Foxmask (10 page)

It was, in fact, beyond their energy to go there, to seek help. Sam inspected the damage to his beloved boat, his livelihood and treasure; he shook his bandaged head, but it was clear he was working out how soon he might fix the great rent in her hull, replace the mast and be on his way again. The jagged rocks had pierced both garboard and second strakes near the stem; where might one find oak in these tree-poor isles? He ran his hand over the planks, muttering to himself.

Creidhe could scarcely walk. The instant she set foot on land, her knees buckled, and she stumbled through the shallow water to collapse, white-faced, onto the fine shingle of the beach. Thorvald felt little better himself. His arms and shoulders throbbed as if branded; as for his hands, he would not look at those, for fear the sight would sicken him. He knew they were raw and bleeding; he had seen Sam's. One must hope the people here were friendly, and had healers. He sprawled on the shore beside Creidhe, his eyes closed.

“Are you all right, Thorvald?” Despite all, her small voice was desperately polite.

“Mmm,” he grunted. “You?”

“It's my fault,” she whispered. “Now the
Sea Dove
's smashed and we can't go home.”

“Nobody's fault but the sea's,” Sam said calmly, coming up beside them. “I can mend it, given time and the right bit of wood. Means we'll be here
longer, though. Need to look for shelter. And I could handle a roasted mutton shank or two, I can tell you. Looks like some kind of settlement up yonder, though the folk don't seem in a hurry to come out and welcome us. Shall we try?”

Thorvald sat up abruptly. “Just one thing,” he said.

The others looked at him.

“You know why I'm here, to find him, to find Somerled. I have to believe he could have reached this place, otherwise it's all been for nothing. I know it's a slender chance, but it's not impossible. Maybe he's right there, in one of those cottages, maybe not. I want you to keep quiet about that. It's my search and mine alone, and I've my own way of going about it. Do you understand?”

“What do you mean?” Creidhe asked, putting her head in her hands as if she were simply too tired to think. “Not tell him you're his son?”

“Exactly. And not tell anyone the real reason I've come here. If Somerled is on these islands, I want to observe him, to weigh him up before I tell him the truth. I can't do that if someone blurts out who I am and what I'm looking for the moment we clap eyes on the locals.”

“Probably not even the right islands . . .” Creidhe murmured.

“Never mind that,” Thorvald snapped. This was taking too long, and his head was throbbing. “This could be the place. How likely is it there are two such groups of isles in these parts? Now, do the two of you understand me or not?”

“I understand all right. You expect us to lie for you,” said Sam flatly. His face was ghastly pale under the stained bandage, and his eyes bore a disapproving look.

“You don't have to lie. Just don't mention Somerled. That should be easy enough even for you, Creidhe.” Thorvald saw her flinch, and instantly regretted this barb. But why were they taking so long to comprehend what was blindingly obvious? The gods protect him from friends.

“Listen, Thorvald,” Sam said wearily, “I've got a sore head and a broken boat, and Creidhe's close to fainting from exhaustion. We're in the middle of nowhere, and neither of us cares right now about your little games. Just tell us what our story is, so these folk won't think we're crazy, then let's try to find some help.”

Sam was slurring his words. Thorvald realized he had entirely forgotten his friend's injury. “Went out fishing, got blown off course, dumped the catch when it started to stink,” he said succinctly. “Now we ask for shelter while we repair the boat. Easy.”

“And Creidhe? Why is she here?”

“Your sister? Your wife?”

Sam's features tightened a little. “You're very ready with your answers, Thorvald. I won't mention Somerled, if that's the way you want it, but there's no need for more lies. Now come on, the two of you. I'm soaked through, my head's killing me, and my belly's complaining again. Let's find out what kind of folk choose to settle at the end of the world.”

“Brona!” The name rang through the lamplit chambers of the longhouse like a battle cry, as the door slammed shut behind Eyvind. An instant later, Ingigerd began to whimper, roused abruptly from her sleep. It was the first time she had ever heard her father's voice raised in anger.

“You got the message then.” Nessa was seated by the fire, hands relaxed in her lap, gray eyes wide as she regarded the big, furious form of her husband, axe on his back, sword by his side, wolfskin cloak long and shaggy across his massive shoulders. His face was a picture of distress. “Don't be angry with Brona. She's shed enough tears over this already. And she was just keeping a promise. You've taught them to keep their promises.” At that moment Brona herself appeared in the hallway, carrying her weeping small sister. She gave them a look; her eyes were swollen, her expression quite wretched.

“It's all right, daughter.” Nessa's tone was calm. “Take Ingigerd back to bed now, tell her a story. Your father will talk to you in the morning.” She turned back to Eyvind. “Come, sit down, and I'll pour you a cup of ale. You've journeyed fast, dear one; this has driven you hard. Come now. Sit down a while. Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem.”

“How can that be? Our daughter, our good, dutiful girl, running off with a couple of irresponsible young men, out on a coastal fishing boat into waters unknown? What can Creidhe have been thinking of?” He paced restlessly as he divested himself of cloak and weaponry. “This is quite unlike her, quite out of character. I blame Thorvald. The boy's unpredictable and unreliable. We should have sent her away.”

“Sit down, Eyvind.” Nessa used the tone her husband could not refuse. He sat; she placed a cupful of ale in his hand and reached to tuck a stray curl back behind his ear. “Now listen to me.”

“I should not stay here—I should go north, find a boat, head off after them. They can't have got far—”

“Eyvind. Listen to me.”

He was silent.

“It's possible this was meant to be. I saw something of it in the fire; I could not avoid the vision the ancestors granted me. There is a strange pathway ahead for our daughter, dear one. Strange and perilous.”

“You saw this? Saw it and did not tell me?”

“I could not tell you. You know how these portents are; they can be imprecise, misleading. I saw Creidhe on a long and arduous journey, and I saw signs and symbols—a little, ragged child; a creature like a fox . . . no, I will not tell all.”

“There's worse than this?”

Nessa saw the look in Eyvind's eyes and took his hand in hers. “Worse, and better,” she said. “Our daughter will have a wondrous tale to tell, if she comes through this. You ask why she would do such a thing, why she would run away. Creidhe has not run away. She seeks only to aid her friend. She will sacrifice much for Thorvald. You know she loves him.”

Eyvind frowned ferociously. Such a look had often turned his enemies' bowels to water. Nessa waited, expression tranquil.

“I thought we agreed Thorvald was the last man we wanted for her,” her husband said. “The boy is clever, I acknowledge that, but the legacy he carries is a dark one, and he has few of the qualities I would seek in a husband for my girls. The lad is selfish and volatile, and quite lacking in kindness. How can you say—?”

Nessa smiled. “Thorvald will need her help before this journey is done. You should pray for the two of them, and for Sam. They will suffer and become wiser, all three, before this is over.”

Eyvind shifted restlessly. He had not touched the ale. “I must go after them. Those waters are wild and unfamiliar; even Sam would be hard put to find the place they seek, that's supposing it's more than a madman's vision. No father worth his salt just lets his daughter go on such a foolhardy quest. I must try to find her—”

“No, Eyvind.” Nessa put a hand up to his face, laying it softly against his cheek, and looked him straight in the eye. “You will not go. You cannot. I'm going to need you here.”

He blinked in confusion. Nessa was wise and resourceful; she ordered the household effortlessly and played a confident part in the councils and dealings of the islands, as befitted her royal status. “But—” he began.

“Eyvi, dear one, I have some news for you. I have waited to tell you until I was quite sure.” Her voice had become suddenly quiet, hesitant. Her fingers stroked his temple; he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. She saw the
alarm in his eyes, and spoke quickly. “I'm going to have another child. It surprised me; I thought there would be no more chances. I think, if I can carry it safely, this one will be a boy. I hope . . . I hope so much . . .” Her lip trembled; the tears that began to roll down her pale cheeks were mirrored by those in her husband's eyes. He gathered her close, stroking the long, soft fall of her hair.

“Oh, Nessa,” he whispered. “Oh, my dove. Of course I will stay, of course, but—”

“Creidhe will get through this,” Nessa said shakily. “Our daughter is strong and capable; this may seem a foolish escapade to you, but she would not have gone without sound reasons. Brona said her sister hated the need to lie to us. Brona is very sorry, Eyvi. Don't be too harsh on her. They are good girls, the two of them.”

“A son,” Eyvind murmured. “I did not believe we would be so blessed, after the sea took our little one from us. But . . . will this be safe for you? You must rest, perhaps you should be in bed now—”

“Hush,” Nessa told him, smiling even as she wept. The loss of Kinart had cut him deeply; he would bear that wound within him forever. His small son had been the light of his life for four summers, until the morning the Seal Tribe had snatched him away. She had always thought that was a kind of payment, a reckoning those strange sea dwellers exacted in return for the aid they had once given her. If it were so, the price had indeed been high. “I may be a little past the best age for this, but I am well and healthy, and I know how to prepare for it. Creidhe has good hands for midwifery; she'll help me when the time comes. Don't look so anxious, dear one. Be glad of this wonderful gift.”

“I am glad. Glad but concerned, for you, for him,” he laid a gentle hand on her stomach, which was barely rounded with the new life she bore, “terribly worried for Creidhe, despite your reassurances. And there's the treaty; I don't trust this princeling of the Caitt people, and nor does Ash. We'll be much occupied.”

“So you see, you could not sail off into the west on a foolish quest of your own,” Nessa told him. “Trust your daughter. She will surprise you.”

“That she's done already,” he said grimly. “Tell me, when will this child be born? How soon?”

“In autumn, by my reckoning. Perhaps two cycles of the moon before the time of the women's ceremony. Creidhe will be home long before then, and your worries set at rest. Now drink that ale, husband, and then go and bid your daughters goodnight. Tell Brona you've forgiven her. We must not let the moon rise on our anger.”

Later, as Nessa slept in his arms, Eyvind stared out through the narrow window into the pale silver sky of the spring night. He thought of his bright-haired girl, out there somewhere on the wild sea, or washed up on some strange shore, with only her courage and common sense to aid her. By all the gods, a lovely young woman of sixteen set suddenly amidst whatever wild and desperate men might make their home in those distant islands—the very idea appalled him. Nessa could not see how dangerous it would be; Nessa did not think the way a man thought. A cold shiver went down his spine. Somerled. Somerled might be there. If the man had survived that perilous journey, who knew what he might have become through the long years of exile? Perhaps he would have changed, as Eyvind had charged him to, and grown to be wise, good, a man of peace. Or perhaps he would merely have built on the qualities that had won him kingship here in the Light Isles: ruthless ambition and a complete disregard for the welfare of others. Somerled had no respect for women; he believed a man should take what he wanted. He had much cause for bitterness against Eyvind and Eyvind's kin. It must be hoped, then, that they did not find the isles; that Thorvald never located his father. And yet, they must find them. There was nothing else out there but a slow death on empty seas. Gods protect Creidhe, and gods protect this little son now growing inside Nessa's belly. Let Creidhe be home in time to deliver the child safely, for if she were not, he did not know what he would do. There were no other hands he trusted so well to undertake this task. Let them not lose another child; he could not well survive that. Not a day went by without images of Kinart in his mind, not a night without dreams: his son learning to walk, sturdy legs moving in confident, uneven gait; fair hair sticking up in an unruly halo; infant features wreathed in a huge, triumphant grin. Kinart riding before him, a proud, small warrior sitting very upright in his father's arms as the old horse ambled across the gentle pasturelands. Kinart sleeping on Nessa's lap, worn out by a long day out of doors, and the firelight gentle on the two of them, his dear ones. Kinart lying on the shore, limp and white, and a terrible howl of anguish that must have come from his own lips, though he had felt his heart stilled by terror. There had been losses before, but none like this.
I will give anything
, he vowed silently, scarcely knowing to what god he spoke, only that this was a plea from the very depths of his being,
anything you want, if you let this one live
.