“Collecting more brats?” Thoddun shrugged his tunic into shape. “What boy?”
“Grimr’s son,” said Skarga.
Thoddun sat, turning his back to her, and began to tug on his boots. “Grimr can’t have children,” he said. “No inert transanima can procreate.”
Skarga curled beneath the abandoned furs. “The boy said he wasn’t Grimr’s son. He kept denying Grimr, but Grimr still claimed him.”
Thoddun turned, looked down at Skarga, and frowned. “I doubt Grimr has that much paternal instinct.”
“But Grimr adopted the child and seemed to care for him,” Skarga said. “He defended him, and taught him. And they looked alike.”
Thoddun had gone across to the waterfall and was rinsing the sweat of love-making from his hands, but he paused, and returned to the bed, dripping iced droplets to the silks. He sat again beside Skarga. “Tell me about this boy,” he said.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Skarga was surprised. “I’d almost forgotten about Knut. He was cross and rude and belligerent – and very touching.”
Thoddun was reading the thoughts behind the eyes. “How old was this boy?” he said.
“Eight, perhaps. Tall for his age.”
Abruptly Thoddun leaned forwards, clasping both his palms to her head. His hands were still wet and when he released her, her curls were damp around her ears. “I see,” he said. “Yes, there’s a family resemblance.”
Skarga blinked. “You saw him? In my head?”
Thoddun nodded with a faint smile. “An intrusion. I’m sorry. But I wanted to know.”
“I didn’t know you could do that. It’s – an uncomfortable feeling. So did it help? Can you tell if you have a nephew?”
“I might,” said Thoddun.
Skarga watched the first dawn from the carved ice blocks of the castle turrets. She had only once been outside since Orm’s challenge. The wind hit her face like flying icicles. Hands well gloved, she hung on to the turrets and squinted out into the darkness. There was neither star nor moon, but a hesitation of spring’s first light filtered in a narrow cut through the distant black.
She wore blue. It was, she thought, the colour of Thoddun’s eyes. Both kirtle and tunic had been altered for her. The tunic was silk, and had once been amongst Thoddun’s spreading bed covers. The kirtle was soft wool, and had once been the wolf woman’s. The two huge silver broaches that held tunic to kirtle had been smelted by the castle smith. The runes of Thoddun’s name were entwined between carved knots and the small faces of animals. No one had thought to use her own rune marks. She would not have been able to read them in any case.
Thoddun had pinned the broaches himself, having brought them to her. He had dressed her in what he had brought, just as he had undressed her some hours previously. Then he had brought her out to watch the dawn. It was the first time the sun had noticed them for some months. “Tomorrow it rises higher,” he said. His arm and his bearskin were around her. “Then the first unit heads south.”
“And you? And me?”
“Yes,” he said. “Before the pack ice starts to recede, and the land breaks into islands. I can swim. You can’t. I want us in the Nor’way before the melt.”
When she was back in the chamber again and alone, Kjeld came. He ducked, entering carefully through the outer archway. He carried a large wooden chest, holding it aloft as easily as she might lift a soapstone bowl. He set it on the ground at the foot of the bed. Skarga clambered over.
“The lord, he done said,” Kjeld announced.
Skarga flipped up the chest’s lid. She had not expected so much. The silks and furs sprang from confinement like prisoners from their chains. She slipped her fingers across the colours. “And they aren’t just from the -?” Well, there would be little point questioning Kjeld on the origins. “You’re kind. Thank you.”
“Told to,” said Kjeld happily. His expression changed abruptly and he bent awkwardly to one knee, bowing his head. The ground vibrated as he knelt.
Skarga looked at him in some surprise. “Thoddun told you to do this too?”
“This ‘m me lady,” Kjeld mumbled, deep in embarrassment. “T’wus terrible bad done, and the worsted I could’ve.” The effort of balancing on one knee seemed to affect his lungs. “Sorry, lady, true sorry, from the top of m’heart, and ev’ry guts below. I’s true sorry ‘n true shamed.”
Skarga had no idea what to do with him. A vague feeling of inadequacy engulfed her. A real transanima, she thought, would doubtless know what he was talking about. She said, “Please do get up. I don’t see you’ve done anything to apologise for. Indeed, it’s a very nice box.”
“For m’ challenge, lady,” Kjeld kept his head down. “And me as guard, - wot failed terrible, - wi’ me not guarding nor watching as should’ave.”
“I see.” Skarga finally understood. “When Mandegga attacked. You were supposed to be looking after me.” A rolling vibration swelled through the ground as Kjeld attempted to prostrate himself at her feet. “Please don’t do that,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t blame you at all. And I’m sure Lord Thoddun doesn’t either.”
A jaundiced eye crept up from beneath the giant’s shoulder. “That he does, lady.”
“Oh, I see,” said Skarga. “Well, I don’t blame you. And I’ll ask him not to punish you.”
Kjeld sighed. “Too late,” he muttered into the ice.
“Please get up,” said Skarga, who was looking forward to getting her hands into the chest of clothes. “It’s very hard to talk to you while you’re down there. What did Thoddun do to you anyway?” It was hard to imagine how anyone could punish someone the size of Kjeld.
“Gave m’choice,” Kjeld said. Getting up again was a slow and difficult process. “Didn’t want no exile. One moon’s turn, the lord says. Couldn’t do it. Terrible sad t’go ‘way. Didn’t want no combat. Would’ve hurt some’uns. Not their fault. My fault. Don’t want no hurting some other bugger. No cleaning middens, neither. Little boys already dunnit. No need again.”
Skarga nodded. “I see,” though she didn’t.
“Whupping,” said Kjeld, finally back on both feet. “Took whupping.”
“Who did that?” asked Skarga, momentarily diverted. “They’d have to stand on a box.”
Kjeld shook his woolly curls. “Lord Thoddun,” he said with pride. “Dunnit hisself. Don’t do many, he don’t. But dun me.”
Skarga was unsure whether to congratulate or commiserate. “Well,” she said carefully, “personally, I consider you my friend.”
Hot salt tears suddenly hovered on the bristles of Kjeld’s eyelashes. “’Tis a guilt, lady, a terrible guilt. And terrible kind to be saying them things, lady an’ I tells you this, be it ever wanted, not that I’s much of a prize an’ that’s for sure, but be you ever needing summit, then you asks me, lady, and I’ll does it, that I will.”
She thanked him. She was touched. “But I won’t,” she said, remembering recent instructions, “be giving orders, you know. Lord Thoddun will tell you if he wants anything done.”
“Ah well,” smiled Kjeld. “That’s as goes without saying, lady. But I reckon I’s got a choice too, as it happens. An I’s the lady’s champion now, that be my choice. You needs protecting lady, then you says so. I gives my breath and I gives my life. ‘Tis mine to give. An’ ‘tis your’n from now. An’ the lord, I reckon he won’t say not.”
Skarga wore cinnamon silk the next time Thoddun came to get her. He had not seen her well dressed since he had abducted her from her own pony and cart, and thrown her over his shoulder and onto his ship.
She had washed most carefully, dressed at leisure, and combed her hair until it shone cinnamon silk like her new tunic. She had unbandaged her ankle and found herself stable, though she limped a little. She had cleaned her teeth and finger nails. Her vague, spray washed reflection in the waterfall gave her hope. Then she had waited some time. She was half asleep when he came. He sat on the edge of the bed, bent and kissed her cheek. She
rubbed her eyes and scrambled up. He said, “You stink of mutton tallow. What’s happened to your own nice smell?”
“Soap,” frowned Skarga.
“I prefer woman,” he said. “You’ve a very nice smell yourself. Why wash it off? There’s nothing alluring about the stink of soap.”
“Don’t I look better this way?” She was disappointed. “After all, I’m not a – a bear. I don’t come on heat.”
He grinned. “Is that an apology?” He pulled her close to him, crushing her silks. “I’m not a bear either, my love. As I’ve told you, transanima is different. Do you expect me to sniff your arse, or piss where you have, to advertise my claim?”
She sniffed rather loudly into his tunic, which was neither washed nor clean. “The clothes,” she said, with hostile precision, “are very nice thank you. But if you don’t want me looking – groomed – why bother getting them for me?”
“Because I knew perfectly well you wanted them,” Thoddun pointed out. “And it wasn’t any effort on my part. There are people here who stitch and work leather. I gave old Harald the she-wolf’s stuff and a handful of covers from the bed, and told him to get on with it. And I didn’t want you smelling of my mother. I avoid remembering her and I certainly didn’t want her scent in my bed. So I gave orders to the best of our smiths for new broaches. But I don’t remember giving you a chest full of soap.”
Held tight to his own warmth, Skarga’s voice was muffled. “I found the soap amongst your things on the bench. And you wash. Quite often.”
“When I’m covered in someone else’s blood. Or filth from long travel. Salt. Wood ash. Or whale blubber.”
Skarga wriggled free and glared up at him. “You even wash your hands after – that is – like this morning. Before you left.”
He laughed. “After fucking? With the smell of your sex on my hands? Yes – when I’m about to go and join the men. Otherwise I might as well invite them into the bed with us.”
Skarga sighed. “So you don’t even care what I look like?”
“I think you look nice.” He lifted her chin and smiled down into her eyes. “But I like your own smell better. It’s the smell of you that haunts my dreams. It’s the smell of you that hangs in the air, just outside this room. I like a scent trail I can follow to source, with the smell of you thick and strong through the bedcovers and heavy across the furs. That arouses me. I can taste it. I suppose you have to wash sometimes. Just not too often. Especially when you put on new clothes. Then your own smell’s completely disguised.”
“Do these things smell of – Mandegga?” The wolf woman had sometimes worn cinnamon silk.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t allow that. Every piece of her material was double cleansed.”
“Your habits take a deal of getting used to. But thank you.” She cuddled back into the curve of his embrace. “And thank you for sending Kjeld. He was kind too. I’m sorry you punished him. He says he’s my champion, should I ever need one.”
“Guilt,” smiled Thoddun, stroking the back of her neck and up into her hair, scratching gently behind her ears. “They’re a strange lot, the walrus. Thick skinned too. And damned tough.”
“I suppose so.” She’d never seen one. “I don’t ever expect to need a champion, but a giant would make the best. And certainly tough.”
“I meant to eat,” said Thoddun vaguely. “Hard to catch for a start, and bloody long tusks. You don’t want one of them through your paw while you’re trying to swipe his nose. But they panic easily you know. Well, perhaps you don’t know, but they do. A wholesale panic of an entire rookery often leaves a pup or an old female squashed dead or dying on the beach. Easy pickings. But the skin’s so tough, they take a lot of getting into. You have to start at the genitals. The skin’s softer there. But pungent. That’s not a scent I’d recommend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
They stood outside the outer gates, looking to the long white horizon. A flicker of sinking light already turned the whites to silver. The cold seemed no different and a bitter wind blew thin and sharp around their ankles. But light was always a joyous sign.
“We now begin a commitment far beyond the usual nature of our people,” Thoddun said, gazing out to the bustle and busyness spread huge before them. “A long journey. A battle that will continue on many fronts until our enemy is vanquished. And a greater expanse of time than the transanima are accustomed to anticipating.” Thoddun smiled. “Oh, commitment is not entirely beyond us. We sail, and know that a ship will take so many days to pass from one shore to another. We feast, and know that time will be spent until we are sober again. We know and expect, while waiting, for Yula. We plan. We look ahead. But to bind ourselves to long commitment such as this is a rare promise for the transanima. Most of us are committed only to the seasons. When to migrate. When to nest. To search for a mate. To return to the deeper ocean, or trail inland when the sea ice melts. And, of course, when simply to hunt. Even during battle, there are those who will lose interest and tire. Even forgetting why they were fighting in the first place. Or yearn for the great empty wastes, and wander off. Even in defence of our own, the wild ones may suddenly abandon such a target, and no longer accept he need to stay over time. Few of us embrace responsibility.”
“And you?” Skarga whispered.
“I am a Fourfold,” Thoddun said, looking down at her suddenly. “The division of my nature is greater. But so is my commitment as leader. I do not forget duty. I never tire. The sea eagle is responsibility with wings. And this war is something I relish.”
“And perhaps to see Grimr again?”
“Perhaps. But simply to see, is not the aim. There will be a great deal more than – looking.”
Stretched out across the glistening and endless ice before them, the dogs were barking, impatient, a huge shaggy tussle of wagging tails, excited yelping and panting tongues. A hundred dogs. Perhaps twenty or more sleds lined up, men moving between, tethering the dogs, piling up the furs on the driving benches for a long cold journey south.
Lodver, the new Second-in-Command, was ordering each separate careful detail, marching between the men, overseeing as he strode, bending to examine and discuss, to rearrange and to change orders. Skarga, staring out and squinting into the white dazzle, noticed Kjeld, his massive shoulders higher than most men’s heads. He was also busy, leading a small band of plodders to check the sleds and dog leads, refastening and tighten each harness. Finally he and his troop reappeared, carrying out, one by one, the huge loads for the luggage sleds. The bundles were of dried food and sleeping blankets, tents and oiled wadmal for keeping out wind, snow and rain. Calling, laughing, brushing down the snow from the awnings, filling the water casks, looking to Kjeld to carry the greatest loads and for Lodver to organise and to agree, and finally to smile, nodding, and say that their roping and binding passed the test.
Others were stacking weapons. Covered for protection from the weather were giant heaps of axes, swords, bows, arrows, knives, shields and short spears. These were stacked on the sleds until the weight was only just less than the maximum for the dogs to travel at full strength and for long periods without tiring. Their barking was ever more adamant, eager to run. They sank back reluctantly to the snow when ordered, but bounced up as soon as their masters had gone, once more dancing, calling, impatient and pulling at their leads, until Lodver came once again, and ordered them down.
Thoddun stood on the snowy and rolling rise not far from the gates. Hands clasped behind him, he stared out into the fading light, the wind in his hair and his eyes. He wore the belted tunic and strapped britches over boots as always, but beneath the tunic was a leather jerkin and beneath that was another tunic of linked metal loops. Enough to turn the points of most weapons. Skargam standing beside him and almost in his shadow, was wrapped in the bearskin, but shivered.
Turning abruptly, Thoddun looked down again to Skarga. “The journey starts soon, my love. You’ll see less of me when I’m needed elsewhere, and more of me when I h
ave the choice. Choice, remember, is the heart of every problem.”
She looked up at him, shaking her head. “Is this a problem, then? To me it’s a risk. A terrible risk of things unknown. The fear of my family.” She sighed. “But I thought you relished this war.”
“I relish problems.”
She took one deep breath, as if filling her lungs for the long challenge ahead. “And will we win, my love? Do you know how this will end, since you seem to know everything else?”
His smile was deep tucked into the corners of his mouth and his eyes shone as bright as the glistening horizon. “We have already won, little fledgling. Now we set out to fulfil all the complicated and fascinating glory of what I have already decided.”
“And you won’t – you won’t be badly hurt – will you, my own love?”
He shook the golden hair from his eyes. “No doubt I will. No transanima fights so carefully that he avoids injury. But I heal quickly. I won’t leave you in a lonely bed for long.”
“And will it – take many moons, Thoddun, until it’s all over?”
“It will take as long as it needs,” he told her, a faint crease between his eyes turning smile to frown. “It will take whatever passage is needed in order to kill your wretched brothers and father, decimate whatever bands of transanima wolves join the fight against us in their dead queen’s name, frighten off the intrusive human hoards, and – whatever else is my desire to accomplish.”
“Killing Grimr?”
“That,” said Thoddun softly, “is yet to be decided.”
STARS AND
A WIND
Book Three:
The Singing Star
By
Barbara Gaskell Denvil
INTRODUCTION
“It’s pleasant, exceptionally pleasant,” he laughed, “to know myself so wanted.”
“Craved.”
Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy Page 56