The Crowded Shadows (32 page)

Wynter reached to stroke the smooth plane of Christopher’s stomach. She meant only to comfort him, but at her touch, Christopher snarled and knocked her hand away, his face dark with threat.

Wynter recoiled, and for a moment, Christopher lay frozen, horrified at what he’d done. Then he took her hand. Carefully, he pressed Wynter’s palm back down onto his stomach and lay back against the furs, staring blindly at the roof.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Wynter with her arm stretched awkwardly between them, Christopher holding her hand down against his skin. Then he took a deep breath, blinked the shivering brightness from his eyes and said, “You shouldn’t startle me, lass. I ain’t got much of a grip on myself at the moment.”

“Have you a pain?” she whispered. “Do you need Razi?”

Christopher shook his head, his eyes fixed on the roof. “You just startled me,” he said.

Wynter gazed down into his rigid, staring face and did not believe him. He had been hurt somewhere, by those men—in his gut perhaps—and he would not tell her.
I will make sure that Razi examines you
, she decided.
Pride or no pride, I will insist that you agree to it
. “Will you not sleep?” she asked softly. Christopher shook his head, his fingers tightening desperately against hers, and she decided to leave it for now.

She subsided beside him, and slowly the tension left Christopher’s body. He kept his hand firmly over hers and she did not try and caress him again, just let her hand rest against the warm skin of his stomach, feeling his breathing slowing, watching his face relax. Gradually Christopher’s hand loosened its grip.

“Christopher?” Wynter asked softly. “What is Frith? I thought it was your God. But that is not the case, is it?”

He shook his head.

“This ceremony, the ceremony of Frith… will it be very bad?”

She had in mind all she’d ever heard about pagans—torture, blood sacrifice, ritual copulation, and it frightened her. She was uncertain what herself and Razi might be expected to do. But, to her surprise, Christopher smiled gently up at the light. He drew her palm to the centre of his chest where she could feel his heart beating. “Oh no, lass,” he breathed. “It’s a lovely ceremony. I always loved it.”

“Oh!” Wynter was amazed, after his reticence with Úlfnaor, to see such wistful pleasure on Christopher’s face.

“Frith,” he whispered, “Frith is lots of things. Community, common purpose, safety. It’s… it’s hard to explain.” Christopher went silent. When he spoke again his voice was heavy and slow, his face solemn. “When we declare a place Frith, we are claiming that place for all the People. We are making it common property, a safe and sacred site for all the tribes. We do it for our shared campsites. For our meeting places. For holy ground. Anywhere the People gather without conflict.”

Wynter was alarmed to see Christopher’s eyes well up. A tear flashed bright and rolled past the slope of his cheekbone, disappearing into the shadows of his neck. “It lets
An Domhan
know we mean no harm,” he whispered. “It means protection. It keeps us safe.” He squeezed her hand briefly and closed his eyes.

But that sounds good
, thought Wynter.
That sounds beautiful
.

“Why are you crying, Christopher?” she asked, not wanting to shame him, needing to know.

Christopher shook his head vehemently.
No
, his face said,
don’t ask me
.

“It sounds lovely, this Frith. It sounds good.”

“It is,” he said, “Iseult, it really is. You have to believe me.”

“Why then, do you want us to leave? When these people can look after us? They would protect us, wouldn’t they? They would look after us. If we asked?”

He nodded.
Yes, they would
.

He knows
, she thought.
He knows his people have no chance of settling here. It distresses him, perhaps, that they are misled, and that we must make use of them to get to Albi
.
He wants no part of this, playing one loyalty against another
. She frowned in sympathy and settled her head against the furs.
But who is to say what the future holds for them?
she thought.
Who can tell what accommodations may be made, once we reach Alberon’s camp? There may be room for everyone here, after all?

The sounds of camp filtered in through the walls of the tent Peaceful and reassuring. Wynter’s eyes drifted shut and without thinking, she ran her thumb comfortingly against the warm skin of Christopher’s chest.

Safe
, she thought.
Protected. Frith
.

S
omeone outside the tent called softly in Merron. At the sound of the voice, Christopher sat up immediately and crawled to the foot of the bed. Wynter surfaced from a heavy doze and rolled onto her back, passing her hand wearily over her eyes. The tent was abruptly filled with golden light as Christopher hooked back the door flap and went outside.

“
Cad é
?” he said quietly. “
Tá siad ina gcnap codlata
.”

Wynter shifted to see out the door. The older musicians from the tavern were standing with little bundles in their hands, smiling and talking softly. Christopher slouched just outside the door, squinting in the sunshine, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers. The couple offered him the bundles and he took them with a nod of thanks; it was their freshly laundered clothes and blankets, dry now and carefully folded.

He turned to duck back into the tent, and the woman said something to him, her tone that of someone trying to start a conversation. Wynter saw Christopher’s shoulders slump and he reluctantly faced them again. He answered in monosyllabic Merron, showing no enthusiasm. But it seemed that the two musicians were unwilling to take the hint and they pressed on. When it became apparent that the conversation could not be cut short, Christopher laid the bundles down and sat back on his haunches in that strange, uncomfortable looking manner that Wynter had only ever seen in the tribal people of the North. The couple did the same and the three of them crouched at the door, talking.

“Has he slept?” murmured Razi.

She startled and peered across at him. He was lying facing her, his head cushioned on his arm, his face grave. She shook her head. “I am not certain. I don’t think so.”

Razi rolled onto his back with a grimace. “Good God,” he said tightly.

“Razi,” Wynter was about to ask that Razi examine their friend, was determined that he would not refuse her, when the tent was abruptly filled with shadows again as Christopher came inside and shut the flap.

“Did those two wake you?” he said in quiet Southlandast, laying the clothes at the foot of Razi’s bed. They shook their heads. Christopher sat wearily onto Razi’s pallet. He hunched, gathering his concentration for a moment, then began pushing off his filthy trousers.

Razi’s eyes travelled the length of Christopher’s abused back. His jaw tightened, then he turned abruptly away, pushing back the covers and swinging his legs from the bed.

“You don’t have to get up yet,” said Christopher. “There’s plenty of time before dinner.”

Razi grunted and reached for his clean things.

Wynter averted her eyes from the men’s shameless nakedness. “Throw me my clothes, will you, Christopher?” she said. In response she got a face full of fragrant, sun-warmed wool and linen. “Well, thank you so much,” she said dryly and pulled the blankets over her so that she could change with some decency.

Christopher pulled on fresh trousers and rose to his feet. He shook his hair back and reached behind him, tying his undershirt closed. “I will be back soon,” he said without looking at them, and went to step outside.

They glanced up in alarm.

“Christopher!” cried Razi, leaping to his feet, his britches half-laced. “Where are you going?”

Christopher paused. “There’s something they want me to do in the forest.” He looked from one to the other of them. “You ain’t invited,” he said. “You’re
coimhthíoch
.”

“Chris,” said Razi carefully. “Will you please step back inside for a minute?”

Christopher hesitated, the light from the door catching the stress in his worn face. He glanced outside; there was a small knot of men and women gathering by the remains of the fire. Christopher tipped his head to catch someone’s eye, gestured for them to wait, and then dropped the flap and stepped back into the tent. “What is it?” he said.

“Embla has invited us to a ceremony tonight, I—”

“Yes,” said Christopher bluntly. “To declare Frith. Úlfnaor told us you had accepted. You should have
asked
me first, Razi. You should not go accepting invitations to things you do not understand.”

Razi looked alarmed. “Oh,” he said softly. He glanced at Wynter. “Oh, Christopher,” he said, “I accepted for all of us. For Wynter too. Will there be… will it…?”

“Oh good Frith, it’s
fine
,” snapped Christopher, unreasonably irritated. “It’s
all right
. But you do not know these people. You could have been agreeing to anything,
anything
. You need to be careful.” He looked up into Razi’s confused face and seemed to come to a decision “We are not staying,” he said firmly.

Razi straightened, his eyes hardening. “Now
look
, Christopher—”

“Razi!” At the tone of Christopher’s voice, Razi shut up immediately and he looked down at his friend with wide eyes. “We must leave tomorrow,” said Christopher softly. “I need you to trust me. We cannot stay.”

There was a moment of silent communication between the men.

“Will you not tell me why?” murmured Razi.

Christopher shook his head, his face tight.

“You understand that I need these people, Christopher? I need them to guide me to Alberon.”

“We’ll find another way. Trust me.”

Razi’s brown eyes roamed Christopher’s face. “Are these people dangerous, Christopher? Are they not to be trusted?”

Christopher looked at Wynter. She smiled, trying to look encouraging. “They ain’t bad people,” he said softly. He looked back at Razi with a blade-like determination. “But right here and now you cannot be with them, Razi. They are old religion. Very, very old religion and you have met their Caoirigh. There’s no taking that back now. You’ve met the Caoirigh. You will never,
ever
understand them. So we must go.”

“Are we not safer here, than out there, where the—?”

“Razi,” interrupted Christopher, his eyes widening, his pale face drawing down. “I would rather risk facing the Wolves again than have you and Wynter stay here after tonight.”

“
Jesu!
” Wynter exclaimed.

Razi stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide. “Christopher,” he whispered.

“I mean it.”

“All right, friend,” said Razi. “All right. If it means so much to you. We leave at first light.”

Christopher nodded, but Wynter could not help but see the uncertainty and fear in his face now that Razi had agreed to leave. “All right,” he said. “Good.” He glanced at her, then turned abruptly and left the tent.

Wynter leant forward to get a better view, and Razi hunkered down to watch as their friend approached the crowd. Úlfnaor, Ashkr and Embla had joined the knot of other Merron, and they seemed to be waiting for Christopher. It appeared as though the entire camp had turned out, and everyone had dressed for the occasion. The women wore long shifts of pale green, the men knee-length tunics and trousers of the same colour. All were bare-armed, as usual, their torcs and armbands and rings casting glittering reflections back at the sun.

Christopher limped towards them, an incongruous figure against the background of tall, well-dressed men and women. Everyone turned to him, smiling, and Christopher nodded dully. Ashkr met his eye and gave him a sad smile. Christopher raised his chin, and Wynter was surprised to see him smile in return. Then Úlfnaor lifted his arms, calling out, and Ashkr and Embla fell into place on either side of him. Wari and Christopher stood behind them, their faces set, their backs straight. Úlfnaor set off into the trees and the Merron followed, forming a neat procession behind their lords. Christopher was lost quickly from sight.

“I think Christopher took Sólmundr’s place,” whispered Razi.

Wynter nodded, not knowing why she felt so disturbed.

Razi got to his feet. “Are you ready, sis?” he asked.

“I would like to clean my teeth,” she began, then looked sharply up at him. He was smiling slyly. “Where are we going?”

Razi just lifted his eyebrows and ducked outside.

The camp was deserted, a sunny, unpeopled landscape of breeze-rippled tents and fluttering washing. Wynter stood for a moment looking about her, amazed at how empty it was. There was no noise from the forest. Nothing at all. She scanned the shifting seashadows of the trees, listening for some sign that over twenty people were moving about in there. But there was nothing. This made her very uneasy and she hurried to catch up with Razi, strapping on her short sword as she ran.

“Whose tent is this?” she whispered as Razi ducked furtively through the door. There was no answer. Just scuffling and a muffled curse.

“Razi!” she hissed, pressing herself against the wall and eyeing the tree-line. “
Razi!
”