Wolfskin by Juliet Marillier Page A

Eyvind’s skin itched and his leg ached and he could not sleep, and the days seemed endless. As the season passed with infinite slowness, he begged the gods that the limb would mend straight, and that he would be strong again. A man who could not run or march or stand fast on the deck of a longship in stormy seas could never be Thor’s warrior. A lame man could not be a Wolfskin. So he lay quiet and prayed, and let Somerled try to teach him board games, and recite to him passages of law and wickedly clever verses he had made up about everyone in the household, and at length the summer was over. The weight was removed, and the bonesetter pronounced himself well pleased. The limb had mended straight and clean. Karl presented Eyvind with a fine walking stick fashioned from oak, but Eyvind did not use it. The sooner his leg learned to do its job again, he reasoned, the sooner he might be ready for Thor’s trial.
    Ulf sent an escort to bring his young brother back to court. Ingi had been furious with the two boys, saying no more expeditions up there until they were at least sixteen. Now she kissed Somerled on both cheeks, and Karl shook his hand. As for Eyvind, he felt somewhere inside him a change that was bigger, deeper, more monumental than any that had ever occurred in his life. When he had made his vow to Somerled, he had done so because the boy was lonely and sad, and it had seemed to Eyvind that everyone in the world deserved at least one friend whom they could depend on. He still believed that, but over the summer of lying on his bed, while Somerled, with infinite patience, sat by his side devising one small entertainment after another to while away the tedious time of healing, Eyvind had come to realize the bond between them was far more than simple friendship. It was no lightly made promise, to be discarded or forgotten once the season was over. It was deep and binding, solemn and lifelong: an oath between men, the men they would someday become.
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    Another year, they went up to the shieling, the summer pasture high in the hills, where small huts allowed a lucky few to stay the season out, tending the herds and flocks. There were six boys and three girls, with a couple of shepherds and Oksana the thrall-woman, her small fair children in tow. Some guarded the animals they had driven up the hillside, and some milked sheep and cows and made cheese and sweet butter. Eyvind’s job was to provide a steady supply of game for the pot. Long hours out of doors give folk hearty appetites. Ingi had warned them that summers at the shieling were no holiday. All must do their share.
    The days were indeed full of hard work, but it was a good time. The weather stayed fine; they found time to swim in the stream, and they made a rope swing, and ate their supper out of doors under the pale sky of long summer evenings. Winter-white skin turned golden brown under the sun’s warm touch. Sigurd put flowers in Ragna’s fair hair, and she blushed a delicate pink and did not scold him at all. Oksana kept her babe close by her, watched over by one of the girls, but the other children rode here and there on the shoulders of obliging lads, and learned to catch a ball, and fell asleep the instant they’d finished their supper. It was a happy time.
    There were two huts on the mountainside, one for the girls and one for the boys. The boys’ hut was bigger, with a central hearth for cooking. The shepherds slept here by the fire, with the lads at either end of the hut on shelf beds built against the walls. The place had not the privacy of Ingi’slonghouse, where wooden partitions divided the sleeping areas. Oksana supervised the girls’ hut. This was not so surprising, although she was a thrall, for it was known that Ingi had given her the chance to earn her freedom. This summer’s responsibility was part of that. Ingi had made it quite clear to them, before they left home, that the girls’ hut was out of