Tim Leach - Smile of the Wolf

‘Your eyes. I had not noticed before.’ For there was a circle of green within the blue of her eyes that I had not seen. Too faint to see in the darkness inside, and when we met by daylight I had not dared to look so closely, it had not seemed right. Yet now we would be married I could look upon her as I wished.

‘A touch of the fey, they call it,’ she said.

‘I can well believe it.’

‘You should not have come here,’ she said. ‘It angers him to see you. Or it saddens him, I cannot tell.’

‘I do not care what Olaf thinks or feels. I came to see you.’

‘Why?’

‘I am afraid.’

‘Of what are you afraid?’

‘I am afraid you will change your mind.’

She laughed. ‘There is no need. You will keep your promise?’

‘I will keep my promise. I will come back.’

‘Then you have nothing to fear.’ She must have seen some doubt or fear in my face, for she gave a tolerant smile. ‘I keep my word,’ she said. ‘Have no doubt of that.’

‘You will wait for me?’

‘Yes. I will wait.’

And she stood up on her toes, put her arms around my neck. Her grip was strong, as if she were some warrior, and she stopped my breath with one patient kiss after another.

I knew that there were no others like her. If I lost her, I would not find another woman to take her place.

These are the kinds of thoughts that young men speak and old men admonish. But I am old myself now, as I tell this story, and I can tell you that it is the old men who lie. They have made themselves forget what it is to love, have found a way to lie to themselves, to settle for some marriage of politics or swiftly dulling lust.

But I will not lie to myself. And I will not lie to you. There is love and there are few who truly taste of it. It is spilt once and lost forever.

I had seen feuds before this one: petty things, squabbles over cattle, a horse-fight, a wager. Yet I had never been at the heart of one myself, had never known what it was to be hunted. I learned that feeling then as I came back from Olaf’s home, the taste of a woman still upon my lips.

As I retraced my steps along the high path I saw the signs of another man’s passage. A branch bent back beyond the power of the wind, the shallow hollow in the stream bed that marked where a booted foot had pressed into it.

At first I tried to tell myself that it was some stray animal that had disturbed the ground, some trick of the mind or a wandering spirit of the hidden people that was toying with me. I would rather it had been some faerie than a man, for I feared flesh and iron more than magic. But I knew it was not true. Man and animal are alike in one way at least. They both know when they are being pursued.

It was not long before I saw the men who followed. Moving shadows on the neighbouring hills that froze still when I looked upon them. And I heard them too, the wind bringing whispers and voices of men who did not know they could be overheard.

I looked to the sun and saw that I had less time left than I had thought. Yet I could not hurry, be reckless. I have never been so careful with every step that I made, for it would take so little to leave me lame. A knee wrenched from a slipping patch of mud and earth, an ankle shattered by a misplaced step upon a rocking stone. They would see me fall and I would have to wait for them to come to me like an animal in a pit trap, hearing the heavy footfall of the farmer who comes to take its life.

Every so often I would stop and look back on those shadows in the distance, but they never drew any closer. They went still when I looked upon them. Perhaps they did not know my eyes to be as keen as they were, and thought they might have some chance to surprise me. But I think it was that they felt no hurry. I would be an outlawed man in a few weeks’ time, free to be hunted with no consequence.

For now, they were content to watch.

Gunnar must have been running one errand or another – watching the herd, building walls, sharpening weapons, with his children at his side and the sun on his back – for he was not within the longhouse. I was glad that he was not there, would not ask what I had seen. Only Dalla sat there, tending the cooking fire.

If I hoped to keep my secrets to myself, it was an empty hope, soon cast aside. The story must have been written on my face, for as she looked at me Dalla’s smile flickered and faded. She gestured for me to sit with a slight motion of her hands, and we shared the silence for a time.

‘Gunnar was right, then,’ she said. ‘They are out there, watching.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they try to catch you?’

‘No. Only to watch.’ I looked at my hands. ‘And Vigdis was there. At Olaf’s home.’

‘I see. On what matter?’

‘He says that she wishes to sell her farm to him.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘I believe him. Still, it is an ill omen.’

She turned her head slowly and looked about her home, placed her palm against the wall and leaned gently against it. ‘I always knew that I would die in this place,’ she said. ‘But I thought that I would have more time.’

‘It will not come to that.’

‘Perhaps.’ She busied herself about the longhouse and I tended to myself, drinking a horn of water and washing the dirt from my hands and face. I was careful not to wipe my lips, to not lose any remnant of the kiss Sigrid had given me. I wondered how long into exile years that memory, that taste, might last. How long before I would forget.

‘Will you do something for me, Kjaran?’

I started a little at her words. ‘Anything that I can.’

‘Will you take me to see Vigdis tomorrow?’

I did not answer for a time. I stared at her, waiting for her to withdraw the suggestion, to say that she had misspoken. But she held my gaze and did not say a word. Her courage was greater than mine.

‘Gunnar would not agree to that,’ I said.

‘Gunnar will not know.’ She leaned forward and said: ‘I know you do not wish to keep secrets from him. But there is a chance that I can end this feud.’

‘How?’

‘A woman’s words can matter more than a man’s. Has not the feud so far proved this? She is the heart of it, is she not?’

‘Yes.’

‘You cannot kill her. I may speak with her.’

‘It will be no use.’

‘Perhaps. But think of Olaf. You had to ask, even though you knew he would say no? It is no different.’

I opened my mouth to speak again, to find some new argument against what she suggested. But it did not come, for there was no case against it, except one: I was afraid to go back to that place. I was afraid of Vigdis.

‘I will do it,’ I said. ‘When do we go?’

‘Tomorrow. After midday. Gunnar and the children will be out with the herd. We shall have time enough.’

The silence returned and we listened together to the burning of wood, the wind against the walls, the bubbling of stew in the pot. We sat together and I let myself dare to hope a little.

The mist came from the sea like an invading army, a relentless advance in close formation, covering the land in every direction. And so when Dalla and I made to leave there were no landmarks for us to navigate by. We travelled by our instincts, our luck, and my memories of the way.

‘An ill omen,’ I said to her as we set out.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, but she did not seem troubled by it. ‘Or a protection from those who might hunt us.’

I felt the chill that any man may feel at the chance of witchcraft. ‘Is this your doing?’

She laughed at me. ‘No. I do not have the art.’

‘It would not surprise me if Vigdis does, for all the trouble she has made.’