relinquish his chamber. Though, as he had warned her before, he did not come himself.
Skarga gazed up at her protector, tilting her head far back to see him more clearly. She could see the walrus, hidden deep within. She could not at first see the kindness which he clearly nourished along with the whiskers and the simple obedience. She murmured, “I believe I will be constantly threatened by your wolf-woman. Does Lord Thoddun know this? Does he accept it?”
Kjeld nodded earnestly, then shook his head a little, as though unsure of the reaction Skarga hoped of him. “Ah,” he said again, and scratched his chin. “Not as if’m the lord done tell me what he knows nor ‘cepts, lady.” He regarded her and receiving no objection, continued, “Lord says Look after lady. So I does. Glad to.”
“Well, I’m glad too,” Skarga answered him and hoped he could read her thoughts. For she dismally expected that Mandegga had no intention whatsoever of relinquishing her ambitions, nor her threats.
Skarga had been taught to fight. She had a knife and could use it. But with her broken ankle as yet not fully healed, the only hope she had was a slow and painful escape, an ignominious collapse, or a defensive swipe with one of her crutches.
The uncountable stages of the moon, glimpsed through ventilation openings, turned sickle, to wedge, slipped to the horizon, widened to half term, and approached the zenith. Skarga was aware of being equally watched. She was not approached but once empty passages now seemed patrolled. Not Mandegga, but her retinue and other persistent but unrecognisable jarls trod the corridor beyond her chamber, and stared when she emerged. She wondered, sometimes, if it was Thoddun’s concern that shadowed her. Then it occurred to her that the wolves, though they walked as men, we
re those who continuously lined her way. Kjeld was Thoddun’s ambassador. Mandegga used wolves.
When the mid-winter moon rose full the transanima, like all men, celebrated. In the far off lands of the Nor’way the nights would then gradually begin to shorten once more, but in the northern lands of the ice-bear the dark remained permanent. No sun rose above the invisible horizon, but some of the weremen dreamed of the slow melt, the unfreeing of the sea’s tides, the migration of the narwhale and eventually the first thin light over the invisible horizon. It was nearly Yula. Skarga looked down at the remnants of her clothes, sniffed slightly and chose, though not unhappily, to ignore the feast. One sodden indulgence more or less could not alter a life. It would be a chance to see Thoddun again. On the other hand, it might only be a chance to see Thoddun sit beside Mandegga, a king and his queen holding court.
“I’m not coming,” said Skarga.
Egil stared at her open mouthed. “Miss out on Yula? You must be mad. The greatest feast of the year and our first Yula in the castle and you don’t want to come?”
Skarga sniffed and looked away. “Your people don’t want me.”
“Some of them don’t. Thoddun don’t care about that. Any hall’s the same. There’s the malcontents. There’s the trusted lords. Some are popular and some aren’t.” Egil regarded her with a slow grin. “Always felt wanted back at Ogot’s halls, did we?”
“This is different.”
“Of course. It’s so much more exciting. It’s magic. Can’t you imagine how glorious a transanima Yula will be?””
Erik was sitting cross legged on the ground, hands flat on the deer hide covers. “It’s that bloody wolf-woman, isn’t it?” he said. “Horrid creature. Ignore her.”
“That’s easy enough,” sniffed Skarga. “She ignores me. But then, so does everyone else except you two and Kjeld.”
“But no one would dare disobey Lord Thoddun and try to harm you. Not even the bitch,” Erik objected.
“But the bitch left, didn’t she?” said Egil, who was rolling on the bed and had swept the covers into a round silken bundle, only his nose now visible. “Quite a few days ago. Ten at least. Is she back?”
Skarga was interested. “She left?”
“Oh, she’s not left for good,” sighed Erik. “The wretched bitch’ll be home again sometime. Half her retinue’s still here and she won’t give up the fight that easy.”
“The fight?” said Skarga. “What fight?”
“Always been a trouble-maker, they say,” Erik recounted with relish. “Last time she lived here, the lord punished her. Evidently Thoddun whipped her raw himself, and had her exiled.”
“Whipped her? Himself?”
“Just come to the feast,” said Egil, muffled by feathers. “We’ll look after you.”
Only very slightly ashamed of her immediate interest, Skarga leaned forwards. “Tell me. About Mandegga.”
Erik shook his head. “I wasn’t privileged to watch.” He saw her expression and laughed. “Actually I’ve no idea, I just don’t know. It’s all stories. Ask Thoddun.”
“As if I would.”
“Too proud?” Egil grabbed her arm. “Look, come with us to the feast, and I promise I’ll find out for you afterwards, and tell you all about it.”
“Hopefully,” added Erik, “she won’t ever come back. Anyway – tonight will be glorious.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Yula, centred between seasonal shortages, was celebrated, beloved and feasted in every society where midwinter’s austerity threatened a community’s peaceful compliance with its lord’s rule of law. The long dark and the long cold, and the insidious risk of starvation led either to rebellion or hopeless apathy. Insert a holiday and holy day, inspire with mythic significance, alight with new hope, a full belly and wine’s languorous promises. The little cult of Christianity had adopted Saxony’s Yula within their own fables, the Sami gathered and sang, even the wild Rus turned midwinter festive. The Norse remembered the festival with fires and feasting, and the transanima kept it too.
Pushed to attend, Skarga found a place kept for her, close to the fire where she had sat once with Thoddun. The boys helped her down, muttered reassuringly about being comfortable, and ran off to bring food and a brimming cup. She could see few she recognised, not Kjeld, Lodver or even Halfdan, but Orm came over as soon as she settled amongst the furs. He shoved Egil aside, spilling ale, and sank cross legged beside Skarga, scratching his beard. “It’ll be less of a Yula this winter-tide, lady, with what’s afoot. But the lord’ll be glad you’ve joined us. He said as how you might not.”
Mandegga was not present, and nor, so far, was Thoddun.
Skarga said, “Is he coming? Thoddun? To the feast?”
Crinkle eyed and wide mouthed, Orm’s smile stretched over prominent teeth and a narrow tongue. “The lord’s away,” Orm said.
“Even for Yule?” Skarga felt a black disappointment and hoped to mask her feelings. “Isn’t this the biggest feast of the year? Isn’t the lord expected to be – amongst – to be here?”
“He’s got business out there.” Orm waved a large arm towards the ceiling beams and their smoke drifts. “Wouldn’t be gone if it wasn’t important.”
“And Mandegga too, I hear. She’s away?”
“She is,” said Orm. He paused. “Though she’ll be back.”
“I suppose so, And Lord Thoddun too,” Skarga looked away. Two gone. Two together then. So Thoddun might intend spending Yuletide with his previous wife after all. Skarga blinked away the dangerous thoughts, and turned back to Orm. He stretched out his boots to the fire, such soft leather that she supposed them unlined. She wondered what creature Orm channelled.
Orm said, “Thoddun told you then, what’s up?”
She admitted, “I haven’t seen him.”
Orm scratched his crotch and leaned back. “Either it’s happened, or it hasn’t, and if it hasn’t then it still might.” Disinclined to speak again, he basked in firelight and puffed out his belly. A grown man, Skarga knew, enjoyed a night feasting, which was all men seemed to think of anyway except for trade and battle. But she was wary of Orm since his last overtures of friendship.
The celebration seemed simple, without Yula log or huge outdoor fires, no jugglers nor acrobatics, no musicians with flute and lyre, and no story tellers. The transanima, it seemed, took less delight in man’s fancier fooleries, those Skarga remembered from her father’s Yula feasts. With no women or dancing, the entertainment remained ale, wine and meat. The smells were rich and the noise cavernous with the minor squabbles of inebriated contentment and the shadowed circling of the many animals. This Yuletide there was no famous bard to relate the sagas, but the men would surely sing before the night was over, their mystical chanting which inspired the Shift. There was nothing different from the only other feast she’d attended here, apart from Thoddun’s absence. Squashed between herself and a pig bloated man staring morose into his drinking horn, Orm now sat uncomfortably close. Skarga wriggled for space. Egil, arm extended across her neighbours, filled her cup. Orm shouted, “Boy. Not this crap. Bring the lady the red Roman.”
Egil stayed hovering. “She likes the spiced white, my lord.”
“Rubbish boy, no cheap potions here. Do as I tell you.” Orm belched and turned his grin back again to Skarga. “Eat, woman, and drink. Too much good meat, too much good wine waiting. I’ll get you to your chamber when you’ve had your fill.”
Skarga said, “My fill’s been reached already, and Egil’s right. I prefer the white.” But Egil had obediently brought the red wine, slipping like the curling flames of transanima fire over the beaker’s silver rim.
“Now off,” Orm roared, waving one large flat hand. Skarga watched Egil quickly disappear.
“Is Kjeld here?” she asked, hopeful of rescue.
“The walrus? Gone with Thoddun,” Orm said, “and me left to guard the lady.”
Skarga drank. The red wine was smooth and more warming than the fire. She felt her
toes curl. Since he was not present, it seemed safe enough to speak of him, and she said, “Is Kjeld really a walrus?”
Orm nodded. “The only one, poor brute, and feels the lack of others. But he’s fearsome when roused.”
She had hesitated to ask. Some refused questions on the Shift but Orm answered casually enough. General embarrassment seemed to accompany any such discussion, but Thoddun had not forbidden her to speak of it. He’d mentioned Shifting often, and explained it too, though with initial reluctance. She wondered what Orm might be, remembered the dance of the dolphins, and then, feeling obliged to speak of something, said, “And are there more bears and wolves than others? Or sea creatures? The dolphins and the whales?”
“Asking mighty private questions, lady,” Orm said, grinning as though he’d caught her in some vulgar innuendo. His arm, stretched out on the furs behind her, moved inwards and the tips of his fingers rested on her shoulder. “And what more of our secrets would a little human be wanting to know? The lady likes the intimate details, does she? And what might she do, for the one as told her and showed whatever she’d like to see?”
Skarga sat stiffly away from the crawling fingers. “I didn’t know they were secrets. I’ve seen men change openly here. I certainly don’t want to pry.”
Her beaker was empty again. Orm signalled to Erik. “Fill the lady’s cup.”
Skarga scowled at Erik. “No. Don’t.”
Erik stepped back. He looked uncomfortably towards Orm, then across to Skarga. He said, “Lord Orm’s in charge lady. I must do as I’m told. But you don’t have to drink it.” He disappeared with her cup.
Orm turned again to Skarga and winked. “They’ll be chanting soon. You like that, don’t you, my dear? I’ve watched you before. So drink deep. The night goes on forever here, and the feast won’t dry up before the men do. No counting time, and the hall’s as comfy a bed as any other.”
Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy Page 40