"Juliet Marillier - Wolfskin 1 - Wolfskin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marillier Juliet)

It was Yuletide, and today there was no skating. The wind screamed around the temple, demanding entry
through any chink or cranny its piercing fingers might discover. The timbers creaked and groaned in
response, but held firm. So far, the roof had not leaked. Just as well he'd climbed up and shifted some of
the weight off the shingles, Eyvind thought. The place would be full to bursting for the midwinter sacrifice.

Folk were already streaming into the valley, coming by sledge and on foot, on skis or skates, old men
carried on their sons' backs, old women pulled on hurdles by red-faced children or panting dogs. The
wind died down, as if holding its breath in honor of the occasion, but a new storm was coming. Dark
clouds built in the west.

Eyvind had been working hard. The temple was on his mother's land, though shared by all in the
surrounding district, so the burden of preparation fell squarely on the household at Hammarsby. He'd
spent the morning chopping wood, stacking the pungent-smelling logs by the central hearth, making and
banking the fire. It was nearly time for the ceremony; he should stir the coals now and put on more fuel.
The white goat could be heard outside, bleating plaintively. His sisters had swept the stone floor clean
and stripped the cobwebs from the rooftrees, while his mother, Ingi, polished the bronze surfaces of ritual
knives and bowls to a bright, sunny sheen. These now lay ready on the altar at the temple's northern end.
Cold light pierced the shingled roof above the hearth. From the altar, Thor's image stared down at
Eyvind. Bushy browed, full-bearded, the god's wooden features held an expression of ferocious
challenge. In his iron-gloved right hand he gripped the war hammer, Mjollnir; his left was held across his
chest, to signify the making of some vow. Eyvind stared back, meeting Thor's gaze without blinking, and
his own hand moved to his breast as if returning a pledge of allegiance. Till death, he thought Thor was
saying, and he whispered his answer, "Till death and beyond."

The air was crisp and chill, the sacred space clean and quiet in the cold winter light. Later there would be
a press of bodies in the temple, and it would be all too warm. As Eyvind used the iron poker to stir the
embers to life, there was a sound from the entry behind him. He turned to see a tall, broad figure striding
toward him, hair and beard touched to dark gold by the glow of the rekindled fire.

"Well, well, little brother! I swear you've doubled in size since the harvest!"

Eyvind felt a huge grin spreading across his face. "Eirik! You're home! Tell me where you've been, and
what you've been doing! I want to hear everything!"

His brother seized him in a brief, hard embrace, then stretched out his hands to warm them before the
flames.

"Later, later," he laughed. "Time enough for all that after the sacrifice. We'll have many tales, for I do not
come alone."

"Hakon is here too?" Eyvind asked eagerly. He admired Hakon almost as much as he did Eirik himself,
for his brother's friend had earned his wolfskin at not quite sixteen, which was generally thought to be
some sort of record.

"Hakon, and others," Eirik said, suddenly serious. "The Jarl's kinsman, Ulf, is with us; a fine man, and a
friend of ours. He's brought his young brother and several of his household. They're on their way to Jarl
Magnus's court. Ulf has a wish for some delicate silverwork, I think to impress a lady.

I made it known to him that our sister's husband is skilled in this craft. They will spend some nights here,