by A. E. Rayne
They were trying not to panic, but it was hard to think clearly when consumed by fear.
And the fear of what Arnon de Sant would do to Alys and Magnus grew as the morning lengthened.
The urgency to leave had been tempered by the need to be prepared. They didn’t know what they were going to be facing or who. Eddeth had been unable to tell them much about who Arnon had with him, and asking her questions was getting them nowhere, so it was better to prepare for every eventuality.
‘He has a goddess helping him. A goddess brought him back to life!’ Jonas couldn’t get his head around it. ‘I’m not sure what weapon we can use against Alari.’ He stood on Dagger with Sigurd, who was supervising the speedy loading of supplies. The deck was still a mess, littered with arrows, and Ludo was hard at work trying to tidy it up. Bolli had joined them on board, rankled that he had to leave his favourite ship in the hands of a pink-cheeked boy like Falki Grimsson. And though Falki was thirty-three, to Bolli he may as well have been a child, so he could only offer grumbles as he showed Falki around.
‘There’s no weapon I can think of to defeat a goddess, except Eddeth,’ Sigurd decided with some reluctance. Listening to dreamers and their visions went against everything he’d grown up believing, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen on Hakon Vettel’s chest. That mark hadn’t been made by men, and the memory of what it had done to Hakon still had him shuddering. ‘Eddeth and her herbs and her stones. She’ll help us. And maybe Alys too? She came to Reinar in a dream, didn’t she? So she might find a way to help us find her.’
Jonas wanted to scream. He looked up at the fort, where the harbour gates were open, seeing Vik hurrying down to the piers with Ollo and Bjarni – all three men carrying barrels of ale. ‘How soon can we be ready? The longer we delay, the more of a head start we give them.’
Sigurd agreed, glancing up at the sky, seeing a hint of the sun reaching its peak. ‘I’ll talk to Reinar, but you need to see if you’re happy. You and Vik. Make sure we’ve everything and everyone we need. It’ll be cold up North. It’s years since I’ve been, but this winter’s only going to get worse, and up there?’ Sigurd shuddered, not wanting to imagine it. ‘I’ll go see about more furs. We’re going to need them.’
He was right, Jonas knew. Northern winters killed the ill-prepared with frightening speed, so they couldn’t leave in too much of a rush. Likely they were going to need every hand to hunt down Alys and Magnus. And no one was going to be much use with black toes and fingers needing to be hacked off.
He shook his head, trying to still his vibrating body, not understanding how everything had gone so horribly wrong.
Lotta was struggling to keep up with Ulrick, who, despite the icy street and the blustering snow, walked ahead of her with urgency and speed.
Bergit was ill.
They had arrived in the small port of Torsas days ago. Five or six. Lotta couldn’t remember. Bergit had taken ill on the journey from Slussfall, shivering and shaking, spluttering and sneezing, and Ulrick had barely noticed Lotta since.
She coughed, and he turned around, suddenly aware of how far she’d fallen behind.
‘Lotta!’ And heading back to her, he grabbed a mittened hand. ‘Are you ill?’
Lotta shrugged; she didn’t know. Her throat was dry, and she badly wanted a drink. She felt tired and ready for bed, though she’d only just crawled out of it. But ill? ‘I don’t know.’
Ulrick picked her up, holding her close. ‘We need to find you more furs. I...’ He couldn’t think. His thoughts were trapped beneath a thick cloud, and he couldn’t think. Bergit was ill, and he had to find the healer. It was all that mattered now. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard about this woman. They say she can heal the plague itself, so Bergit will be in safe hands, won’t she? I’ll get her to take a look at you too. Don’t worry!’
He sounded worried, Lotta thought, seeing his frosty breath snaking around them both. Lotta felt worried too. If they didn’t leave Torsas, her father would find her. She’d dreamed that. He had captured her mother and brother, and now he was coming to steal her away too. ‘We must hurry!’ she shouted at Ulrick, who peered at her in surprise. ‘We must find the healer quickly!’
Elin and Ilene joined Stina and Eddeth down on the pier, where they were loading baskets of herbs onto Dagger.
‘I’m not sure they’ll have any gardens left!’ Elin laughed, though neither Stina nor Eddeth smiled, and feeling awkward, Elin turned her attention to Reinar, who was on board, talking to his brother.
Ilene had been both shocked and intrigued to discover that Arnon de Sant was alive. Smiling at Stina, she tried to ply her for information about what was happening. ‘And what will you do when you find them?’
‘Do?’ Stina frowned. ‘Get them back, of course.’ She lifted a basket up to Eddeth, who had been hoisted on board by Vik.
‘And Arnon? What will you do to him? It’s hardly a crime to want your wife and child back, is it? It’s not as though he kidnapped them. How can you kidnap what belongs to you?’
Stina turned to Ilene, poking a finger at her chest. ‘Are you still looking to make him yours, Ilene? Now? When Reinar Vilander’s given you the chance for a different life? When you could become a warrior? Find yourself some purpose other than being a sneak and a liar and a thief?’ She felt tired and worried about Alys and Magnus, and sensing Eddeth staring at her with an open mouth, Stina turned away. Then, quickly changing her mind, she swung back to Ilene. ‘I’m sure you’ll be welcome to whatever corpse Jonas and Vik leave behind. Though when they catch Arnon, I doubt there’ll be anything left to recognise.’ And taking a deep breath, Stina nodded at Ludo, who had his hands out, offering to lift her into the ship.
Ilene was furious, eyes bursting with anger, fists clenched by her sides.
‘She’s right,’ Elin muttered beside her. ‘Why pursue a cruel man? A wife-beater, from what I hear. You can do better, Ilene. So much better for yourself.’ Elin’s voice was a gentle scolding, and she could see that it soothed her friend, who turned to her with interest in her beady eyes. ‘You’ve many admirers in Ottby. Just wait and see where your destiny lies there. It’s not with a man about to die. Surely not?’
Ilene hated being told what to do, though her attention quickly moved to Sigurd, who was a handsome man with those intense blue eyes. A powerful man. A lord’s brother. Not a man doomed to die like Arnon de Sant, once Alys’ grandfather got his hands on him.
Ilene smiled at him, though Sigurd quickly turned away, trying to focus on what Reinar was telling him.
‘You’ll need to be careful. The Goddess of Magic is watching over that prick. What if you can’t kill him? What if he can’t be killed?’
Sigurd hadn’t thought of that.
Reinar lowered his voice. ‘Maybe I should go? It could be more dangerous than we imagine. I should go,’ he decided, nodding now. ‘You’ll need the help.’
‘Your help?’ Sigurd shook his head. ‘We’ve got a crew full of men who know how to use a sword, Brother. And Eddeth. Don’t even think about coming.’
‘But –’
‘Reinar.’ Sigurd pulled him further down Dagger, into the stern. ‘Reinar, stop. I know what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling, but you have to shut it all away. Forget it now. Forget Alys. You have Elin. She’s right there. Your wife.’
‘I was just –’
‘You’re the Lord of Ottby. The man Ake’s relying on to keep Slussfall secure. You’ve got work to do here, decisions to make. A wife to take home, and a fort to care for. You aren’t thinking clearly.’
Reinar wanted to scream. His heart was aching, his mind so full that he was struggling to see a path to follow. He didn’t know how he felt or what he wanted.
But, head dropping, shoulders sinking, he knew that his brother was right.
He had to stay behind.
Jonas was in the stables, feeding Daisy an apple. His new horse was chomping through the remainder of his own apple in the neighbouring stall.
Sindri was his name, and though Jonas was yet to feel the deep affection for him that he’d had for Klippr, he felt a twinge, sad to say goodbye. Leonid hadn’t wanted to stay in the fort, eager to get back to his village to find his brothers. So Jonas had paid a young boy recommended by Aldo Varnass two silver coins to take care of all three horses until their return. The boy was young, with an air of responsibility about him, and a glint in his eye at the promise of another two coins when they returned to Slussfall, which was as much as Jonas could hope for.
He turned at the creak of the stable door, expecting to see the boy, but it was Ollo. Jonas sighed. ‘So, you’ve come for your silver, then? Couldn’t wait another moment?’
Ollo tried to look offended, though silver was very much on his mind. ‘You do insult me, Jonas Bergstrom. And after all these years too!’ He walked forward, new fur cloak swathed around his protruding belly, the stench of fresh manure flaring his prominent nostrils. ‘I wasn’t after silver, not at all. I came to say that I thought... I might... come along.’
Jonas froze, Daisy nibbling his fingers. ‘Come along? You?’
‘Well, why not? Everything’s gone to shit, and I don’t think the new lord will keep me on here, especially if Reinar’s going to put that Lief Gundersen in charge. So I’ve a mind to seek something more... profitable for my future.’
Jonas laughed. ‘More profitable than my silver?’
‘What good is silver if the king himself wants your head?’ Ollo shook his own head, the silver nuggets tied into his coppery braids chinking together. ‘No, I took whatever reputation I had and shat on it, just like Vik said. And if I want the gods to change their minds about me, it’s time to make something new.’
‘You’re saying you had a different reputation once? When was this?’
‘I did. I certainly did!’ Ollo insisted loudly. The idea of becoming more than just the butt of a joke had grown over his many days in the cave. The thought that he could become heroic and worthy of the gods for the first time in years had become increasingly appealing too. He’d seen Hakon Vettel’s mark, and he knew that being worthy of Thenor’s favour was no small thing; nothing to take lightly. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Jonas, you being so old now?’
Jonas patted Daisy, who was bumping her muzzle against his hand, looking for another apple, but that one he was saving for Vik’s horse, and he walked away from the little pony, thinking of Magnus. ‘I can’t deny that’s true, though hopefully not so old that I can’t do a little damage to the bastard who stole my family.’
Ollo smiled. ‘I saw you in that prison hole. You were handy enough, old friend, though you had my help, of course. And now I’ll kindly give you some more. You and Vik aren’t invincible, you know, and that Sigurd Vilander is young enough to make a few mistakes. It’s worth having a few wise heads around you. And none wiser than mine!’
Jonas didn’t scoff, for he found himself agreeing. Ollo had a way with words and the ability to wheedle out a solution to many a tricky problem. It wasn’t just skilled swordsmen who would be needed to track down a snake like Arnon de Sant. ‘Well, I won’t say no, so you’d better go and find yourself a furry hat. It’s going to be cold!’
3
Bergit had become irritated with all the fussing, and she’d shooed Ulrick out of the cottage, sick of the sight of the little girl. She didn’t even want the old healer peering at her, though she felt so terrible that she knew it was in her own best interests to get some help. ‘What’s that?’ she grumbled, sitting in a creaking chair by the fire. Ulrick had tried to make her stay in bed, but the cottage he’d found for them was cramped and damp, with two narrow beds that were more uncomfortable than sleeping on the floor, Bergit was sure.
‘This?’ the old woman chuckled, bent over the fire. ‘Well, if I tell you that, what need would you have for me? Your generous husband has promised me three silver coins, so I must show him some skill!’
Bergit shivered, pulling a threadbare blanket up to her chin. The fire was blazing, though the cottage was drafty, and she was convinced that every spark of warmth was disappearing under the door.
The old woman had been stirring a number of ingredients into a small wooden bowl, her back to her patient, and now she turned around, holding it out. ‘You may sip this. It is hot, though, so be careful. Sip it slowly. That is how we’ll begin. And once we see how that sits with you, we’ll do more. Our bodies are not always in agreement with every herb, you know. Sometimes, they take up against us!’
‘And will I recover?’ Bergit was angry at the tremor of fear she heard in her voice. She was never ill. Never weak. Never bedridden.
‘Recover?’ The old woman creaked down onto a stool, tucking her cloak under her legs, eyes on the great gap under the door. ‘Sickness like yours is sweeping the land, from the North to the South. Oh, but there is nothing special about you, lady. Many have died, and many more will in the cold months to come.’ Her attention drifted back to the fire, watching the dancing flames. ‘They say it’s the gods, you know. Their punishment. Their curse on us all for being such a disappointment to them.’
Bergit sipped the warm liquid, screwing up her nose in disgust, tongue poking out. It smelled like wet grass. Tasted like rotting fruit. ‘Disappointment?’
The healer cackled, adjusting her woollen hat, which sat so low that it completely covered one of her eyes. ‘For being greedy and weak, full of lust and need, self-centred and self-serving! So who could blame those gods for wanting to cleanse the land of our stench? Who indeed!’
She was a madwoman, Bergit thought, reluctantly taking another gulp of the revolting liquid. ‘Who tells you that, then? How do you know these things?’
The old healer smiled, leaning back in the chair. ‘Not a soul, my dear. Not a soul.’
Ulrick took Lotta to Torsas’ rundown tavern.
It was midday, he thought, though with the clouds trapping the sun, he had no real idea, but he was thirsty for ale, which was a good sign that it was at least halfway through the day.
He left Lotta on a stool by the fire, one eye on her while he ordered a jug of ale. Taking the jug and a cup, he turned away from the serving counter, then, waking himself up, he turned back. ‘And what do you have to eat? Anything hot?’ The tavern shook like an old ship shed. The walls rattled noisily in a ferocious wind, smoke billowing back down the hole, making a few customers cough.
‘I’ve a stew cooking back there. Fish. Though don’t ask what. Just whatever comes in. Whatever’s left over.’
‘I’ll have two bowls of that, then,’ Ulrick said, motioning to where Lotta sat. ‘I’ll be over there.’ And putting down the jug, he slipped a hand into his pouch, pulling out a battered silver coin.
The man behind the counter eyed him irritably. ‘Two bowls, was it?’
Ulrick took out another coin, passing it to the man, barely caring. His mind was on Bergit, hoping the old woman could help her. And making his way back to Lotta, he poured himself a cup of ale. ‘Not for you, I’m afraid. I’ll get them to bring you some milk.’
Lotta slipped a hand out of her cloak, placing it on Ulrick’s arm. She hadn’t warmed up since they’d left Slussfall, and she saw that it was shaking. ‘Don’t worry, Bergit will live.’
Ulrick almost bit his tongue. He leaned down to Lotta, pulling her close. ‘You’re sure?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but we need to leave here. It’s not safe.’
Ulrick took a sip of ale, disappointed by its insipid taste, having little hope for the stew. Putting down the cup, he ran a hand through his long beard. ‘Are you going to tell me why? Or am I just left wondering again?’
Lotta didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what she thought. ‘I...’ She saw an image of her father shouting at her mother, holding her against a wall by the throat, and she shivered. ‘It’s... my father.’
Arnon sat down beside his son, wanting to terrorise Alys some more.
Rage flowed through him untempered, though he had no desire to cont
rol it. He wanted to punish them both for not loving him enough, for not being loyal enough.
For leaving him.
‘You ran away, boy,’ he hissed in Magnus’ ear, eyes on Alys, who looked petrified on the opposite side of the ship. Slipping a hand around Magnus’ back, Arnon pulled him close. ‘Why? Why would you do such a thing? Leaving your father like that? Your home?’
Magnus felt just as angry, but he thought of Jonas and Vik – the two men he aspired to be like. Not his father. He never wanted to be out of control and vicious like him. ‘You were d-dead. Mother was g-gone.’ He was cold. Scared about what was going to happen next.
He didn’t know how they could escape.
‘Why not stay in Ullaberg, then, where there were people to care for you? Ria would have. Urna was there.’
Magnus thought quickly, not wanting to get his mother in trouble. ‘I, I wanted to tell Jonas. To tell him what had happened. That we were alone. I thought he would help us.’
Arnon hated Jonas. Jonas, who had tried to stop Alys from being with him. Jonas Bergstrom, whose reputation as a famed warrior had always loomed over him like a taunting shadow. He could never be like Jonas, not in Alys’ eyes. Never as skilled with a sword. Never as lucky in battle.
Arnon snarled, lowering his head until his lips were touching Magnus’ ear. ‘But how did you know where to go? How did you know, boy? All on your own? Who told you where to go?’
Magnus froze, smelling ale on his father’s breath. ‘I... we’d been there before. I... remembered.’
Arnon squeezed his son’s arm, hurting him, and Magnus yelped.
‘Arnon!’ Alys shouted from across the ship.
Magnus trembled, feeling trapped and frightened. But he would never betray his mother. He wouldn’t. ‘We’d been there before. I... I thought I could find the way.’
