Fenrir by M. D. Lachlan

Author:M. D. Lachlan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781616145279
Publisher: Pyr
Published: 2011-10-24T17:00:00+00:00

41 A Changed Man

‘Monk? Monk?’

It was daylight, a weak dawn. Jehan was in the main courtyard of the monastery. The snow had stopped falling but the day was grey and the light flat. Ofaeti was in front of him. The fat berserker was wearing three cloaks and a pair of fine boots, and the bag at his side clunked and clanked with sacred vessels. There was bread on his lips and he was munching on a communion wafer.

‘Hrafn?’ said Jehan. It felt more natural to him now to use Norse than Latin.

‘Gone,’ said Ofaeti, ‘thank Tyr. Came past us like the wolf after the moon. Left the door open too, which was nice of him. What have you been doing? You’re soaked. Get some dry clothes off the bodies or you’ll be dead before we’ve left this place.’

Jehan didn’t feel cold. Next to him was the girl, the one who waited and hated at his side.

Ofaeti spoke. ‘Come on, get some clothes, I don’t want you dying on us. And sniff the wine before you drink it. Some of it’s poisoned, by the look of what happened to Grettir’s men.’

Jehan looked around him, trying to work out what had happened to him.

Ofaeti shook him. ‘Monk, come on, hurry up. We need you more than ever now. The cover is that we’re transferring this stuff on behalf of your Church. Getting it out of the way of those naughty Norsemen.’

The pale girl put her hand into Jehan’s. It felt tiny to him, her fingers so delicate and fragile. His own hand seemed swollen and puffy, painful almost. His whole body felt the same, like a shirt he had outgrown. His skin was tight on him and he flexed and strained his muscles against it. He felt as if his actions were not his own, or rather that he was remote from his body – it a puppet, he a distracted and drunken puppet master.

‘Do you not see her?’ said Jehan.

‘The whore you promised me?’

‘The girl. Here. The girl.’

Ofaeti looked about him. ‘Is this one of your stories? Fine, but wait until we’re gone from here. This place seeps death and I don’t want to give it mine.’

‘The girl.’

‘If we get back to Hordaland, I’ll buy you a girl, shortly before I sell you. Come on! There are cloaks and boots by the cartload on Grettir’s men. Get some, and take a spear too if you’re wise. Come on, monk, We’ll make a Viking of you yet.’

The girl turned to face Jehan. She hated him, he could tell, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to go. He recalled the pond, the bodies – men and boys – and the Raven. His thoughts were returning to him, just there at the edge of his understanding, like a voice echoing from far down a valley.

Ofaeti shoved him towards the warming house. The door was open and bodies spilled out of it like a hideous tongue from a black mouth. Some were naked, some half dressed.

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