Part 1 (1/2)

Wolfsangel.

M. D. LACHLAN.

To my son James

Prince you cannot

talk about me

like that,

scolding a

n.o.ble man.

For you ate

a wolf's treat,

shedding your brother's

blood, often

you sucked on wounds

with a cold snout,

creeping to

dead bodies,

being hated by all.

FIRST POEM OF HELGI HUNDINGSBANI.

THE POETIC EDDA.

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being - and who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

ALEKSANDR SOLZHENITSYN.

1.

White Wolf.

Varrin gripped the shaft of his spear and scanned the dark horizon, fighting for balance as the waves rocked the little longs.h.i.+p. There, he was sure, was the river his lord had described, a broad mouth between two headlands, one like a dragon's back, the other like a stretching dog. It fitted well enough, he thought, if you looked at it with half an eye.

'Lord Authun, king, I think this is it.'

The man sitting in his cloak with his back to the prow awoke. His long white hair seemed almost to s.h.i.+ne under the bright lantern of the half moon. He stood slowly, his limbs stiff with inaction and the cold. He turned his attention to the sh.o.r.e.

'Yes,' he said, 'this is as was revealed.'

Varrin, a giant of a man a head and a half taller than the king, touched an amulet he wore at his neck at the mention of prophecy. 'We wait until dawn and then try the river, lord?'

Authun shook his head.

'Now,' he said. 'Odin is with us.'

Varrin nodded. Normally he would have regarded it as very unwise to negotiate an unknown river in the dark. With his king at his side, anything felt possible. Authun was a Volsung, a direct descendant of the G.o.ds and was a vessel for their powers.

The tide was slow but with the boat, and the crew were well rested from the favourable wind that had carried them for a couple of days and eager to get to the oars. Everything was going well, and no wonder with the king on board. His magic, Varrin felt sure, had blessed their journey.

The men bent their backs pulling through the waves, propelling themselves at speed towards the river. The s.h.i.+p was more stable under oar than under sail and its sudden steadiness seemed to reflect the purpose Varrin felt as he heaved the boat through the surf. They were going into a fight, no question, and Varrin was ready.

Ten warriors crewed the s.h.i.+p, only ten including the king, but Varrin felt no uncertainty, nor scarcely any nervousness. He was with his lord, King Authun, victor of innumerable battles, slayer of the giant Geat, Gyrd the Mighty. If Authun thought ten men were enough for their task then ten men were enough. It was a trick of the G.o.ds that such a man had not produced an heir. The rumour was that Authun was descended from Odin, the chief of the G.o.ds. That battle-fond poet felt threatened by his fierce descendant and had cursed Authun to sire only female children. He could not risk him producing an even mightier son.

Varrin s.h.i.+vered when he thought of the consequences if Authun did not father a boy. He would have to name an heir, with all the trouble and bloodshed that would cause. Only Authun's name held the factions of his kingdom together. Without it, there would be slaughter and then their enemies would pounce. He glanced at the king and smiled to himself. He wouldn't put it past him to live for ever.