A Companion to Wolves by Elizabeth Bear Page B

slept.

FOUR
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    T he strange part was coming back to the wolfheall—coming home —and realizing that no one could tell to look at him that anything had changed. That nothing had changed, that he was still Isolfr, wolfsprechend-in-waiting, and Hrolleif was still Hrolleif, as much elder brother as wolfheofodman, and that there was no private message in Grimolfr’s arm-clasp to either of them, no, nor in the one he offered Randulfr Ingrunsbrother or Hringolfr Left-Hand, either.
    That nothing had changed, and that everything had changed instead.
    Kolgrimna, as if contrariness were mined so deep into her nature that even her body was intransigent, failed to go into heat in the autumn, or in the easy part of winter. Instead, she waited until Asny’s pups were eye-open and staggering, and eighteen inches of snow overlaid the ground.
    The whole of the wolfheall knew it was coming. Thralls and free servants alike took liberty in the village when the tithe-boys, Kolgrimna’s close kin, and the other bitches took their leave. Asny and her pups remained in the record-room;
Viradechtis’ unbonded brothers went with the patrol. Before he left, Hrolleif took aside each bonded boy whose wolf was too young for the madness—the three of Ingrun’s litter, Frithulf, and Isolfr—and spoke some words to him.
    â€œThis is the werthreat and the wolfthreat,” Hrolleif said to Isolfr. “This is the brotherhood of wolves, that I give my pack and my wolfjarl into your keeping, brother, and know you will hold it as I would, for your hands are mine, and my hands are yours.”
    And Isolfr looked into Hrolleif’s eyes and shivered, dry mouthed, and nodded although his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
    Isolfr did not think that Hrolleif kissed the other four farewell.
    The first day was quiet. The wolfthreat quarreled and the werthreat diced and combed winter lice from their beards, and the lot of them ate cold shoulder and pease porridge toasted over the embers of the fire.
    The pack-sense awakened Isolfr at moonset. Skald was not sleeping; the big wolf moved through the heall like a shade from the grave, the last embers reflecting in his eyes. Isolfr caught a breath as Skald’s eyes stroked over him, but Skald had no time for puppies now. Isolfr felt the fever in the pack as if it ran under his skin, felt it as he’d felt Hrolleif’s kiss in the pit of his belly and the join of his thighs.
    This is it.
    Isolfr reached out in the warmth under the furs as Viradechtis stirred against his leg, and took Frithulf’s hand on one side and Sokkolfr’s on the other before he remembered that Sokkolfr ’s wolf was not a cub; Hroi was awake, watchful in the darkness as the pack’s leader paced his domain. Sokkolfr came alert with a start, gasping, and put his free hand to his throat as if he felt teeth prickle his skin. Frithulf, curled around Kothran’s warm, pale body, had to be shaken into wakefulness, but he too stirred and lifted his head, understanding what was happening with a glance.

    â€œThis is it,” he whispered. “Nothing to do now but watch, and hope they don’t kill each other, then—”
    Everywhere, wolves were rising. Hroi, Arngrimr, and Kolli. Nagli, red as beaten copper. Glaedir, silver as steel. Hallathr, Valbrandr and Frothi. Isleifr, Guthleifr, Egill, Havarr, Surtr, Ingjaldr, and black Mar. Wolves upon wolves, the smallest of them thirteen stone and the greatest half again that size. Viradechtis lifted her head, crowded back against Isolfr, and whined low in her throat. The wolfthreat was on the move, and single in its mind.
    Someone who was not a wolf rose naked from his bedclothes; Isolfr recognized the sturdy shape as Hringolfr, and shivered. A dim red glow caught the shine of sweat on his skin, revealed the ridges of scars and the swell and fall of muscle. Kolgrimna stood out of the furs beside him, facing Skald, her haunches