Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Thoddun smiled and closed his eyes, remembering. “I’ve no objection to men speaking the truth.”

  Another said, “And you were the eldest, lord. I knew you. We practised archery together, since I was already well tutored. You and our Lord Grimr were twinned siblings, but you were the first born. We expected you to inherit.” The man laughed. “Make friends with the little prince Thoddun, my mother told me. He’ll be king after his father.”

  “And you are -?” Thoddun opened his eyes, gazing pleasantly at the man speaking. “Yes, Ospak, Snorri the archer’s son. I remember we went fishing, and I pushed you into the river when your hook scratched my cheek. Then I had to jump in to rescue you.”

  Ospak sniggered. “I remember that. I got home soaked and my father beat me for wounding you. Or perhaps just for being a bad fisherman and coming home with neither fish nor eels and nothing but ruined clothes.”

  No one spoke of monsters. Only one man said, “But lord, the fight we saw from the battlements, and the troops massed outside? Is this real?”

  And Thoddun said, “Reality is a state of mind. I am as equally disturbed by finding my home taken over and the freedom of my realm barred to me.”

  When he left them, striding back into the shadows of the long corridors, the men continued to speak of him for a long time. They had no way of knowing that even from a great distance, Thoddun heard their words, their thoughts and their intentions.

  He went then to the open cave where the pack ice led to the great ocean. The place from where the sea army had originally set off, and through which he had later returned alone to his besieged castle, was now also guarded. The wide stream that ran from the mountains’ distant peaks beneath the castle foundations and out to the sea, provided the castle with fresh water and a place for the games of dolphin and seals. In deepest winter it often remained iced, broken only at its mouth for easy access. Now the surge of meltwater was turgid and much of the stream ran free. Open to the sea and sky, this was the most uncomfortable place to patrol and though the men were dressed for the bitter cold, standing unoccupied and blasted by the wind, froze them through their capes. Twenty men stood there, three fishing, the rest stamping their feet and flapping their arms. They drew their swords when Thoddun appeared, and scowled.

  “Oh, I’ve no intention of flinging myself into the ocean,” Thoddun smiled. “Is life so unacceptable that I need already drown myself?”

  Several of the men grinned, the rest stood angry. “You’ve no right to be here,” one grumbled. “If our lord allows you to run free, then so be it. But we’ve seen what your people are. You’re a foul hoard of trolls and beasts. Get back to your chamber.”

  Thoddun walked across the ice and gazed out to the distant horizon. It was quite hidden, an invisible division between the black of a star pricked sky and the lazy heave of the reflecting waters. Its stark white a little blurred in the darkness, one jagged iceberg, lulled by a gentle tide, basked in the star glitter. He knew his people would be there. “I am my brother’s prisoner,” he said without turning around. “But this is also my home and I will go where I wish.” He turned then and looked at the men’s faces, obscured by the shadows. “Einis? Is that you? You’ve changed little enough over the years, and look like your father. Who was my father’s jarl, and proud to be so. They called my father a monster too, but never in his hearing.”

  The man stared, and then sheathed his sword. “It’s you then, lord. But how? No one told us who you were.”

  “I’d heard rumours,” said another, “but we weren’t sure, and feared punishment for the saying of it.”

  Einis said, “But lord, I should be on my knees. You were the elder son. Why did you leave?”

  “I took ship to Saxony for the raids,” Thoddun answered slowly. “A young man’s education in sailing and battle, and a preparation for kingship.” He sighed. “Don’t you remember? I came back to find my parents dead and my brother in charge. I’d no desire to start a war between my own people and watch brother killing brother.”

  “You should have killed your own brother,” one muttered.

  Another said, “Avoiding war? A strangely placid decision for a strong man’s son.”

  Thoddun smiled. “You think me a coward? Perhaps, in a way, I was. But you see, I had reasons for my decision. And your township admired Grimr then. He’d killed the tyrants, our parents. He was the hero.”

  “No man should kill his mother,” someone said. “My Da wouldn’t follow him after that, and went back to farming. Kill your father yes, but not your mother.”

  “But the old king had already lost his title to the king over the mountains,” said Einis. “He’d lost respect, and the right to call himself chieftain. Few objected to his death, and it seemed natural enough for a young man to challenge his father and fight for his own ambitions.”

  “And there were stories,” someone else mumbled, hanging his head and remembering the battle of the giant he’d recently witnessed. “Of the old king, and the queen too. Of beasts and monsters. Of terrible things happening in the night.”

  Thoddun smiled. “Ah, yes. Stories of monsters. How apt.”

  Einis shook his head. “If you’re our rightful king, then I’ve a right to ask,” he said, and the others clustered around eager and quiet. “What’s the truth then, lord? We saw more beasts outside than men. But we caught a monster in the passages here not long past, with no knowing how it got in, and my uncle helped kill it – a man turning into a wolf before our very eyes. But now you remind me of the old stories. King Ulf wolf-sight, they say he changed shape and came out howling at the moon, dressed in fur and eyes like gold.”

  “My dear father,” Thoddun grinned. “Sweet memories. Perhaps I’ve inherited something of his powers. Does that seem likely, given all you’ve seen? But then, Grimr is my brother. My younger brother. Remember that too.”

  “He’s a monster alright,” one man said, hiding his face in the shadows. “Though I’ve never heard of him changing his skin. Is that what the beasts do, lord? Is that what you do?”

  “As Odin does,” Thoddun smiled. “So is it monsters you fear? Or the gods?”

  But no one guarded the flooded dungeons. The weedy waters squelched to the first steps, leading up deep and narrow with space for only one man abreast, lost in fearful shadow. No one stayed there alone and the place remained empty of life. Thoddun found two of the wild ones plodding the corridors above. “Why do you stay?” he said, interrupting their approach. “The people who understand you are outside these walls.”

  They glared at him. “We despise them as we despise mortals,” the first one said.

  “When I reclaim my kingdom,” Thoddun said, “there’s a place for you here, if you want it. My people Shift at will and live in freedom. Few remain Shifted constantly as you prefer to do, but it’s a choice they make as they wish. Most of us need a safe and regular return to man and find it more comfortable to live principally in human form. We’re more men than beasts. You’re more wolf than man. It’s a free preference.”

  The second wild man frowned. “You made war on the wolves. There’s barely a werewolf left in the wild. We came to help our own kind.”

  Thoddun laughed. “You’re only helping humans. I made no war on the wolves. I exiled my wolf mate when she compromised her dominance and my position. I killed her when she attacked my new mate. Would you expect me to pardon a bitch who fought the dominant female of my pack and disobeyed my orders?”

  They shook their heads, growling, disturbed. “We’ve no place anywhere,” the first said. “It’s the death of our race. Here we’re even forbidden to Shift.”

  “I’ve never spent so long in man form,” said the other. “It makes me itch and my skin crawls with all this hairless flesh.”

  “One of your people began to Shift earlier today,” Thoddun nodded. “The men outnumbered and killed him.”

  “But the place is guarded,” said the wild man. “We’ve no way out, no way in.”

 
; “There will be soon,” Thoddun said. “And your race isn’t dying out. Werewolves are more numerous than you think, and I’ve wolves living in peace in my community. One sits on my Althing court, another is a valued friend. They’re both in camp with my army. Choose to join them, you’ll be welcome.”

  “Your people would kill us before they knew we came in peace,” said the first.

  Thoddun shook his head, “Call for Manute and Byhrnoth,” he said, “both faithful wolves,” and he strode on and left the wild men to talk softly behind him in the dark.

  Thoddun gathered the thoughts that raced, spinning into his head from everywhere within the castle. He heard the men murmuring, wondering about who and what he was and why it was Grimr standing as their chief, not him. There was great discomfort and confusion concerning what they had heard and witnessed, and in their minds they feared worse, as men do, imagining horrors as yet unseen. He heard the surly bitterness of the few wolves left within the walls, then Grimr’s sleeping dreams of glory, of battle, of his channel springing to life, of the first Shift he might one day achieve, and of Skarga’s body naked beneath his own.

  The boy was awake and miserable. Knut had crept to Thoddun’s bedchamber to talk, and ask, and find comfort while his father slept. But he found Thoddun gone and had curled alone in the silken bed.

  Thoddun strode back to his own room. His control was expanding as he wished, but his concentration was divided. Through the wisps of two hundred men’s thoughts, Thoddun heard Skarga’s, persistent and imperative. There was no call for protection, no urgent need of him, but he could not distance himself from the dancing shallows of her mind. He slipped into her thoughts, smooth as the orca through the summer waves, felt her toes curl and her mouth tilt in unconscious smile, as if somehow, imperceptibly, she was aware of him. But responsibility did not permit distractions. He entered his chamber, slinging back the covering curtain, strode across to the boy and sat abruptly on the edge of the bed. Knut gazed up at him through the relentless dark, blinking bright blue eyes.

  Thoddun flicked his fingers and a tiny flame sparked, like the sudden lighting of a very small candle. “I wish you’d show me how to make fire,” Knut mumbled. “It’s so cold. I’m tired of being cold.”

  “I like it cold,” said Thoddun. “And I like knowing your people freeze. Should I make them comfortable?”

  Knut snorted. “What difference would it make? I’ve seen your army. These stupid men couldn’t ever beat you.”

  “So before slaughtering them all, you want me to accommodate them comfortably in their stolen beds and give them good cooked food and roaring fires?”

  “Oh well, alright. What about a small fire just for me?”

  “Should you be treated differently? Aren’t you my enemy too?”

  “Oh.” Knut struggled to sit up. “That isn’t really what you think is it? No, I can see your mind laughing at me. But what about my father? He’s your brother, and you’re helping him and waking his wolf. But you do think of him as an enemy.”

  “Stop trying to read my thoughts,” Thoddun smiled. “You do it very badly. I can manipulate the barriers, and either distract you or mislead you at will. One day I’ll teach you properly.”

  Knut sat up. “You don’t intend killing me then? Really? Will you promise?”

  Thoddun grinned. “I promise.”

  “Just because I’m a child? Don’t you kill children? My father would.”

  “I’ve never had occasion to kill children,” Thoddun said. “I expect it would depend on circumstances. Slow roasted and tender perhaps? But I shall refrain from butchering you, however appetising the temptation.”

  Knut sighed and sank back a little. “And my father?”

  “He isn’t your father,” said Thoddun. “Tell me something more of your mother.”

  “I told you, she was just a slave,” said Knut. “She died. Slaves die. Who cares?” He was wearing the two silver broaches that Thoddun had earlier given back to Grimr. They were pinned, woman’s and children’s style, at the shoulders of his tunic.

  “Your reading of my thoughts is haphazard and faulty,” Thoddun said, “but mine of yours is instantaneous and complete. So don’t be a fool. What was her name?”

  “Ella.” Knut looked at his lap, twisting his fingers. “She was from Saxony, taken in the raids long ago. She didn’t have any special powers, but she was kind and beautiful. She was – special. She was still young but she got sick – and died.”

  Thoddun nodded. “Now tell me about your father.”

  Knut pouted, his lower lip jutting out. “You know more about him than I do. And you keep giving him hope about his wolf but you know it’s dead. I can smell it. Worse than troll breath, worse than maggoty meat. Why do you lie to him?”

  “There is always hope,” Thoddun said. “Do you know every secret of the transanima? Do you understand every possibility, every tiny detail of our powers? No. Then leave hope alive, even if nothing else is.” He smiled again. “Now tell me of yourself. Why did you come to me tonight?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Knut scowled, challenging pity. “My father’s threatening to beat me if I don’t tell him everything I can hear from you. And he makes me try and hear that woman’s thoughts too, but she’s too far away. I don’t really care about being beaten but it isn’t fair. He won’t teach me about Shifting, or anything about the transanima or the meaning of things. And you say you will. You’ve shown me lots already. But he says you hate me and you want to kill me, and after you’ve brought his wolf back, he’ll kill you. But you said you’d tutor me, and – I’m confused. I don’t understand. I can’t sleep. I’m cold and hungry and everything’s horrid. Back home it was horrid, but now it’s worse.”

  Thoddun laughed suddenly. “Come here.”

  Cautious and suspicious, the boy crawled forwards to the edge of the bed. Thoddun stood and walked to the far side of the chamber, away from the bench, the bed and the falling water. There he bent, took a small scraping of iced dust and blew on it between his palms. Knut followed him, watching carefully. Thoddun’s fire sprouted copper flame with a sudden burst of heat. It flared quickly up to the high roof, but the ice around it did not melt. The flames were blue as lapis, green as verdigris, and raging bloody crimson. Knut flung himself down and stretched out his hands, face shining.

  “That’s – impressive.”

  “I’ll bring you some decent food in a little while,” said Thoddun, “but just this once. In the meantime use your intelligence. When all this nonsense is over, I’ll tutor you properly. It’s some years before you’ll be able to Shift but there’s still a lot you can learn. You may have some fire-power already, but it’s likely to be erratic and uncontrolled. I can help you control it. But I have a war to organise, with as little destruction of my home and my people as possible. As for your own people, by rights, they’re also mine. I’ll not have them all slaughtered unless necessary.”

  “And my father?” mumbled Knut, with a hiccup.

  “He’s not your father,” said Thoddun.

  “And me? You’ve promised not to kill me. Did you mean it? My father promises lots of things but he doesn’t always keep the promises.”

  Thoddun smiled, sitting beside Knut on the sealskins, his face burnished by the leaping flames. “I won’t kill you child, and will not allow anyone else to kill you. Not only because I promised. I don’t keep my promises either, if it inconveniences me. But I won’t kill you because you’re my son.”

  Knut stared without blinking. “Didn’t you know?” Thoddun said.

  Knut’s voice shrank very small. “No. But I wondered. Then I thought it wasn’t possible. You’re magic but not – I mean, you never knew my mother.”

  “Maybe I did.” Thoddun gazed down at the boy, frowning a little. “Nine years ago I came back to the halls of my father. I was nearly sixteen but ignorant in many ways. I was still learning to perfect the Shift, for it takes a great deal of practise and I had no tutor. Shifting was my principa
l interest, not women. But perhaps I knew your mother then - as many months before your birth as it takes a human woman to make a child.”

  “You’re not sure?” Knut whispered.

  “I am sure,” Thoddun said. “I don’t remember your mother though the name Ella breathes some vague familiarity in my mind. But I know you. I recognise you as surely as though I saw you born.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He left Knut and went out through the waters. For the first time, he allowed the boy to see him Shift.

  Knut stood shivering with excitement, warmed by the fire and anticipation, frozen with amazement. Thoddun explained nothing but turned from the child’s wide eyed joy and flew straight out through the spangled falls, leaving the boy in silence.

  The great spread of the camp, huge shadows pierced by the smouldering crimson of the cooking fires, lay just beyond arrow flight, shrouded in smoke and slumber. Thoddun flew down to its quiet edge, shrugged off the water which scattered like little pearls across his feathers, and Shifted quickly back to man. Then he strode into the deeper shade between the tents. Skarga’s tent was hitched against his own racing sled. He came to it at once. He could hear both her breathing and her mind. Around, stretched on the snow, the sled dogs slept. The lead-dog pricked its ears, smelled its master, and returned to its dreams. Skarga’s dreams were moon swelled and sensual. Thoddun ducked, and entered the tent.

  She was tucked beneath the furs and did not move. He smiled. She had powers that interested and delighted him, but animal awareness was not one. Where the bear heard the gentle breathing of a seal pup from miles away and deep beneath the ice, Skarga’s sleep was not even interrupted by a man coming to her bedside. She could be taken, or killed, he thought, before opening her eyes. Smiling at her oblivion, he knelt beside her. Then he slipped quickly into her dream.