Foxmask by Juliet Marillier

shelter while we repair the boat. Easy.”
    â€œAnd Creidhe? Why is she here?”
    â€œYour sister? Your wife?”
    Sam’s features tightened a little. “You’re very ready with your answers, Thorvald. I won’t mention Somerled, if that’s the way you want it, but there’s no need for more lies. Now come on, the two of you. I’m soaked through, my head’s killing me, and my belly’s complaining again. Let’s find out what kind of folk choose to settle at the end of the world.”
    â€œBrona!” The name rang through the lamplit chambers of the longhouse like a battle cry, as the door slammed shut behind Eyvind. An instant later, Ingigerd began to whimper, roused abruptly from her sleep. It was the first time she had ever heard her father’s voice raised in anger.
    â€œYou got the message then.” Nessa was seated by the fire, hands relaxed in her lap, gray eyes wide as she regarded the big, furious form of her husband, axe on his back, sword by his side, wolfskin cloak long and shaggy across his massive shoulders. His face was a picture of distress. “Don’t be angry with Brona. She’s shed enough tears over this already. And she was just keeping a promise. You’ve taught them to keep their promises.” At that moment Brona herself appeared in the hallway, carrying her weeping small sister. She gave them a look; her eyes were swollen, her expression quite wretched.
    â€œIt’s all right, daughter.” Nessa’s tone was calm. “Take Ingigerd back to bed now, tell her a story. Your father will talk to you in the morning.” She turned back to Eyvind. “Come, sit down, and I’ll pour you a cup of ale. You’ve journeyed fast, dear one; this has driven you hard. Come now. Sit down a while. Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem.”
    â€œHow can that be? Our daughter, our good, dutiful girl, running off with a couple of irresponsible young men, out on a coastal fishing boat into waters unknown? What can Creidhe have been thinking of?” He paced restlessly as he divested himself of cloak and weaponry. “This is quite unlike her, quite out of character. I blame Thorvald. The boy’s unpredictable and unreliable. We should have sent her away.”
    â€œSit down, Eyvind.” Nessa used the tone her husband could not refuse. He sat; she placed a cupful of ale in his hand and reached to tuck a stray curl back behind his ear. “Now listen to me.”
    â€œI should not stay here—I should go north, find a boat, head off after them. They can’t have got far—”
    â€œEyvind. Listen to me.”
    He was silent.
    â€œIt’s possible this was meant to be. I saw something of it in the fire; I could not avoid the vision the ancestors granted me. There is a strange pathway ahead for our daughter, dear one. Strange and perilous.”
    â€œYou saw this? Saw it and did not tell me?”
    â€œI could not tell you. You know how these portents are; they can be imprecise, misleading. I saw Creidhe on a long and arduous journey, and I saw signs and symbols—a little, ragged child; a creature like a fox . . . no, I will not tell all.”
    â€œThere’s worse than this?”
    Nessa saw the look in Eyvind’s eyes and took his hand in hers. “Worse, and better,” she said. “Our daughter will have a wondrous tale to tell, if she comes through this. You ask why she would do such a thing, why she would run away. Creidhe has not run away. She seeks only to aid her friend. She will sacrifice much for Thorvald. You know she loves him.”
    Eyvind frowned ferociously. Such a look had often turned his enemies’ bowels to water. Nessa waited, expression tranquil.
    â€œI thought we agreed Thorvald was the last man we wanted for her,” her husband said. “The boy is clever, I acknowledge that, but the legacy he carries is a dark one, and he has few of