Tim Leach - Smile of the Wolf

Not a man that I rode with spoke of the people who followed us. But from time to time, when they thought my eyes were not on them, I saw them twist in their saddles and glance back. Perhaps gauging the distance, checking that they were not riding any closer to us. Perhaps counting for numbers, to see which side would have the advantage if it came to a fight. Perhaps wishing that they were with that second band, that they rode with the hunters of men. I had no doubt that if I remained in Iceland as an outlaw, there would be plenty amongst Olaf’s men who would come looking for me.

We left behind the plains, and before us lay the fjord, the harbour, the open sea. The place they called Borg.

A coffin cast into the open sea had guided the first settlers to this place, and the dead had chosen well. A natural harbour, and farmlands that stretched far inland. We came to that first farm, where Egill Skallagrímsson now lived, and it was there that Olaf parted from us. He strutted and preened himself for the laughter of his men, preparing himself to face the most fearsome of the warrior poets as though he were wooing a lass that he loved. Only when his eyes passed over me did they dim for a moment.

His men soon scattered to attend to their own matters: visiting the traders at the docks, looking in on old friends, visiting new loves. Ragnar and I alone made our way to the docks.

He was so nervous and uncertain on land, tripping and hurrying like a clumsy child as he made his way down the rocky path to the sea. Yet the moment he laid his hand to the hull of the ship, smiling like a shy lover, he seemed to right himself: set his feet and stand tall, a man born to be upon the water.

No doubt his life would have been ended a long time before in one quarrel or another had he not shown such courage on the sea. For the people of Iceland hate nothing more than a coward, fear nothing more than the open water in a storm. For Ragnar, a man inverted, they held a kind of wary respect. For I had heard the stories: of waves that seemed like mountain ranges, of lightning dancing across the sky and thunder striking men deaf. Of the bravest warriors shaming themselves with fear, and there was Ragnar at the tiller, entirely unafraid, guiding his ship without loss through the worst of storms.

‘How does she look?’ I asked him. ‘I know nothing of ships.’

‘My shipwright has taken good care of her,’ he replied. ‘We should go tonight.’

I hesitated. ‘I had thought we would leave in the morning.’

‘Why wait? The tide will be with us, and the wind too.’

‘Where do we sail to?’

He looked at me and grinned. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Too great a privilege for me to choose. A mere passenger.’

‘It matters little to me. There is trade wherever we go.’

I did not answer for a time. ‘I will not choose,’ I said.

‘Why not?’

‘If I asked you whether I should cut off your hands or pluck out your eyes, what would you answer?’

He went pale at my words. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘It is one thing to choose a journey. Quite another to have it forced upon you.’ He ran his hands over the hull once again.

‘I have always wandered across the land. Perhaps you can teach me what it is to wander the sea as well.’

‘I have never cared much for the land. The men may tolerate me, but I know what they say: no woman would choose a coward for a husband. It is a lonely place for me. And out on the water I am not alone. I am not a coward.’

‘Your body is a coward. Your mind is not. I know that of you and I have not even seen you on the sea.’

‘It is kind of you to say so. Very kind.’ He blinked and looked away. ‘I will come and find you, when it is time to go. You should say goodbye.’

‘Goodbye? Goodbye to who?’

‘To the island, of course.’

I wandered alone, picking my way across the rocky paths and listening to the calling of the gulls until I had made my way to the end of the land. It seemed a fitting place to say goodbye.

The sea was not empty in front of me. There was one islet in the water; local stories spoke of it as a boulder thrown at a witch. I sat down and wrapped my cloak tight around myself, for a cold, sharp wind came from the sea. I looked out across the open ocean. I looked towards the west.

There were stories of untouched lands out there. I did not know if I believed them. For all I knew the ocean I saw was empty, perhaps even endless. Unless the songs were true and out there somewhere lay the serpent that encircled the world. I looked on the ocean and found that I was afraid of it.

No, not of it. But of what it meant, what lay upon it, and beyond it. Of countries that were not this one, of people who were not my own. Of losing my home. Of exile.

I tried to think of all the wonders that I might see. Great cities, the courts of mighty kings. Forests where the trees stretched high above the heads of men and went on as far as the eye could see. I had sung of so many places, yet I had known nothing but this island. Known long winters and brief summers, known farms and never a city, the sea but never a desert. Now I would have the chance to see the world beyond.

I looked back on the mountains, snow-touched and towering above the pale hills. I thought of the long winter ahead, the men who waited to kill me, their longing for blood, that feeling that is more than a little like love.

I heard the footsteps on the path and saw Ragnar walking towards me. Light-footed and happy, and I knew from his smile that it was time to go. That he could not wait to set out to sea, to be in the only place that he felt as a home.

He looked on me and I saw the smile fall from his face.

The oars beat the water, the sail spread like the war banner of some great giant. The sea slapped the hull and the wood moaned like a lover.

That is what I saw and heard, as I watched the ship go.

I remained on that same rocky outcrop, looking out on that same little islet, as the ship was loaded, cut its ties and went out to sea. Time and time again I saw Ragnar look towards me as he paced the deck of his ship, but I did not meet his eyes. And I did not move from that place until the ship was far out on the water.

As I stood, for a moment I felt horror at what I had done. Felt the urge to run to the dock and dive in the water, to cry out for them to wait, to take me with them. But I would have to be one of those shape-shifters who can take the form of seal or fish to catch them now. Already they were drawing close to the horizon. Already it was too late.

It was a passing sensation, like a cold breeze that blows once and crawls across the skin and then is felt no more. After that I did not feel fear, though I knew it would come in time. I felt nothing at all.

I traded the first silver ring I had for food that would not spoil. I paused for only a moment before I handed over the second, the one that Gunnar had given to me, for a strong horse. I was going to a place where silver and gold meant nothing. Only iron and flesh had value for me now.

I do not know if those tradesman knew who I was or the sentence that was about to be passed. That today I could trade with them like any other man, but tomorrow I would be an outlaw. Perhaps they were men of the sea like Ragnar, who knew nothing of the feuds of landlocked men. Perhaps they thought that I must be taking some later ship, that I was buying supplies for the voyage itself. Or perhaps they simply did not care.

I rode out from Borg and headed to the east. I knew they would come for me soon.

It was on the fifth day that I saw them. Black dots on the horizon, small enough that I thought them some trick of the light at first. But the truth was clear, soon enough. Riders in pursuit.