Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “I’m not sure, but I – was taught,” she’d said.

  “He did, did he?” Thoddun had smiled disconcertingly. “Well, I’ll test his tutorship along the way.”

  At first they kept close to the coast, its contours deep hidden beneath the ice but rising jagged where fjords cut through into cliffs. The stars were gilded, sparkle-tipped in a reflective dazzle along the snow crust. But the white was not white at all. A thousand soft blues plunged into deep marine. Shades of sulphur, paling into a lemon as sweet as primroses in the southern meadows. Greens; dirty bruise into verdigris, a green as sharp as grass merged into the colour of unripe raspberries, aquamarine lapping to deep jade, and the startling emerald depths of the bergs. The grey of the wolf pelt, the shimmering black of a shadowed night. No white snow was truly snow white.

  Thoddun kept her close but did not speak. He steered one handed and his other arm encircled her beneath his bearskin. She did not interrupt the blue thrill in his eyes and his clear delight in the wild openness, the freeze in his nose and the sounds he adored in his mind. Into the silence, vibrating for a great distance across the endless ice, Skarga heard the pounding of the sea from beneath its underground prison, and the grinding fury of the bergs. Finally, after many miles, she said carefully, “Will you tell me why you brought me with you, if it’s a special reason, and one I might like to know?”

  He laughed into the dark. “I’ve reasons I can tell you, and other reasons I’ve no intention of telling you yet,” he said. “Apart from keeping the pleasures of your body close, and the comfort of affection and companionship, there’s your own right to be present as witness and judge when I decide what to do with your family.”

  “Those reasons I guessed,” Skarga said. “What else?”

  “I’ll probably use you,” he nodded, “in various ways against the humans. As a source of information. As a lever. As a goad. If necessary as a messenger.”

  “They won’t trust me anymore than they trust you,” she said.

  “But they know you as one of their own,” he pointed out. “Same race. Same species.”

  She shook her head. “Not entirely. They think I’m a witch.”

  “At least you don’t turn into a monster in the night.” He chuckled. “Besides, annihilating the bloody aggravation and audacity of your family is a minor part of my intentions.”

  “Really?” She squinted up at him. The wind remained low but their own speed slashed the ice cold into their faces. “War? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  “No.” He paused. “I find your incapacity to read my thoughts frequently useful.” His arm around her pulled her tight, his fingers beneath the bearskin, pressing into her shoulder. “But I should balance the advantages sometimes I suppose, and tell you what you can’t know any other way.”

  “Usually you just get irritated with me being human.”

  He grinned. “That too. But your simplicity is charmingly reassuring at times. I don’t ever have to wonder what scheme you’re plotting, or what thoughts you’re hiding.”

  She knew he was teasing, and who he was thinking of, and didn’t challenge it. Instead she said, “So this isn’t just a battle, transanima against human?”

  “It isn’t,” he said. “Which explains another of the reasons I brought you with me. Simply because I can’t leave you behind. Without those I trust to protect you, myself or Lodver, nor even Flokki, Safn or Kjeld, you wouldn’t be safe. I’ve left men I trust to guard the castle but I wouldn’t trust them with you. Those I trust completely, I’ve needed to bring with me. I can’t fight a war without my best men. But I learned my lesson from Orm. So I’m keeping you close.”

  “Do they all resent me that much?” she said.

  “It’s an unsettled community,” Thoddun said. “It always has been. My people come from all over the north, from Saxony, from the Rus, from the Isles and even from the great East. We channel twenty or more different creatures. We’ve contrary beliefs, religions, needs. And into the existing upheaval, I’ve brought a human. It’s never happened before.”

  She nodded. “And most transanima are ostracised by humans. Persecuted.”

  “More than that,” Thoddun said. “Many of them hate what they are. They’ve hidden their truth, felt the shame of it for years living in a human society before I found them. They envy humanity for their normality. They still think themselves damned. It’s what you all think, isn’t it? The slur of inhumanity.”

  “We worship the gods.”

  “It’s an argument I’ve used to console my people in the past. But if any of you actually met one of the gods you claim to adore, you’d try to kill him. Isn’t that the basis of the Christian story? Odin was reviled too. You hate anything different. So do we.”

  “So some of them hate me.”

  Thoddun smiled. “I’m using an old trick. When turbulence or revolution undermines a community, war helps to change their focus. War’s the perfect distraction, uniting those who dislike each other against a common enemy. Before you came, my people barely accepted a semblance of tolerant unity. Now with you shoved under their noses, the wolf insurrection and Orm’s challenge, if I did nothing, there’d be collapse. Orm could never have taken leadership, but he was popular. The wolves are pack animals. Even those in the community who disliked Mandegga and never followed her rebellion, feel the pull of obedience within the pack.”

  Skarga sighed. “So it’s not only me.”

  He laughed. “No. If you were the only threat to their petty little sensibilities I’d have had a clear choice. Either bully them into submission, easy enough, or deny my own desires and never openly take you into my bed. But it’s not that simple. My parents weren’t the only dark ones. It’s a trait that runs deep through my people, though some have it stronger. I won’t allow war amongst our own. The were-bitch obligingly gave them another focus. I’m using that. With you along, I can also prove to them where your loyalties lie.”

  “And maybe you’re testing me,” Skarga wondered. “Perhaps you doubt me yourself.”

  “I have no doubts,” he said, and wasn’t smiling. “I know your mind. I read your mind. And if you ever change your mind, I’ll cheerfully enforce my own will.” His arm was around her, the musky smell of his body heady. “No conscience, remember?” His fingers tightened, reassuring. She did not feel insulted. “I’ve committed us both to this union,” he continued softly. “I gave you the option of leaving me before. You didn’t take it. It’s too late now.”

  Across the endless stretch of frozen sea, the pale echo of moon’s aura hung a moment, a fading memory slipping into thin grey lines like the grizzled stripes on a wolf’s fur. Then the horizon became again indefinable. The dogs ran silent. Neither their paws nor their breathing interrupted the deep magic. Skarga closed her eyes.

  When she finally awoke, she was alone on the sled and the dogs were stretched panting on the snow. Someone laughed. Skarga clambered to the ice and waded forwards, dragging her furs. Thoddun was speaking to Kjeld. There was a cliff top where they stood together looking down. Thoddun was laughing.

  Kjeld said, “And ‘tis a fine sight, my lord, wot gives a joy I done almost forgot. And them ladies is mighty sweet.”

  The spangled stars were back. Skarga stood beside Thoddun, looking down to see what he saw. The cliffs dropped suddenly in a slither of snow and a dribble of pebbles and dirt. Below them on the pack ice a pale light bathed the restless humps of a hundred dark bodies. Thoddun swung a quick arm around Skarga and drew her close. “Delectable indeed, my friend,” he said to Kjeld. “But if there’s a cow that takes your fancy, forget it. You need to get ahead of the sea army, and Flokki will make land somewhere before next sunup. This isn’t a night for battling bulls over their harems, nor for romantic indulgence.”

  Kjeld nodded obediently. If he doubted Thoddun’s own intentions of chastity, he did not say so. “More n’ one lady, if you’ll pardon me, my lord, as would appeal, be it different times. But I’s not go down, nor
not wanting the battle. Not,” he turned a blood shot eye on Skarga, “as couldn’t whup ‘em all, if m’ wanted. Them old bulls, well, could take two at a time, I could.”

  The walrus rookery was a heaving mass of nervous belligerence. Each creature flanked its neighbour in mighty flatulence, bodies squashed, snorting and complaining, each curve of blubber shuddering in impotent discord. “Perhaps on the way home,” Thoddun suggested kindly. “They’ll be mating by then, before calving.”

  Kjeld swung his head, neither nod nor shake. “Ah,” he said carefully. “Us’ll see, then.”

  Thoddun laughed again. “Forget your suspicions, my friend. I’ve no interest in walrus calves, neither as bear nor orca. I’ve taken a human mate, and will eat my meat well roasted from the spit.”

  He led Skarga back to the sled as Kjeld mounted his own, cracked his whip and called to the dogs. The great baggage train slid off into the shadows, and Thoddun climbed aboard their own, holding out his hand. “Come on, little cub.” She clambered up and settled at his side again as he nestled her into the furs. Up and eager, the dogs wheeled, running from the cliff edge back across the invisible snows. The tracks cut through a softening slush and the spray flew up into Skarga’s face as she buried her gloved hands beneath the fox fur. “I imagine,” Thoddun said suddenly and softly, “that I take a deal of putting up with.”

  She was surprised and lifted her head from his shoulder, looking up at him. “For Kjeld? For me? Or yourself?”

  He chuckled. “I’m mightily satisfied with myself as it happens. Being Fourfold is pleasure enough. And then I like having you.”

  “So you’re thinking of Kjeld,” she said. “Does he mind that bears eat walrus?”

  “He would if I did,” Thoddun laughed. “But I’m unlikely to be so undiplomatic as to eat his own kind in front of him. Besides, as it happens, there’s maybe as many bears killed by walrus as the other way, though the poor buggers only attack in defence.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I doubt you’ve spent many sleepless nights considering the plight of the walrus. Besides, man’s a more dangerous enemy.” Skarga had owned broaches once, which she had loved, carved from the ivory of walrus tusks. There were also ivories on Thoddun’s bench in his room. “Though,” he continued, “incongruous as you may find it, the worst enemy to both bear and walrus is another creature altogether.”

  She couldn’t think of one. “Not wolves. Not birds.”

  He laughed. “The orca.”

  “You can’t be your own enemy,” she said. “You can’t fear yourself.”

  His laughter echoed. “Remember, I am neither bear, nor orca, my sweet,” he said. “I am transanima.”

  Many hours later Thoddun made their first stop to rest the dogs. Skarga smelled the musty staleness of old stone, damp moss and stagnant puddles. The blackness sank into blindness. The faint sound of seepage echoed so suddenly huge that she could tell the height of the cave, and knew they were deep within the cliff. She could see only the glint of Thoddun’s eyes as he cupped his hands, breathing into his palms. Then the sudden tongues of flame appeared, little more than a tiny blur of red and gold between his fingers. The light and its shadows loomed and leapt, disclosing their chamber. The exhausted dogs stretched, licking their paws where the pads were cut and sore from running over the endless ice. A small insidious wind crept from the narrow cave’s mouth. Thoddun came to Skarga, scooped her up into his arms and strode with her into the complete darkness. “Not so cosy,” he said. Each word echoed as the rocks sang back. “But there’s no benefit in tiring the dogs, or you. My army will travel slower than a lemming, and I’ve no desire to get too far ahead. We’ll rest when there’s cover, even minimal.” She felt his hand slide beneath the furs, exploring the neck of her tunic. “And there’s place enough for you to sleep. I won’t be here.”

  “You’ll be – Shifting?” she whispered.

  He kissed her ear. “Yes,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. I know he calls – the bear – out on the snows.”

  “But this time we’re near the coast, and the orca calls too,” he said. His fingertips brushed her nipple, so lightly she shivered. “But it’s duty, as well as pleasure. I intend meeting up with Flokki and the others. The dogs will guard the cave entrance.”

  His embrace warmed her so entirely, she dreaded its removal. He smiled into her cheek, and clasped her breast more firmly, stroking its curve. “I like your skin,” he murmured. “Buttery and soft. Neither fur nor feathers, but as pliant and sleek as silk. I like you naked, but I won’t ask for that here. Sleep now, and when you wake, you’ll be back in my arms.”

  She sighed. “It’ll be bitterly cold in the water.”

  “The water’s warmer than fur to the orca,” he said. “But the man will look for your warmth when I come back to you. Now, just be thankful I don’t channel the walrus.” She giggled into the fox fluff. Thoddun bent and kissed her cheek. “Hush now, little cub. You are quite safe, and it’s time to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes. She felt his fingers briefly against her forehead, moving the curls back from her face. Then he was gone. She gave herself to dreams.

  She was cold when she woke. She heard nothing but the faint ooze of ice down rock. Thoddun’s tiny fire had gone out and the black was pitch. She was cramped and beneath her the ground was relentlessly hard. She wedged herself up onto one elbow, and felt her back creak. She couldn’t hear the breathing of the dogs, and her own breath was moist against her nostrils. She heard nothing and saw nothing. Then she froze, realising what must have woken her. Far out, across the snows outside the cave, a wolf howled. Another answered.

  Feeling her way in the darkness, arms outstretched, hands crawling the walls, Skarga shuffled slowly to the cave mouth. The dogs had gone. She was alone. In the wild white openness, a pale light reflected. The sky was starless but a hesitant twilight streamed up from a visible horizon and even behind the mountains to her left, a faint glow marked the coming of spring. The snow crust was marked with foot prints. She scrambled down in the damp and stared at the small indented shadows. She was surprised at how easily she could read the signs.

  Thoddun’s boots were clearly marked, large, heavy feet and a confident stride. Then he had stopped, and wide legged, he had braced himself against the wind, and there he had Shifted. Those two footprints were deep and strong and cut into the ice as if carved by knife, and from that point, wandering off into the invisible distance and heading towards the coast, were the huge prints of bear paws. He said it was the orca who called to him, but it was the bear that had gone to the water’s edge.

  It was later that the dogs had left, for their small marks crossed over those of the bear, and they went away from the sea ice, heading inland. Skarga returned under shelter. Her eyes had adapted, and now even within the cave she could see the vague suggestion of shape. Searching beneath the sled’s covering, she discovered her bow and quiver and slung both over her shoulder. She wedged her knife into her belt. For a long time she stood, stilling her mind, alert for sound. She expected to hear before she saw, and hoped, if the wolves howled again, she could judge their distance. But only their eyes, a sudden sallow azurite, betrayed them and she heard nothing until they were on her. Skarga fitted the first arrow, and aimed.

  “Keep back,” she whispered, “or I shoot.” Strange, she thought vaguely, to speak to a wolf and to know, without doubt, that it understood you.

  They were wary. They had smelled her and come for her, but they had not been searching for her. They had been searching for someone else. The fur across their backs and shoulders bristled, eyes unblinking, haunches high, ears pricked. Skarga smelled their breath. One stepped forwards and faced her. She loosed the arrow.

  Too close to miss, her arm well tutored, the wolf took the point of the arrow in its eye, the pale gold iris for which she had aimed, and the only part of the creature she could clearly see. It fell, grunted and lay shuddering, legs stiffening
. Blood oozed from its eye and across its sagging tongue.

  There had been three. The other two did not look down at their dying companion. They lifted their heads, a quick flick of their ears. They had been waiting and now others had come behind. There were six or more, shadows milling, looming, darting forwards. Skarga took another arrow, fitting the nock to the string. She closed one eye, her fingers curled, she pulled back the cord and stared down the shaft into the eyes of the wolf beyond. She loosed the arrow. The string rebounded, biting against her unprotected arm. As she aimed, the wolf simply ducked its head and the arrow passed over it and into the darkness behind. The twang of the string, the cut of the flight, lost in the wind. A transanima wolf learns quickly. They did not lower their gaze, but crept slowly forwards.

  Skarga fitted a third arrow. The smell of bear remained at the cave mouth, and the smell of the man strong within. They would think, she hoped, that Thoddun still rested behind her. She could not quieten the thunder of her heartbeat but she was careful of her thoughts. She loosed the third arrow. Where she aimed, the wolf again lowered its head but the bodkin point caught the animal behind, ripping through its ear. It snarled, and leapt. Skarga stumbled back, dropped her bow and grabbed at the hilt of her knife.

  “Stop now. Move back immediately,” the voice said, sharp and extremely clear from behind them. The wolf that had leapt was between Thoddun’s hands, its ear bleeding against his tunic. He had it by the scruff of the neck and it hung limp, afraid to struggle. He snapped its neck. The crack was brief and loud. He flung the carcass aside and strode into the cave. The wolves scurried back, hurrying to the walls, panting and rolling their eyes. Thoddun came to Skarga. He wiped his hands on his britches, leaned down, and swept her up into his arms. Without looking back, he continued to walk with her into the depths of the cave. Over his shoulder, Skarga saw the shadows of four white bears. Then snarling and hissing, snorting, the gargle of death, the whimpers of terror, of pain and panic. The wolves disappeared beneath bear paws until there was silence again.