“What’s it used for?” asked Holgar.

“I’m told it is a place of ritual, a men’s place,” Tadhg said. “They gather here on the day the year turns to light, and celebrate the sun’s rising. It’s said to ensure seeds germinate and crops grow lush.”

“Looks like the work of giants,” Eirik mused, “or maybe hill trolls. Something with great big hands and tools to match.”

“How do you know all this?” Somerled challenged the priest. “It’s clear you yourself cannot be part of this inner circle; your own faith must scorn such observances. You are an outsider. Do you not think these notions primitive? Sun worship?”

Tadhg smiled. “My adherence to the Christian faith has not rendered me deaf and blind. There are many paths to wisdom, and they can be more closely aligned than they seem.”

“Really?” Somerled’s brows lifted. “And what of my brother, the worthy Ulf? Have you brought him around to your way of thinking yet? When can we expect to see him with a cross around his neck, and a penchant for forgiving those who murder his mother, or violate his sister?”

“Somerled!” Eyvind hissed. The other men glanced over, not prepared to speak, but plainly unsettled by this turn of the conversation.

“I can but ask,” said Somerled.

“As to that,” Tadhg replied, touching the wooden cross that hung around his own neck, “you must seek an answer from your brother. He is his own man: a man who thinks deeply, and does not reach decisions lightly. Our faith is not quite as you describe it. You should let me tell you, sometime.”

“Huh,” scoffed Somerled. “I need know no more than I do already. You may turn my brother away from the true faith of our homeland, but you’ll have no luck with me, nor with a single one of our people. These beliefs are not for a red-blooded man. They are no more than a smokescreen to hide behind, when you lack the valor to defend what is yours with cold iron.”

“But,” Eyvind said, remembering the wolf, “a true measure of bravery, surely, is to walk toward your enemy with no weapons at all. A real hero wears only the armor of his own courage.” He felt a blush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks, and hoped his words had not sounded too foolish.

Somerled laughed. “And you a Wolfskin, Eyvind! Shame on you! Where would you be without your big axe and your fine sword? Don’t tell me you, too, are turning soft.”

Tadhg seemed unperturbed. “Your friend speaks wisely,” he said. “There is more than one kind of courage. I hope it does not take you too long to learn that.”

Engus’s men prepared a fire; turves of peat had been stored up here for just such a purpose, kept dry in a low stone hut. Eyvind went off with his bow and brought back two hares already starting to grow their white winter coats. Even here it seemed there was no bigger game to be found, no deer, not even the goats Somerled had mentioned. Somebody’s sheep wandered on the lower slopes, but one could hardly shoot those.