Tim Leach - Smile of the Wolf

That cold touch upon my skin once again – the mocking warning of a god.

‘Tell me what you mean,’ I said, ‘as quickly as you can.’

It was Ragnar who spoke now. ‘I went out to the captains and sailors. To try to get some sense of the talk in the valley. What Björn and his kin might be doing. I… I wanted to help.’ He hesitated. ‘Vigdis has been riding all across the valley today. And it seems that Björn will go tonight, with the turning of the tide.’

For a moment I could not breathe. ‘Where?’ I asked.

‘The north coast, near Kambsnes. He has a ship waiting for him there.’

‘Surely no man will sail in this storm.’

‘The wind is true and this storm will pass soon enough. It has to.’ He swallowed. ‘Thorvaldur said that it would be a coward’s curse to wait. That they would ambush Björn as he made his way to the ship.’

‘How many will go with Björn?’

‘I do not know. His brother. A few more men as well, I would have thought.’

‘Why did you not stop them?’

Sigrid spoke now. ‘You invite a wolf into our home and ask if we shall stop him for you?’

Ragnar smiled sadly. ‘I am sorry, Kjaran; I wish I could have stopped them.’ He licked his lips. ‘He called me a… coward.’

The word hung in the air – a killing word. A man or a woman needs magic to bring bloodshed. There are words that need no sorcery to make a killing inevitable: speak them and men will die. I saw Sigrid’s lips go white with fury, her hands twitch as though they longed to close about a weapon.

‘I will have to fight him, won’t I?’ said Ragnar. ‘To challenge him to the holmgang .’ He looked down at his sailor’s hands. I wondered when was the last time he had held a weapon. ‘I know what I am. But I cannot have it said.’

‘No,’ I said. Within me, I felt the killing joy change to something different. The cold, measured sense of revenge. ‘If it comes to that, I will fight him for you. I think, perhaps, that is what he wants. How long ago did they leave?’

‘An hour. They took horses.’

‘I must have one too.’

‘They took our two best. But take Snorri. He is old, half-lame. But he may get you there in time.’

A lie – a kind, hopeful lie, but a lie all the same. I took a spear from the corner of the room, felt the weight of it. An axe and shield lay there as well and I took them too. Kari had taken his father’s sword with him.

They did not speak to me as I gathered my arms. They could not even look at me, nor I at them. At the edge of my vision, I saw her take his hand in hers and hold it close, and I shut my eyes against the sight. They are glad to be rid of me , I thought. And I cannot blame them for it .

Yet when at the door, I heard a voice calling to me.

‘Kjaran, wait.’

I turned and looked on Sigrid. She glanced back at Ragnar, sat by the fire in the longhouse.

‘Will you return?’ she said to me.

‘I do not think so.’ I looked down at my hand, my good hand, and I saw that it did not tremble. ‘I will see Gunnar again. And I shall save his son. And that will be enough.’ As I spoke the words I thought of that burrowing embrace Kari had given me that morning. Had he known then? Had he sought to say farewell, but had not found the words?

‘Are you afraid?’

‘No.’ I met her gaze. ‘It is an easy thing to go to death, and to know it will bring joy to one that you love.’

She said nothing for a moment. Then: ‘That is not true. For I did love you, once.’

‘But not now.’

‘No.’

‘And never again.’

‘I do not think so. But I did love you once. Truly, with all that I am. And perhaps that may mean something to you.’

‘It does.’

I took in the flaxen colour of her hair. The whetstone edge of her jaw, those eyes with the touch of green at the centre. The way her hips had felt against my hands on that one night so long ago. I remembered it all then, and knew that I would not forget.

I was weary before I began. The killing lust had left me and I felt only the longing to rest – to lay down my head and close my eyes and let the killing be over for one day at least.

One last ride to the battle, I told myself. One more time and then it shall be done. Then there will be nothing but rest.

How would they have thought, those men who hunted men? What paths would they have taken? In places the snow had settled and I found horse tracks there. This was strange country to Thorvaldur, but he had Kari to guide him and none knew better the hidden places of this land than a boy. I struck north, past the beach where Gunnar and I had found the whale, and for a moment, amidst the storm-tossed surf, I thought I saw a figure there, raising a hand in greeting to me.

Wait , I told him. I shall come to you soon .

There was Laugar to the north; perhaps Björn and his men would stop at the hot spring before they set sail. And then they would go to the west, towards the mooring beyond Kambsnes. To climb the hill and look upon the Salmon River Valley one more time before they took to the sea.

I found the horses wandering free at the base of the hill. Cast to roam as they wanted, for their riders did not expect to need them again. There upon the ground, the marks of feet in the mud and slush: those of a man, those of a boy. Like a father and a son, walking together. And I scrambled up after them, binding my shield to my maimed hand as I ran, twining the strands of leather and cloth together.

Atop the hill now, a burning fire in my lungs, a hate in my heart. There, ahead, a figure lying upon the ground. So still that I might have mistook him for a twisted tree root in the shape of a man, a patterned rock playing tricks upon my eyes, a murdered man left unburied. But my eyes did not lie. Thorvaldur lay upon the ground, his hand upon a spear, his eyes on the valley beyond.

I came forward, one foot before the other, my shield before me, as soft as I could walk. A shift of weight and the shaft of the spear was resting on top of my shoulder, saving my strength for the throw. For all my caution, he heard me coming.

‘Kjaran,’ said Thorvaldur as he turned his head to face me. If he felt any concern at my levelled spear, his face did not reveal it. ‘Kari said that you would come. That you would find us. I did not believe it.’

‘Where is the boy?’

‘Not a boy any more, but a man. For he will fight with us in the feud. That is what you wanted, is it not? That is why you gave him back his father’s sword.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He is close. He is where he should be.’

‘I shall kill you,’ I said.

‘Perhaps. But it will do you little good.’ He pointed down. ‘Look there.’

In the valley below I saw Kari standing tall. One hand resting atop the shield that was propped up beside him, the tip of the sword in his belt dragging against the earth, for he was not tall enough for it to hang true. He wore a black tunic: the colour of killing. There was no mistaking what he intended.

He saw me then, through the curtain of snow. He smiled at me and waved and was a boy once more.

I wanted to call to him. To tell him to run, to hide. To forgive me. But the words caught in my throat, for I saw, around a turn in the valley, beyond the sight of Kari below, a group of men approaching. I heard the wicker of their horses, the distant familiar chatter. I could not hear the words, but even at that distance I recognised some of their voices. The men who had hunted me through another storm. Björn, his brothers, and those who stood beside them.

I went to ground and lowered my head, feeling the wet grass against my forehead, like a cooling touch against a fever. When I looked up once more, I saw Thorvaldur with his hands held up, palms to the sky. He tilted his head and he smiled.