must return your bracelets, friend, that we may prove they stole them from you on the night.’
Christopher sighed. ‘It would be so much simpler to cut their throats,’ he groused, but he crouched nonetheless and slipped the silver spirals up the arms of the slaves. Then he turned and went back into the tent, taking the guitar from his shoulder as he did.
Wynter followed him. ‘Don’t give that back,’ she whispered, watching as he bent to place it by Pierre’s side. ‘Please, love. I cannot bear the thought of him playing it again.’
Sólmundr came up behind her, his long shadow blotting much of the light from the tent. ‘We can to keep it and hide it,’ he said.
Christopher shook his head. ‘They would look. They would find it, and then we would have to admit that we had been the ones who poisoned them. It’s all right. I can . . .’ He laid the guitar on the ground and stood. ‘I’ve already . . .’ Suddenly he took a sharp breath. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t either.’ And to Wynter’s horror he lifted his foot, ready to stamp down onto the fragile wood of his father’s guitar.
‘Don’t!’ she cried, already hearing the splintering of the beloved instrument beneath his boot.
But Christopher could not bring himself to do it, and he slammed his foot into the ground instead, crying out as he did so. Wynter put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes in relief. Around them, the Wolves slept on. Outside, Razi crouched by the slaves, watching from the cold moonlight.
‘Wait, Coinín’ said Sólmundr. ‘Fan nóiméad . . .’ And he turned abruptly, heading to the remains of the Wolves’ camp fire.
Wynter watched in silence as Sólmundr stirred the ashes, found an ember and carefully blew it to flame. He fed the fire from the Wolves’ woodpile until a hearty blaze spread its warm light on him and Razi and the unconscious slaves. Christopher edged past Wynter, his father’s guitar in his hand, and went and stood on the opposite side of the fire from Sól, his face grave.
‘You not ever get the chance to give your father proper ritual?’ asked Sól.
Christopher shook his head. He sank slowly to his knees, his eyes on the fire, and Wynter moved from the shadows and came to his side. Sólmundr nodded in approval as she put her hand on her man’s shoulder.
‘You want I should fetch Aoire?’ he asked Christopher gently.
Christopher shook his head.
‘You want me do it?’
Christopher nodded. He offered the guitar, and Sólmundr took it from him with formal solemnity. The warrior kissed the smooth wood then held it out across the flames. The light flickered warmly on his strong arms and his bracelets; it glowed in the depths of the polished wood. Sól began to speak in Merron, but Christopher murmured, ‘In Hadrish, Sólmundr, my family are here,’ and Sólmundr switched languages in mid-sentence, saying:
‘. . . and peace with you, Aidan an Filid, Mac Oisín an Filid, as Tír na Garron. A million thanks to you, for granting to me the son of your heart and now mine, Coinín Mac Aidan ’gus Mac Sólmundr. See he walk in freedom now, as one of the tribes. We have faith this make you happy as you walk in peace at the Heart of the World, and we ask you reclaim your property which your son and mine has liberate for you and now returns as is right.’
He kissed the guitar again and once more held it over the flames until Christopher took it. For a moment, the young man held the instrument poised across the hungry fire, his face determined. But then his strength seemed to desert him, and he snatched it back, curling himself around it as if incapable of letting go. His shoulder quaked beneath Wynter’s hand, and she squeezed gently, her vision blurred with tears. Sólmundr tilted his head in sympathy as Christopher silently keened, his body rocking, his forehead pressed to the snake emblem on the back of the guitar. Then Christopher abruptly raised his head and, without further hesitation, placed his father’s guitar into the heart of the flames.
‘Bye, Da,’ he said.
It caught immediately, the fire roaring to life around it, the strings snapping with sudden, sharp pops. Wynter sank to her knees by Christopher’s side. He slid his arm around her waist. Razi came to stand behind them, and the three of them watched as the flames turned blue and green