Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  For a long time during the journey she had worried. For many miles, forlornly abandoning her thoughts to those who could read them, Skarga wrapped herself in fur and the hug of her own defensive arms, and remembered. With Grimr, she had always been the victim. Now recently Banke had attacked her and she had done nothing. There had been no opportunity to defend herself and she had again been proved helpless. She felt ashamed of each failure and had wondered, remembering inevitable intimidation, if she would fail again when she saw Grimr. Thoddun would be close and would protect her, but the confidence that Thoddun’s regard had instilled, now wavered. Confronted again by Grimr, she might cower, remembering past humiliation. Fear might re-establish.

  But it did not. Although the brothers were of the same height, his sallow face and dull hair diminished Grimr. Beside Thoddun, he was somehow small, and cold. The sunlight sprang rich on Thoddun’s hair as if it sought him only, and glazed him with a burning aura. Skarga stayed looking up at him and barely noticed Grimr at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kjeld dismounted. He said, “Lady, champion ‘tis ready.” He was holding out his hand. Skarga stood and took it, immediately engulfed. He carried her small squashed fingers to his mouth and kissed them. “At y’r service,” he said with practised accuracy.

  Startled by the gallantry, Skarga thought of nothing else to say except thank you. She was, she supposed, thanking him for killing her own brother, but he would do it whether she thanked him or not. Her brother had become her enemy. Then she remembered that he always had been.

  The three prisoners were brought forward, still bound tight to their sled. The dogs strained, barking and howling until unharnessed, then scampered amongst the others already released, yapping persistently and rolling in the snow. Some of the bears reached down, snapping at unruly legs, hissing or snarling. The whole army swayed, distracted. Skarga laughed, looking up again. Thoddun was laughing too. Then she caught Grimr’s eye. She stopped laughing and stared. It came plunging back, like cold water over her head. She remembered Grimr’s hands on her, the cut of his whip across her back and legs and breasts, the fury in his eyes and his endless terror laden demands.

  Lodver leaned close and touched her elbow. “My lady, the men read your thoughts. Think on other things, if you will. The lord reminds you of his protection.”

  She blushed, turning from Grimr to Thoddun. He smiled and nodded. She felt his reassurance; as tangible as the warmth she missed of his arm around her shoulders.

  Many of the sky force had begun to Shift back and men were walking out from the shadows of birds. A peregrine perched on a stack of arrows, one wing hunched as it groomed the soft downiness beneath; rich russet falcon’s wings roosting on goose feather flights. The raven strutted over and the birds nodded to each other. Shadows closed over both. They became Safn and another man, animated, already speaking together.

  Kjeld was marking out an open circle; an arena in the midst’s of sleds, men and bears. The bears moved back for him. Kjeld’s tunic flapped like the loose sail of a Lang skip, and some of the men cheered him as the others teased.

  “You can count Kjeld? How many paces is that then?”

  “Are those boots, or flippers? How many feet have you got anyway, walrus?”

  “Mor’n’ you, silly bugger,” muttered Kjeld, concentrated on his pacing. “You’s no mor’n bag ol’ fluff.”

  Skarga felt the force of Thoddun’s gaze and looked up at once. He was still standing behind the cracked grey turrets looking down at her, but he was alone. Grimr and the boy had gone. The sun had reached its sky blown peak and a gentle warmth braved the snows. Bright blue surfaced beneath the thick cloud. Skarga pushed off her remaining furs and sat, waiting. In the distance she could see Banke, Ollaf, Sodar and Gund squashed up tight, but too far for her to see expression. Their sled swayed a little as they struggled. She looked back at Kjeld. He had almost marked out his stage, but he stopped, as if listening. Lodver said quietly, “My lady, Lord Thoddun is telling Kjeld to wait. He means to speak to the men in the castle, and bring the jarls up to see the weight of the forces against them. And he wants them all to witness the challenge, to see what our people do against humans.”

  Skarga nodded. “I – I’d hoped he’d come out. To be with me when they fight. I hoped not to be on my own when – Kjeld – actually does it.”

  Lodver smiled politely. “I’d never question the lord’s decisions, my lady. No doubt he knows best.” Skarga nodded. The sun was warm on her face, bringing slow contentment. She watched the distant churning of the waters, splashing dolphin tails, the sea creatures playing under a lemon sun. Of all the armies they had stayed quiet and hidden the longest, lurking in the flooded dungeons. Those few released transanima who, being creatures of land or sky, had stayed in considerable discomfort either in the moored boats or camped on the bergs with meagre supplies, now quickly re-joined their friends. All along the pack ice linking sea to land, the people were busy. Beyond the empty place Kjeld had allotted for his own proud battle, the land army were busier. Bears Shifted to men, or Shifted back. They grouped, talking and laughing. A few fires sprang up as meat was roasted and wine blended hot with spices, hands held out to the warmth and blankets slung down for a quick snooze in comfort. Some of the bears wandered off to hunt. The sleds of weapons were checked. Men who had remained unarmed as bears, now retrieved their swords and axes, oiled the handles of their spears, checked their blades, discovered stones for whetting. There was seal blubber to melt in the huge cauldrons. It stank, bubbling like mud and smelling worse, used for sled tracks, arrow shafts and waxing the cords and curve of the bows. There were shields to claim for some, a quick rub of the thumb to test for splinters, a tug on the back bindings to check for loose grips. But in fact few of the transanima found shields, beloved of the Norsemen, convenient in battle. Most preferred to fight Shifted and a bear is already fully armed. Even as men, the discipline of a skirmish fought back to back with shields up, or the careful barricade where overlapped shields could hide a hundred men, was rarely considered, nor easily accomplished by loosely disciplined transanima forces.

  As the sun finally sank, a thick fog crept in from the sea. The water creatures were soon invisible, splashing faintly within the haze. Skarga felt suddenly isolated. The mist rolled around her and she was cold again, an enveloping dampness with a chill more insidious than the ice. She hauled back her furs from where they had tumbled and gathered them around her. The fog smelled of brine. She shivered. Few of the men seemed concerned, disappearing into pale obscurity, the sound of their speech, the grumbling or snarl of complaint and the rumble of their movements still continued and no moment of their preparation paused or haltered. But the dogs stopped barking, tamed by the creeping intangible grey. The sun went out.

  Then a very warm arm suddenly crawled around her waist from the blind cold, and Skarga jumped. “You might warn me. You know I’ve no insight.”

  “Deaf and blind too, then?” smiled Thoddun.

  “You can see in this murk?”

  “Perhaps a little better than you,” his arm tightened around her and he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “But I’m a closely watched prisoner you see, so my trips outside are better handled with some diplomatic subterfuge.”

  Skarga snuggled up. “So you came through the water. But Grimr knows you Shift.”

  “I flew,” he nodded. “Grimr knows I left before, but if he understood how easy it is, he’d have me slung into some other chamber. So although I’m perfectly free, there’s a tacit semblance of restraint. I’ve a good reason to let it lie that way.”

  “But there aren’t any more prisoners except you in the castle,” Skarga objected. “You told me you’d released them all. So why go back in, just to be hurt or ransomed? Surely we outnumber Grimr’s men? So can’t we just lay siege and starve him out?”

  Thoddun smiled. “Are you taking an interest in battle tactics now, little duckling? Well, let me tell you I built a castle capa
ble of withstanding any siege, even from twice our numbers. If Grimr has the intelligence I think he has, he could hold us off indefinitely as long as supplies stretch to feed his men, and I always kept good larders. My best way of breaking back in would be to start more fires and melt our way through. I don’t want to do that. I prefer to keep my castle standing in good repair. But there are other ways, if I play my own game. Slower perhaps, but just as enjoyable.”

  “Enjoyable?” Skarga stared.

  “You’d prefer me shivering in my tent, making sacrifices to Odin and cringing impotent with fear? As it happens, speaking of impotence -”

  “I’ve been watching the army,” said Skarga. “They’re all like you. They think it’s a game too. Some of them seem to have forgotten why they’re here, and they’ve just wandered off, or curled up and gone to sleep.”

  “Yes, well,” grinned Thoddun, “we tend to be like that. The pack animals get rather fired up since they like the challenge of battle. They urge each other on with scent marking and howling at the moon and various other ways of wasting time. The rest of us may live in a community we care about, but we’re independent animals. We’ll fight for our territory but accepting orders goes against the blood. It’s all quite exhausting just getting an army to stay together.”

  It was harder talking about Grimr now he was so dreadfully close. She said, “But Grimr is transanima too.” The fog was thick in her mouth. She swallowed. It tasted unclean. “Why isn’t he the same?”

  Thoddun shook his head. “The wolf is a pack animal and any lead wolf is a tyrant. But it wasn’t Grimr I came to talk about either.” He grinned. “Listen little cub. I’m gradually getting control within the castle. The wild ones don’t respect Grimr and he doesn’t know how to handle them for all his calculations and plotting. He’s had little to do with transanima before and the wolves despise him as inert. He doesn’t even understand the boy. But the humans follow and fear him and they aren’t fools or weaklings. I don’t want a massacre and I don’t want a long siege. We outnumber the men, but they’re well armed and unarmed bears are easy prey for arrows and boiling oil. So I need a little time, but I can’t take you inside with me. I won’t have you face Grimr and I won’t risk him getting you alone. Can you act queen of this perverse and bizarre people a little longer without me?”

  She fumbled for his hand and held it. He wore no cloak and was dressed for the castle corridors and not the open winds, but he was as warm as a small brisk fire. “I was thinking about having to watch Kjeld’s challenge alone,” she said. “You heard me I suppose. Is that why you’ve come out to me? I’m sorry I’m such a coward.”

  “I hear everything you think. Unfortunately, so does half our army.” Thoddun smiled and shook his head. “And finding out a little more of what Grimr once did to you isn’t making it easier for me to have patience with him. But I’m in control, my love, and everything will end the way I wish it.”

  “And the boy. Will you kill him too? Or adopt him to tutor, like Egil?”

  Thoddun paused. “The boy’s a Threefold, already stronger in some ways than Egil, though younger,” he said eventually. “He’d be a joy to tutor. Knut hears thoughts a little, though it’s spasmodic and distorted and sometimes he hears nothing. But for a child his age that’s rare. I’ve not explored what other latent powers there are, I’m more interested in the present situation and Grimr takes a lot of my time. But in the end I’ll adopt the boy, if he’ll come. Do you want a ready-grown son?”

  “What is he? Eight years or nine? A little old to adopt. And he doesn’t like me.”

  “He was simply jealous,” said Thoddun. “Now, little hatchling, before the fog blows back out to sea, I must return to playing the obedient prisoner. And you’ll not be alone when your brother faces Kjeld, for I’ll be watching from the battlements, just behind you. My protection will always encompass you, wherever I am, and I have great trust in your courage.” He smiled and kissed her. “May I go?”

  She did not see him Shift to the eagle but she heard the sweep of his wings in the mist over her head as she sat alone, her body and mind tingling, waiting for Kjeld to announce the start of the champion’s battle.

  The sun approached a green and hazy horizon. The men were lighting torches, steaming with muted gold and scarlet flares through the foggy drifts; the mist now loose blown by the strengthening breeze. Banke, Gund, Sodar and Ollaf were dragged down from their cart and marched into the arena. There they were unbound but tight held by their guards. Struggling and squealing, the four men were forced to kneel before Skarga, heads down. She sat rigid, cramped and breathless on her high bench. Its tracks had been swung around to face the arena, the great castle shadows to her right. She stared up at the battlements but no one stood there. Lodver returned to sit beside her, flanked by two torch bearers. Then the great arena was surrounded by light as each torch circled the space, the crowds pushing forwards. Behind were the first of the evening’s campfires, carcasses roasting, the scent of crackling skin and dripping juices thick through the fog.

  Many weeks ago Ogot’s son had set out to fight monsters. His captivity by monsters had brought him far closer than expected. He and his jarls watched as their guards turned into beasts before their eyes. Travelling with an army of great white bears, their own small courage proved feeble as a child’s temper tantrum. Banke had passed much of his captivity unconscious or insensible. Gund could not speak. Sodar was bleak and pouting. Ollaf was furious.

  Skarga had never expected to see her brother on his knees in the snow, quivering in abject terror, his head bent to her in supplication. Lodver said, “Where is the queen’s champion?” And Kjeld stepped out of the crowd, as proud as a new mother with her first born at her breast. He had dressed for the occasion, but since he had brought no such clothes with him, was barred from re-entry to his sea chest in the castle, and no one else’s clothes could possibly fit him, his appearance was interesting. Over his own coarse shirt, tunic and britches of undyed flax, he had wrapped himself in furs. Two large seal skins covered his shoulders and wolf pelts hung all around from his belt; grey tassels that swept and bounced as he walked. Around his neck were two full sized walrus tusks and in each massive fist he carried a giant axe. He came to Skarga and stood and bowed. Skarga had never seen him so dignified. She bowed back. Kjeld was trying not to grin. He wanted to look official. “Lady. Champion makes challenge. Proper to them wots done wrong. Tried hurt m’lady, n’ scaped wot din’t ortta.” He turned and faced his quivering antagonists. They gazed back at him with a total lack of comprehension. Kjeld’s two bright axes blazed with the reflections of the torches. The three men had been permitted to stand but they now voluntarily fell to their knees again.

  “I didn’t mean it,” screeched Gund through a tearful gaze of horror. “And I didn’t do it anyway. I never touched her. I was under the sled.”

  “I never touched nobody,” muttered Sodar.

  This small detail seemed irrelevant to everyone and especially to Kjeld. Humans were humans and no one liked these ones. The castle was full of the nasty little things, running amok like ants amongst a crop of ruined wheat. Kjeld shook his large woolly head. “Challenge,” he announced. “Tack’m arms.”

  Lodver addressed the prisoners. “Our queen’s champion has challenged you to battle in her name. Choose your weapons.”

  “That queen’s my sister,” sobbed Banke. “Let me go. Do something.”

  “You are entitled to a pair of weapons each,” Lodver instructed them. “Since you own none, they will be allotted to you according to your choice. You may choose a shield in place of one weapon. As you see, the queen’s champion carries two axes. Since he is the challenger, other conditions are his right to decide. However, there is to be no Shifting,” Lodver suppressed a slight smile, “and once any weapon is dropped or lost, it cannot be retrieved.” He looked the humans over with faint disgust. “Any questions?”

  “Where’s Asved?” wailed Banke, still on his knees and thumping
his head on the ground. “He ought to protect me.”

  Lodver opened his mouth, then stopped suddenly, seeming to receive a silent message from somewhere. He turned instead to Skarga. “Lady, with your permission I’ll give Kjeld leave to begin.”

  Skarga nodded. Kjeld crossed his axes across his chest, turned on his heel and faced the prisoners. Their guards hauled them upright. Ollaf, the tallest of the four, came considerably below Kjeld’s shoulder. Kjeld looked down on them all. “Weapons, now,” he demanded. “I’s takin’ all of ‘us agether.”

  Lodver translated. “The queen’s champion is pleased to face the four of you at the same time. But if you don’t choose weapons quickly, you’ll be facing him unarmed.”

  “Bow and arrows,” shouted Sodar at once, straightening. Three men together stood some chance at least. “And a long knife.”

  “Knife and axe,” Ollaf glared. The stumps of his fingers could no longer knock an arrow. He would have problems just holding the handle of an axe.

  As the last puffs of fog dispersed, the wind drew strength, sharp around the ankles and up under the men’s tunics, sending the torch light into a flurry and the loose snow into a chilly drizzle. The wind and the flames clashed each against the other, roaring with echoes of thunder. Then Skarga heard something else part muffled; the heavy breathing of a large crowd, murmurings of disbelief and the shuffling of many boots on stone. She looked up. A hundred whitened faces stared down from the castle battlements. Before them all, Grimr glared directly at her, his mouth twisted in the cold. Even from a considerable distance she could see the strands of russet tinged hair clipping his wide shoulders, and his long sinewed fingers as he brushed his hair back from his forehead. His gaze was fixed and had caught her own and for a moment she could neither look away nor blink. Then something else forced itself between Grimr’s unblinking regard and Skarga’s imprisoned stare. Like the passing of a cold shadow, the trap was broken and she looked away. Thoddun strode forward, pushing the men aside. He stood apart from his brother, smiling down at Skarga. She breathed deep again, pulled her hood quickly around her face and turned to the arena. Somehow Thoddun had entered her thoughts and snapped all links with Grimr.