Foxmask (5 page)

There seemed to be nothing for Thorvald to say. He had asked for answers, after all. Too bad if it hurt to hear them, when he had believed nothing could hurt much after what his mother had told him.

“King,” he said finally, his tone hollow.

“Indeed. That was his lifelong ambition, so Eyvind told me. For a short while, he achieved it. The cost was high.”

Thorvald felt a bitter laugh escaping from his throat. “Hah! Just think, if he'd stayed on here, I might have been king after him. King Thorvald. Very amusing, that. And Eanna would never have been born, nor Creidhe, nor the others. Thank the gods he was sent away. As ruler here I probably would have turned out just like him.”

“We must concern ourselves with the path that was taken, not the one abandoned,” Tadhg said, using an iron hook to lift the kettle's lid and see if the water was boiling. “You want to know where he might have gone. Why?”

This one must be answered carefully. “He was my father. It is of some interest to me whether he lived or died.”

“I can speak of possibilities, Thorvald. But nobody can say what happened. Your mother told you, I imagine, that there has been no news of Somerled since that day, no sign at all that he ever reached safe shore. All I can give you is surmise.”

“That'll do,” Thorvald said, trying not to sound too interested. It was important that nobody got any hint of what he intended to do.

“Very well. Under conditions such as were apparent that day, my guess is that the boat might have traveled somewhat north of due west. Perhaps sharply north. We have no proof that there's land of any significance to the west, but there are some very strange tales. I heard that a fellow came in to the Northern Isles some time back, in a state of shock so severe it was almost as if he had lost his wits entirely. He was one of our own kind and had sailed the same path as I did, but was blown off course by contrary winds and failed to touch shore in the Light Isles. His words were a stream of nonsense, but he seemed to be telling of a sojourn of two or three seasons on another group of islands further to the northwest. They'd be several days' sailing from here at least, and maybe considerably more, since we've heard so few reports of such a place. One or two other accounts do seem to confirm their existence. That would be the last land to the west, a marginal place. It would be easy to miss it. Should your father's craft have drifted somewhat northward, it is possible he may have reached that shore.”

Thorvald's heart was thumping. “Why was the man in such a state of mind?” he asked eagerly. “Was he deranged by the journey itself, or something more?”

Tadhg frowned. “My account is third-hand, of course. The fellow was terrified out of his wits; they could get little sense from him. He was frightened of staying by the seashore, as if he expected an enemy to come from the water. He spoke of stealing children, and of some kind of singing. It was quite odd. Very probably his long voyage and the isolation had caused these waking nightmares. It's not the easiest experience. A man's faith can be sorely tested.”

“Yes, well, that's why you do it, isn't it?”

Tadhg smiled. “Indeed. And I will be honest with you, I have often wondered
whether such a voyage would change Somerled for the better, as Eyvind hoped it would.”

“Perhaps he was unable to change,” Thorvald said. He could hear the crunch of Sam's boots on the path outside. “Maybe he was so evil that he could never redeem himself.”

“Ah,” Tadhg observed, “while we cannot say what did happen to your father, I can tell you one of God's most profound truths, and you would be wise to ponder it, Thorvald. No man is quite beyond salvation. God's grace is in all of us. If nurtured well, that little flame may grow into a radiant goodness. We are all his creatures; we are part of him. To change, all we need do is learn to love him. Even Somerled could do that. You must believe it possible that he did so, in his own way.”

The arrival of Sam with a string of pale-bellied fish dangling from one hand and his bundle of gear grasped in the other put an end to that conversation. Cups were filled with ale, a meal was cooked, and easy talk flowed: of the weather, of the arrival of new lambs on the brothers' small farm, of a forthcoming wedding and the death of an old man down at Hafnarvagr. That was where Tadhg was heading: quite a way. Sam offered him a bed for the night, but the priest refused. He'd a lift arranged with a local farmer; indeed, he'd best be heading over there now, before it got too dark. They'd sleep at the fellow's house and take the cart on in the morning with a load of vegetables and some chickens for the market. Tadhg wiped his plate clean with a scrap of bread, then rose to depart.

“Remember what I told you, Thorvald,” he said mildly. “Take time to consider. On reflection, a monster can become no more than a fleeting shadow, an unassailable mountain a gentle rise. You are young; you rush to seek answers, heedless of the cost. If you allow time, you may find that all you need to do is wait.”

Thorvald let him finish. There was no point in arguing. The truth was simple. He bore his father's legacy, and it marked him as surely as Eyvind's courage and goodness had marked his small son Kinart. If that child had not been snatched by the sea, he'd doubtless have grown up into the sort of leader folk followed to the ends of the earth. Tadhg had missed the point. To know himself, to look into his own spirit, Thorvald must find out what kind of man his father truly was. And there was only one way that could be done. It was perilous. His mother wouldn't like it. Sam would take a lot of convincing. Nonetheless, he must attempt it, or forever live with the knowledge that he had not faced up to the truth. If his father still lived, he would find him. It
was a quest: grand, challenging, heroic. Do this, and his life might come to mean something after all.

Sam was not easily surprised. He listened calmly to the story: Margaret, Somerled, Ulf, battles and blood, murder and exile. From time to time he sipped his ale and nodded. Once or twice he frowned. One of the reasons Sam had remained a friend for so long was his talent for calm. He was almost as good a listener as Creidhe, and a lot less inclined to make helpful suggestions when they weren't wanted. When Thorvald came to the end of the tale, Sam did not comment at once. He poked the fire, topped up his friend's ale and let a cat in the back door, all in complete silence.

“You want to borrow the
Sea Dove
,” he stated eventually, his blue eyes thoughtful.

“Not exactly,” replied Thorvald, a wave of relief sweeping through him that Sam had understood this part of it without needing to be told. “I'm not enough of a sailor to take her there myself. You'd have to come with me. I could pay you, if that would help.”

Sam's brows lifted a little. He took a mouthful of ale. “How long do you plan being away? From full moon to full moon, or maybe a season? Perhaps more if the wind carries you astray? There's a lot of fish to be caught in such a time, enough to pay for a fellow's wedding and furnish his cottage nice and snug: best woolens, fine linens, a piece of seasoned wood for a cradle. Enough to cover his hand's wages. What if the boat's damaged? That's my livelihood down there, Thorvald. She may be a sturdy craft, but she's not made for that kind of ocean voyaging.”

The words were less than encouraging. On the other hand, there was a certain note in Sam's voice, and a certain glint in his eye, that showed his interest had been sparked.

“It needn't be long.” Thorvald leaned forward, elbows on knees, keen to press what little advantage he had. “Brother Tadhg didn't seem to think it was very far. We could be there and back again almost before anyone knows it. We could tell them—”

Sam raised a hand, cutting off the flow of words. “Not so fast. What about when we get there,
if
we get there? You planning to pop in, announce that you're this fellow's son, then sail right home again? What if you can't find him? What if you do and he wants you to stay? Where does that leave me?”

The smile that curved Thorvald's lips felt like a mockery. “I can assure you that won't happen. I'm not expecting to be greeted with open arms, even supposing we do find what we're looking for. I've no intention at all of staying there. All I want is the answer to a question.”

“And what question's that?” Sam asked, stroking the cat, which had curled itself on his lap in a ball of gray-striped contentment, purring like a simmering kettle. But Thorvald did not reply, and the silence lengthened between them.

‘I'll think about it,” Sam said eventually. “But I'll be straight with you, Thorvald. I can't see much in it for me, beyond helping an old friend.”

“One last adventure before you settle down?” Thorvald suggested. “One last foray as a single man? You worry me with your talk of cradles. I did say I'd pay.”

Sam nodded slowly. “If I agreed, it'd be as a favor to a friend. I'd expect that to be returned some time.”

“Of course. I'll do whatever you want,” Thorvald offered eagerly. The fact was, such a favor would be easily repaid, since Sam never asked more of him than a day's help on the boat or a hand with laying thatch. His friend was easily pleased.

“Mmm,” Sam said with a funny look in his eyes. “I'll hold you to that, Thorvald. Give me a day or two to think about this. One thing, though. In open water you'll need a crew of four, at least. We'd have to get another couple of fellows in on it. And they'd certainly want to be paid.”

“No.” Thorvald had wondered when Sam would get to this; he had known there needed to be a good answer to it, but the look on his friend's face told him none of those he had thought up was going to be sufficient. “I can't have anyone else. Asking you to come along is one thing, getting other men to do it is another thing altogether. As soon as we started asking about, the whole island would know. This is secret, Sam. It has to be just you and me. You've told me often enough how well the
Sea Dove
goes under sail. And it's not very far. We could do it easily. Don't you go out every day with just your deckhand to help you?”

“You're crazy,” Sam said flatly. “I wouldn't so much as consider it, not without one more man at least. You seem pretty confident about how far it is. I thought we didn't know that for sure.”

“Brother Tadhg said a few days' sail. Folk would hardly get the chance to miss us.” A lie, that, almost certainly. “Come on, Sam. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity: a true adventure.”

“An adventure isn't worth having if you never get back to tell the tale,” Sam observed flatly. There was a brief silence.

“So you won't even consider it?” Thorvald asked, watching his friend closely. “Not as a test of your boat, or of yourself? Not at any price?”

Sam's mouth stretched in a faint grin. “At any price? You're not as rich as
that, Thorvald, however good a farm your mother runs. Now tell me, did you mean what you said about returning the favor? Say I do it, and then what I ask you isn't to your liking? Will you stay true to what you promised?”

Thorvald's heart leaped; evidently there was still hope. “Of course,” he said with complete confidence. He could not think of a thing Sam could ask for that he would not be prepared to deliver. “I gave you my word, didn't I? I know how much you'll be risking, Sam. If you do this, I'll be in your debt forever.”

“If I do it, I'll be as mad as you are,” Sam muttered. “Well, I'll give it some thought and let you know. Maybe we could pick up a crew in the Northern Isles, fellows that don't know you, if that's what matters. There'd be a lot to organize.”

“It must be kept secret,” Thorvald put in quickly. “I'd be stopped if they knew—my mother, Eyvind, any of them. You mustn't tell Creidhe.”

“You're a grown man,” Sam observed, rising to his feet. The cat, dislodged, fell bonelessly to the floor and strolled away unperturbed.

“All the same. They'd think this foolish, dangerous. They chose not to speak of my father all those years; they made a decision to forget him. It's hardly likely they'll want him brought to life now, when he's so conveniently faded into the mists of memory.”

“Still,” said Sam, “your mother did tell you.”

Thorvald shivered. “So she did,” he agreed. “More fool her.”

“A bit hard on her, aren't you?”

Thorvald did not reply, but later, while Sam slept as tranquilly as a babe, he lay awake pondering this, wondering if he had been entirely fair to Margaret. There was no doubt in his mind that she should have told him the truth earlier, not saved it for now, then expected him to absorb, understand and forgive as if this were a small, everyday matter. On the other hand, she'd been young back in those days, younger than he was now. And perhaps Somerled had not been what people said. Perhaps there'd been reasons for what he did, reasons nobody else understood. Maybe he'd been like Thorvald, an outsider, a man with few friends, a person too clever for his own good.

Thorvald lay staring up at the roof thatch, listening to the purring of the cat as it kneaded the blankets behind Sam's knees. The fisherman sighed, turning over. Thorvald considered the implications of his plan. There was no doubt he would hurt people he cared about, his mother and Creidhe especially. It was a long voyage, almost certainly longer than he had given Sam to believe, and there were no guarantees of safe landfall. Somerled might not be
there; might not ever have been there. He might have perished long since, somewhere out at sea alone in his little boat. When she learned what he had done, Margaret would be horrified. Creidhe would be hurt that he had not confided in her; she was accustomed to sharing his inmost fears, his frustrations, his schemes and plans. This he could not tell her. He must hope she would forgive when he returned. If he returned. One thing was certain. This was a journey he was bound to undertake: bound by his blood.