CHAPTER NINETEEN

The fisherman proved a deal less friendly than his wife. Nevertheless, he agreed to host Erlan for the night. But once at table, he was far more interested in getting to his first draught of ale than entertaining his guest. After that, he settled down like a babe at its mother’s teat.

The window of talk, once drink loosened his host’s tongue, was brief. Erlan got little from him about Sveäland that he didn’t know already, and before long the man’s eyelids were drooping, slow and heavy, and Erlan saw that any more words were wasted. The fisherman’s chin went back and he fell sound asleep.

His wife managed to drag him, half-stupefied, to his bedding, and soon the household was quiet, save for the man’s snores and his wife’s slumbering sighs.

Erlan bedded down across from them and lay awake watching the fire-shadows skip among the rafters. At length, he decided it had been a while since he’d heard any movement, inside or out. His weapons were already wrapped up tight, and so he decided the time had come for their departure. He was about to get up when he heard a noise.

A rustle of covers, then heavy footsteps across the room, accompanied by senseless grumblings. He listened as the fisherman fumbled his way to the door, watched his shadow pull aside the door-drape, heard the full stream of his piss spattering into the snow and the satisfied sigh when he was done.

Erlan deepened his breathing, pretending sleep, as his host crept past him back to his bed. It won’t take long for the ale-soaked old bastard to nod off, thought Erlan. Then he would be away.

But it seemed another urge had been aroused in the fisherman. There were half-hushed mutterings in the dark, smothered whispers passing between the man and his wife, and then a giggle. Erlan lay there in shadow, listening to the shuffle of covers, bodies rustling over one another, more giggles, and eventually familiar grunts and moans as they found their stride.

Erlan had to give the fisherman his due – the old boy had legs, as Garik would have put it. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would have been like if he and Inga had had their way. If the Norns had let them live out their love in peace, to grow old like these two. And before long, the woman’s moans and sighs awakened the memory of a younger voice, a younger body, smooth as amber in his hands. The teasing tongue, the whispered words of tenderness, the brush of her hair against his chest.

His sister. Aye – there was the horror of it.

The only woman in all the world he desired. The only woman in all the world he could not desire. Must not.

Beauty and love are slaughtered like swine.

Inga would never grow old. Her breasts would never wrinkle and sag. Her long dark curls would never pale with age. Death had stolen her, and yet somehow it had saved her too. For now she would never change. She would remain the same. For ever.

He looked up at the smoke-hole above the hearth. Flecks of snow were floating down out of the night into the house, only to vanish in the rising heat. Erlan imagined Kai hanging between his posts, his body turning blue. Waiting. On a night like this, the poor little bastard might freeze to death after all.

He looked over at the couple. He could see the silhouette of the fisherwife astride her husband now, cajoling him on to the finish.

He cursed silently, willing the old trout to get on with it.

At least the pair shared one virtue between them: once it was over, they dozed off faster than he could have snapped his fingers. He hesitated just a little longer until the chorus of snores assured him that the fisherman and his wife, sated at last, were both sound asleep.

Wasting no more time, Erlan rose, gathered his things, and slipped out into the night. Outside, the sky was dark, the snow still falling. And behind the silhouetted dwellings glowed the fire where Kai was strung up.

Erlan stole through the shadows, and within moments, he was creeping up behind the boy, knife in hand, stealthy as a murderer. Kai’s silhouette was completely still.

‘You didn’t die on me, did you?’

The boy uttered a pitifully weak moan.

‘Hey!’ he hissed. ‘You still with me?’

‘Odin’s eye, you took your time,’ Kai murmured.

‘Aye, and you don’t want to know why. Now hold still.’ He put his knife to the rope; cut one bond, then the other. The boy fell forward into the snow, his greasy hair hanging over his face.

‘Kai?’

The boy said nothing.

‘Kai!’ he hissed again, throwing his cloak over the boy’s shoulders. ‘Say something. Are you all right?’

The boy looked up, pushing back his hair. In the gloom, his cheeks had a purplish tinge. ‘I bloody will be soon.’ He climbed stiffly to his feet and stumbled over to his tunic and shoes.

‘Good. Then fetch your clothes and the other things, and meet me over there.’ Erlan pointed to the line of trees bordering the edge of the village. ‘Hurry.’

‘I’ll be there.’ Kai’s teeth flashed in his dirty face, and then he was away into the shadows.

Erlan went to untether Idun. There was something reassuring about seeing her long face again, about having her beside him. He led her into the murk under the trees. There, he waited.

It was a while before he heard anything. But then he caught a soft, deliberate sound. At once, he recognized a horse’s footfall. Kai appeared leading a sturdy-looking pony.

‘Where the Hel d’you get that from?’

‘Collecting on some trades I’ve been working up for five years or so.’

‘Whose is it?’

‘Torolf’s. The old bastard came in pretty handy in the end. Thought he probably had no use for this either.’ In one hand, Kai had a sword. ‘Not as good as yours, but better than a set of knuckles.’

‘Did you find a cloak?’

‘Better than that – I got us a couple of furs. Finest lynx. See.’ He put down his sword, and slid something off the pony. ‘Your horse’ll appreciate that.’ He slung a grey-brown fur over Idun’s back.

‘Your old man’s going to be in a fine fury tomorrow.’

‘He’s not my old man,’ rebuked Kai, sharply. ‘Anyway, I’ve earned these, putting up with his horseshit, and the dungheap knows it.’ He shrugged. ‘Then we have this.’ He produced a knife from his belt. ‘I figured we needed something to cut the bread and cheese I took.’ He unslung a bulging linen sack from his shoulder and gave it a reassuring pat. ‘Your aleskin and your pot are in there too.’

‘Did you leave them anything?’

‘It’ll do ’em good. Especially those fat-faced brats. They could do with feeling the pinch of an empty belly for a change.’

Erlan shook his head. ‘If these folk ever catch you, the next rider through here will find you roasting over the bloody fire.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ said Kai, fishing around in a pouch at his belt. ‘I’ve one more thing. Ah, here we are.’ He held out his hand. Even in the dark, Erlan could make out the little metal hoop in his palm.

‘Firesteel.’