We woke to a grey day without sun. I went out from Brother Finán’s house and looked up to the sky, and it was barely possible to tell where the sun was in the sky. All around us lay a thick mist.
Brother Finán followed me out, and then Egil. “The prophecy has come to pass,” Brother Finán said gloomily. “The Cloak of Manannan lies over the island. The dearg-dul can walk by day as well as by night, and there is no safety for anyone.”
“I came so close,” I said, filled with frustration. “Had there been but two or three fewer I could have beaten them.”
“Most, if not all, of the dead that Halfdan brought back from Clontarf must have been dearg-dul not yet risen. It is no shame upon you that you could not win against such numbers. Your efforts do you great credit,” Brother Finán praised me, yet his words brought me no content.
“How can we stop them? There must be a way to break this spell. Manannan was a friend to the island; his cloak was to protect us not to shield our enemies. Will it disperse the mist if I slay Brodir? Or Halfdan? Or both? Search your books, Brother Finán, find what I must do.”
“The fog will last for ever?” Egil asked.
“I fear that it will, if we can find no way to break the curse,” Brother Finán told him.
“Might it not be a natural occurrence, and be gone as soon as a wind springs up?” the young Icelander suggested hopefully.
“Were it March, or October, then perhaps,” I replied, “but it is May Day, and not the time for such weather. All has happened as the prophecy foretold.” I turned to my Watcher. “Yet did not the prophecy say that I should not be under their dominion? There is still hope. Find me the answer.”
“I will do my best,” he promised. “Can you read, young man?”
“I can read runes,” Egil replied.
“Then perhaps you might aid me, for some of my texts of prophecy are runic manuscripts from the Northlands. If you look through those while I examine the Latin and Greek then it would be a great help.”
Egil beamed with pride and agreed gladly.
“I shall go to my family,” I announced, for I knew that I could be of little use among the books. “They will be going to the May Day Fair and if I do not join them it will occasion much talk. There will be friends of mine there that I have not seen in some time, and I might learn things of use. I shall pass off this,” I raised my right hand to point at the sling, “as the result of a fall from my horse.”
“See if you can learn what is happening about the rulership of Mann,” Brother Finán suggested. “Brodir has no heir. Will your council choose another king, or go back to owing allegiance to the King of the Isles?”
“Ragnall of the Isles is old and sick, perhaps dying,” Egil put in, “and his son Kennet was at Clontarf and I think is numbered among the slain.”
“And Sweyn Kennetson is little more than a child,” Brother Finán added thoughtfully. “I see no clear path. Find out more, Bahey.”
“Does it matter so much?” I asked. “The Thing will decide at Midsummer, and not before, for many of the Thingmen have not returned from Clontarf and more must be chosen. We must surely have broken the spell before then, or have perished in the attempt.”
“It matters,” Brother Finán responded. “If there is one with a clear claim to the rulership of Mann then that is who we should approach for aid. Yet if there is no such living person, then what is to stop Brodir from holding on to the crown even though he is dead?”
I arrived home to find an empty house, and so I went to the Fair and caught up with my family there. My father scolded me for riding a horse, and said that it served me right that I had fallen and hurt my arm, but there was no heat to his anger. Mother was worried about me, and also said that I should not ride, but I asked how else I should accompany Brother Finán when he travelled so far across the island, and she had no answer. They had agreed that I should take service as his assistant, and it seemed late to object now, so they held their peace.
The Fair was an occasion for joy and laughter in normal times, but that was somewhat subdued this year. The mist that filled the air was the least of the reasons. All too many of our menfolk had not returned from Clontarf; and the newly widowed, and girls like myself who had lost sweethearts, were in no mood for celebration. There was still music, and dancing, and feasting, but only the small children could enjoy themselves without their thoughts turning to more sombre matters. Only the stalls of the pedlars were the same as in other years.
I saw bowyers and fletchers among the pedlars, and I cursed myself for not remembering that they would be there, for I had need of a bow and I could not buy one. For a girl to make such a purchase would cause great raising of eyebrows and would be much talked about; and even were I prepared to draw such attention to myself, Brother Finán had not given me the coins of silver that I would need. Of course, the last time there had been a fair I had had no thoughts in my head of bows or swords or spears, being only concerned with ribbons for my hair and the like, but I was in no mood to excuse myself for thoughtlessness.
I saw my friend Ealish in the crowd. She was standing behind her man Markys, with arms folded and a frown upon her face, watching as he haggled over the purchase of a sword. I left my family and went to join her, and together we left Markys to his negotiations and walked together through the Fair. We came upon Bahey Bane, and Calyvorra who was also a friend to me, and we joined together with them, bought sweetmeats, and gossiped.
The other girls teased me about my admirer from Iceland, for word of the tall stranger asking after me had spread far and wide. I told them firmly that I had rejected his advances, for I was promised to Fynlo if only by word; but I could not deny that if Fynlo did not return then I might not be averse to the attentions of the Icelander.
“Is that not the man himself?” asked Bahey Bane, and pointed across the Fair to where a bowyer was selling his wares. Egil stood at the stall, testing the strength of a bow.
“It is,” I confirmed, my lips tight. “I told him he was not to follow me any more, and I had thought that he had heeded my words. How do you know him by sight, Bahey Bane?”
“I know many things,” she said, half-closing her eyes in a way that I think she believed gave her an air of mystery, and then she laughed. “He was sent in my direction in error when he was seeking for you; and I was disappointed when I realised that it was all a mistake, for he is as handsome and well set up a young man as you could hope to find. If your Fynlo returns then I could do worse than to try to turn your Egil’s eyes in my direction.”
“He is not my Egil,” I insisted. “I am displeased that he does not seem to accept that.”
“You may do him an injustice, Bahey Dhone,” Calyvorra put in. “He is buying a bow. He may be here only for that purpose, and not have followed you at all.”
“He probably lost his own at Clontarf, as my Markys lost his sword,” Ealish agreed. “You need not be angered at him.”
“If my father sees him, or Fynlo’s, there may still be harsh words without just cause,” I said. “Perhaps I should rejoin my family.”
“No, stay with us awhile,” Calyvorra urged. “We have other news for you.”
I smiled, and agreed, and talked with them for a while longer, but as we talked the smile froze on my lips; for they told me that other men had been enquiring after me. Although they thought it cause for jest, and that the men would be more admirers, I knew otherwise. Egil had slain the dearg-dul who knew my name, and I had thought no more of it, but it seemed the others had heard his words and remembered them.
I was being hunted.
I took my leave of the other girls at the first opportunity, bade them farewell, and set off back to my parents. I took a roundabout route to avoid Egil, for I desired not to be seen in his company; and so it was that I passed out of the sight of those who knew me and I was amongst only strangers when a man stepped out into my path. A man broad in the shoulders, perhaps the same age as my father, with a touch of grey in his beard.
It was Halfdan.
“You are the girl called Bahey Dhone, are you not?” he addressed me. “The Slayer.”
“I am Bahey Dhone, true,” I confirmed. I saw no point in denying it, for many at the Fair knew me well. “I know not what you mean by calling me a Slayer.”
“It is pointless to pretend, Slayer. I know who you are and what you are. Only a Slayer could have fought as you did last night.” His eyes went to my sling. “And do not try to claim that it was not you.”
“If you know what I am then you must also know that I could wring your neck like that of a chicken,” I warned him, “even with but one uninjured arm.”
“I am not here alone, Slayer,” he told me. “And neither are you. To start a battle here, with your family at risk, would benefit neither of us.”
I glared at him. “Then what do you want, Halfdan?”
“I want you to leave us alone. Do not interfere with what you do not understand.” His voice held a hint of the same guttural accent as that of the dearg-dul who had given orders even to Brodir. Presumably they hailed originally from the same place. I took note of this and resolved to mention it to Brother Finán later.
“You have summoned a mist over all of the island, and banished sunshine from our lives perhaps for ever,” I snapped. “Your allies have killed innocent people. What else do I need to understand?”
Halfdan glanced around, his face showing nervousness, but no-one around us showed any sign of having taken notice of my words. The Fair was noisy, with many people talking at once and musicians playing an accompaniment for a dance, and our conversation was therefore almost as private as if we had been alone.
“I have no desire to bring harm to the people of this island,” he said in measured tones, a smile on his lips but not in his eyes. “I need a stronghold from which I can strike against my enemy. This place fits my needs. That is all. The mist makes it safe for my forces to walk under the sun, and it hides us, so that it is not safe for enemy ships to land. I bear your people no ill will; they took me in and gave me shelter, after all. No more of them shall die unless absolutely necessary.” His voice grew harder. “Unless you interfere further in what need not be your concern.”
“The safety of my people is indeed my concern,” I stated firmly. “Their prosperity too. Without the sun how shall the barley ripen? It will rot in the fields. Are we to live on mushrooms? Disperse this mist, or perish along with your dearg-dul servants.”
“I will bring back cargoes of riches. All the barley your people could desire. Meat, and fish, too; also gold, and silver, and furs. None need starve; indeed there will be wealth for all.”
“Fine promises, but I believe you not. From where shall this wealth come?”
“From England. We shall raid the lands of Aethelred as in the old days, and take all that we desire, and spread bloodshed and death throughout his realm, and my enemy shall suffer.” His lips curled back, he waved his hands, and his eyes seemed to gleam. “With the cloak of mist to shield us he can do naught to strike back.”
“Who is your enemy?” I asked, for I thought perhaps we could seek aid from Halfdan’s foe.
“King Aethelred,” Halfdan spat the name out. “That vile murderous king. He must perish, and all his thanes, and his lands be ravished and given unto the draugr.”
I spoke softly, thinking to humour him, for I was beginning to suspect that Halfdan was smitten by a madness. “How is it that King Aethelred became your enemy?”
“He killed my wife,” Halfdan said, and his voice was filled with pain and great grief. “He killed my children.”
“The St Brice’s Day massacre,” Brother Finán said thoughtfully. “It was when you were a little child, Bahey. King Aethelred the Ill-Counselled ordered the slaying of all Danes in England.”
“I have heard the tale,” Egil put in. “King Sweyn of Denmark’s sister Gunnhild was among those slain, and King Sweyn invaded England, and there has been war between them ever since. Did not Sweyn drive Aethelred into exile last year?”
“He did, but Sweyn died just before Lent, and Aethelred came back. A good thing for the Irish, perhaps, as Sweyn would have sent troops to aid Sygtrigg at Clontarf, but a bad thing for the English as Aethelred is a poor excuse for a king. An ill fortune for the Isle of Mann too, for if Aethelred had been the one to die then that would have been an end to Halfdan’s need for revenge.”
“Perhaps not, as he also seeks vengeance against all Aethelred’s thanes, for they carried out that evil order. I think he has been driven mad and will not stop until all England is a wasteland.” I shook my head. “In a way I blame him not, for it must have been a terrible thing to return home to find his family slain. His son was only three years old!”
“His madness may destroy us all,” Brother Finán pointed out.
“I know, and I shall not shrink from slaying him if the chance comes, but my hatred has turned to pity,” I said. “Alas, he gave me no clue as to how we can dispel the mists.”
“Ah, on that score I have good news, for I may have the answer,” Brother Finán told me, but he did not smile.
“I would hazard a guess that it is not an easy answer,” I ventured.
Brother Finán nodded. “You must slay Brodir, destroy the magical coat of mail, and cleanse the realm of Manannan of the dearg-dul entirely.”
“As was my intention anyway. Yet how shall I destroy the mail coat? It withstood the axe blows of Wolf the Quarrelsome, and my arrow barely pierced it. Must I find a smith to melt it in his forge?”
“If needs be, yes. However it might be simple enough. When one of the dearg-dul is slain and turned to dust, then whatsoever he is wearing turns to dust also. Slaying Brodir might well be enough in itself to destroy the mail.”
“That is good to know. All I have to do is to slay a dearg-dul who in life was one of the most renowned warriors among the Norse, who is now Undead and greatly increased in strength, and who is wearing a coat of enchanted mail that cannot be pierced by blade or arrow.” I smiled at him. “For a moment I feared that you were going to ask me to do something difficult.”
Egil stayed with Brother Finán that night, and it was agreed that he should sleep there for as long as he remained on Mann. I slept that night at home, for there was little point in seeking out the dearg-dul when I was not fit to fight, although I fretted over the lost time. My arm was much recovered by the morning, the bruises faded and turned to yellow, and I knew that it would be back to full use by the next day at the latest.
The mist again lay thick over the island, and the men of Dubhghlais cursed much, for the herring shoals would be arriving, and it was not safe for the boats to go out. Only one ship dared sail in the fog, and it was the cause of much talk, for they said that the captain must be either a great sailor or a great fool. Halfdan. He had come to Dubhghlais in his longship when he visited the Fair, and he had sailed away again in the evening, when it was both foggy and dark.
“The dearg-dul see much better in the dark than do we, and I suspect the same applies in the fog,” Brother Finán explained. “He must have one as helmsman.”
“Where has he gone?” I wondered. “Is he going a-Viking to England? He cannot yet have force enough for such an expedition, for we have slain half of his dearg-dul at least.”
“I would guess he merely returned home,” Brother Finán said. “Have you found out yet where he lives?”
“Some say Laxey, some say Hramsá,” I told him. “I shall visit both if need be.”
“We shall all go,” Brother Finán decided. “Tomorrow.”
I would have gone out in search of dearg-dul that evening, but my Watcher was insistent that I should wait until my arm was completely healed. Therefore another day and night passed without action, and I grew restless, but the next day my shoulder was as unmarked as it had been before the blow, and he declared me fit.
It was Sunday, and so Brother Finán and I went off to church. Egil came not, for he still followed the old gods. In truth he would have come to church with us had I asked, for he was eager to win favour in my eyes, but I was not yet free to encourage his interest. At church I sat with my family, and after the service I sought out my friends. I asked all that were there for news of Fynlo; there was still no word of his fate. His father Asmund had sent to Ireland offering ransom but there had as yet been no reply.
I caught myself thinking that even news that he had perished would be better than this uncertainty, and scolded myself for such a cruel thought. Yet Fynlo was fading slightly in my memory, and Egil was taking his place in my thoughts, and I was beginning to wonder what it would be like to kiss the Icelander. Therefore when Ealish, Bahey Bane, and Calyvorra talked with me after church, and teased me again about my admirer, I denied once more that he was more to me than a nuisance. I grew cross at their teasing and my words to them as we parted were harsh.
May God forgive me for I shall never forgive myself.