Wolfskin Read Online Free

somewhat concerned. Once or twice he asked Niall what was wrong, and Niall replied, nothing. Brynjolf concluded there was a girl in it somewhere. Folk had suggested that Niall had a sweetheart, and had planned to marry, but now there was no talk of that. Perhaps she had rejected him. That would explain his pallor, and his silence.
    â€œWinter passed. Brynjolf went away on the spring viking, and Niall made verses again. Over the years, and he had a very long life, he made many verses. He never married; they said he was wed to his craft. But after that summer, his poems changed. There was a darkness in them, a deep sorrow that shadowed even the boldest and most heroic tale of war, that lingered in the heartiest tale of good fellowship. Niall’s stories made folk shiver; they made folk weep.
    â€œA young skald asked him once why he told always of sadness, of terrible choices, of errors and waste. And Niall replied, ‘A lifetime is not sufficient to sing a man’s grief. You will learn that, before you are old.’ Yet, when Niall died as a bearded ancient, Thor had him carried straight to Valhöll, as if he were a dauntless warrior. The god honors the faithful. And who is more true than a man who keeps his oath, though it breaks his heart?”
    After Hakon had finished speaking, nobody said anything for a long while. Then one of the older warriors spoke quietly.
    â€œYou tell this story well, Wolfskin. And it is indeed apt: a tale well suited for this ritual day. Which of us, I wonder, would have the strength to act as this man did? And yet, undoubtedly, he did as Thor would wish. There is no bond that can transcend an oath between men, sworn in blood, save a vow to the god himself.”
    There was a general murmur of agreement. Glancing at his mother, Eyvind thought she was about to speak, but she closed her mouth again without uttering a word.
    â€œIt is a fine and sobering tale,” Karl said, “and reminds us that an oath must not be sworn lightly. Such a tale sets a tear in the eye of a strong man. My friends, the light will be fading soon, and some have far to travel.”
    â€œIndeed,” said Eirik, rising to his feet. “It grows late and we must depart. I and my companions have journeyed far this day; we return now to my mother’s home, to rest there awhile. You’d best be on your way while it is still light, for the storm is close at hand. There will be fresh snow by morning.”
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    It was as well the longhouse at Hammarsby was spacious and comfortably appointed. A large party made its way there, arriving just before the wind began to howl in earnest, and the first swirling eddies of snow to descend. The nobleman Ulf and his richly dressed companions, the two Wolfskins and a number of other folk of the Jarl’s household gathered at Ingi’s home. The wind chased Eyvind in the small back doorway; he had arrived somewhat later than the others, after staying behind to make sure the fire was safely quenched and the temple shuttered against the storm. The instant he came inside he saw the boy standing in the shadows by the wall, arms folded around himself. There was nobody else in sight; they would all be gathered close to the hearth’s warmth. Eyvind spoke politely, since he could hardly pretend the strange lad was not there.
    â€œThor’s hammer, what a wind! My name’s Eyvind. You’re welcome here.”
    The boy gave a stiff nod.
    Eyvind tried again. “Looks like you’ll be staying with us a few days. There’ll be heavy snow tonight; you’d never get out, even on skis.”
    There was a short pause. Then the boy said, “Why did it scream?”
    Now it was Eyvind’s turn to stare. “What?” he asked after a moment.
    â€œThe goat. Why did it scream?”
    What sort of question was that? “I—because the sacrifice wasn’t done properly,” Eyvind said. “It screamed because the knife