by A. E. Rayne
Vik woke before dawn, and stretching out his aching back, he stood, desperate for something to drink.
Jonas was one step ahead of him, and as he reached the bow, he handed his friend a waterskin. ‘Sea air always dries your throat,’ he grinned, happy to have some company.
‘That it does,’ Vik agreed, stomach rumbling. ‘Makes you hungry too!’ He turned, running his eyes over the ship. Very few were stirring. Dawn had barely broken, and most had suffered through an uncomfortable, cold and wet night. Eddeth, though, was sound asleep, snoring with great endeavour. ‘What do you think of our dreamer, then?’
‘Eddeth?’ Jonas chuckled. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman quite like her.’
‘Well, I hope she’s having some useful dreams.’
Jonas looked worried. ‘So do I, though I just don’t understand any of it. Why Arnon’s not dead? How he found Alys? Is it really that goddess Alari, punishing Alys for killing her dreamer?’ Sighing, he took back the skin, sucking down another long drink. ‘Whatever the case, what does it mean for us? Is Arnon immortal now? Can we kill him? Will she bring him back to life again if we try?’
Vik growled at the thought of it. ‘He won’t be a god. We’ll be able to kill him, I’m sure.’ He thought of Magnus, hoping he wouldn’t try anything silly, seeing the worry in Jonas’ eyes, knowing that he was thinking the same thing.
They had to find them quickly, before something terrible happened.
Arnon’s melancholy mood had vanished by the time he woke up, and he was once again angry and belligerent with his family, laughing and joking with his men.
And they were his men, Alys could see. There was not one hint of discomfort in their eyes, just a hunger for silver. And with pouches full of silver, Arnon was a man worth following.
They didn’t care what happened to the woman or the boy.
Alys could hear that as she listened to their thoughts.
Then Arnon was there, hands in her hair, pulling her to him, kissing her again. ‘What did you dream of last night? Something to help us? Something about Lotta?’
Alys shook her head. ‘No. Nothing.’
Arnon didn’t believe her. He wrapped his hand around her hair, pulling it tightly, yanking her closer. ‘Lying won’t get you anywhere you want to go, Alys. Surely you know that? You think I’m alone out here? That I have no allies?’
Alys trembled, wet through. She wasn’t scared, though, just cold. ‘I don’t always have dreams. I can’t pretend that I do.’ She spoke quietly, irritating him, and he raised a hand to her.
‘No!’ Magnus shouted, restrained by one of Arnon’s more enthusiastic helpers.
Alys swallowed, not looking at Magnus, knowing it would make things even worse. ‘I try to dream, I do. I want to see Lotta every night, but sometimes, I see nothing. I’m sorry, I’ll try again.’ That was better, she could see, for Arnon’s shoulders relaxed, and he lowered his hand. He wanted to see fear and a desire to please, and having received both, he felt more inclined to leave his wife alone.
‘Good, keep trying, then. There’s nowhere for you to go, so sleep as often as you can. But first, get down to the stern and make us some breakfast. My men need to eat, and you, my love, will feed them.’
Alys nodded, though she wanted to push him over. She wanted to take Magnus and run, but they were trapped, and there was nowhere to go.
She thought of Jonas and Vik and Reinar.
Wondering if anyone was coming for them.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Sigurd grinned, eyes on Eddeth, who sat alone, sliding up and down the chest, the hood of her cloak flapping up over the back of her head. He held onto a rope with one hand, eating a smoked-fish stuffed flatbread with the other.
‘I’m looking for answers!’ Eddeth insisted, not wanting to be interrupted in her search for them. She’d found herself becoming increasingly unsettled since she’d set foot on Dagger, knowing that it was more than just the bitter wind bothering her.
Frowning, Sigurd took a seat beside her, shunting Eddeth along. ‘You look worried.’
Eddeth blinked at him, trying not to look worried.
‘Do you think he’ll do something to Alys and the boy?’ Sigurd knew how Reinar felt about Alys. He had offered to come, knowing that Reinar couldn’t. They all cared for Alys, and he especially felt the weight of responsibility for taking her away from her children in the first place. He couldn’t let anything else happen to her. ‘Do you think Alys’ husband will kill them?’
Eddeth shrugged and nodded and twitched. ‘No idea! I hope not, though, for that would be pure evil. Killing your own family? What sort of creature does that?’ She thought of Ivan Vettel then, wishing he’d been able to break with Hakon before it was too late.
Though Eddeth knew that sometimes, it simply was too late.
Too late to make a better choice.
‘We have to get to them in time,’ Sigurd sighed, watching Ludo and Stina talking in the bow. ‘We have to kill this prick once and for all. I shot him in the chest, you know. He was dead. I saw that. For all that we did to Alys and her children, I thought that at least we’d gotten rid of her bastard husband.’
Eddeth grabbed Sigurd’s arm to stop herself sliding away. ‘Well, you would have if it wasn’t for Alari. She’s got her fingers in the threads, that evil goddess has. Pulling them asunder! Undoing all that was meant to be. And why? Because Alys killed her old dreamer? But has she had all her fun?’ Eddeth looked up, eyes bulging, hearing a rumble of thunder in the distance. ‘That’s the question we must ask ourselves now, Sigurd Vilander. Has Alari had all her fun?’
‘You chose Mirella Vettel? Mirella over me?’ Alari was disgusted, pacing before Eskvir, unable to dampen her frothing rage. ‘For what purpose? What do you hope she can do, Uncle? She is no goddess. She is mortal. Just a dreamer!’
Eskvir was unmoved.
He had suffered under the weight of his brother, Thenor’s, thumb since the beginning of time itself, and Alari wasn’t about to get in his way. She was useful, powerful, a magical goddess without peer.
And yet?
He drank slowly from a long horn, amber-coloured mead washing over his golden moustache. Considering his niece with a frown, he sat back in his magnificent chair of bronze, its decorated back rising higher than two men. Even he, the God of War and Vengeance, with a powerful, mighty body, was dwarfed by it. ‘You must not act like a child, Alari. Children play games, and childish tantrums have no part in my plans, I assure you.’
Alari rounded on him. He was an intimidating figure, bulky and growling, equally hot-tempered and morose – similar to her father in that way – though she barely blinked as she strode up to his throne. ‘I hardly think it’s childish to wonder what you’re up to with Mirella. Perhaps you love her? Many do.’
Eskvir laughed, amused. ‘Love her? Must you always be so desperate for affection, Alari? Do you imagine that every decision is one between whether to give you love or take it away?’ He took another gulp of mead. ‘No, Mirella is useful to me, especially now that Thenor has chosen her daughter to be on his side of our little war. I like the symmetry of it. Families pulled apart, faced with the prospect of killing their own kin...’ He wore a great mail shirt made of silver, covered with a shining breastplate, decorated with symbols carved by Alari herself. Symbols of victory and for protection; symbols of mastery too, for there was no one as skilled in war as Eskvir. ‘We will battle as broken families. And only one will survive. Remember that, Niece. We battle as families, for what we all hope to achieve. You have your grievances, I know, though I’m sure you have the self-control not become an impediment to the greater good. Thenor is mine. I will end him, and we will take Alekka. You will help me, Alari, and I will give you everything you desire. Remember that when you are brooding and griping, skulking around, plotting. I will give you everything you desire, but you must serve me. You must sacrifice your needs for mine, for I am the leader here, and you will remember it.’
Ala
ri stopped, thinking.
Eventually, nodding.
Though inside, she was seething.
Mirella had wound Eskvir around her little finger, until he now saw his own niece as a problem to contend with. Alari was certain of it. Eskvir was transfixed by Mirella.
Mirella, who had ambitions for what?
‘There will be a feast tonight,’ Eskvir said, standing, towering over the diminutive goddess. ‘Will I see you there?’
Alari smiled. ‘Of course, Uncle. Of course.’ It was always wrong to try and control a goddess, she thought, bobbing her head before turning and walking away.
Especially the Goddess of Magic.
Bergit kept watching her, and Lotta didn’t know where to look. The wind roared past her as she stood in the stern, holding her hat, and every time she turned around, Bergit smiled at her.
Lotta felt odd, wanting to read Bergit’s thoughts, but nothing came to her.
Just that unsettling smile.
Ulrick was so happy to have his wife back that he didn’t notice anything was amiss. He sat by Bergit, stood by Bergit, kissed Bergit.
But Lotta knew that he saw nothing at all.
Adults were blinded by love and loyalty. They didn’t see the truth. They didn’t see what was right before their eyes.
Magic.
Ulrick pressed his lips to Bergit’s cheek. ‘One more day.’
She didn’t answer at first, still annoyed that Asger had stopped off in Arlsvik, stranding them for an entire day while he picked up supplies and more men. ‘And then what?’ she wondered. ‘You’ll just turn up at this lord’s hall and offer yourself like a pig for slaughter? But how do you even know whether he’s a lord worth following?’ Bergit was always amazed by her husband’s lack of forethought. ‘There are lords throughout the North. Lords worthy of your expertise and experience. Why decide on one you know nothing about? Before you’ve even met him!’
Ulrick pulled her close, eyes on Lotta, who had turned away, staring out to sea. ‘You think I know nothing about the man?’ he snorted in amusement. ‘That I would risk my life, and that of my family’s for any old lord? No, Bergit, Tarl Brava will soon be the only lord in the North, mark my words.’
‘But why are you so certain?’
‘I’ve met him. I met his father. I’ve heard the stories. He’s ambitious, seizing power, defeating enemies. He doesn’t make alliances, he makes pyres. You think I should choose a lord about to be swallowed up by him and his army?’
Bergit frowned, not liking the sound of Tarl Brava, but still, it was better to be with a lord who had a future than one about to die. ‘And yet you were so certain of the Vettels for all those years.’
‘Of course I was, woman! Jorek was on the throne, grooming his sons to follow in his footsteps. You think that was the wrong choice? Ha! Unless you’re a dreamer or a god or The Old One herself, how could you see into the future? How could you know what was coming?’
‘You could have guessed,’ Bergit decided. ‘Jorek was unpopular outside of Stornas. His people hated him. He treated them like vermin!’
‘True, but what I’ve heard about Tarl is the opposite. Northerners are flocking to him because he offers them hope of a new existence. A better life. He’s someone to follow, and desperate men will always follow a lord who promises them victory, for victory is a chance to start again.’
Bergit nibbled a stale biscuit, eyeing Lotta. ‘And what about dreamers? What do they promise you, Ulrick?’
Ulrick followed her eyes, tension creeping into his voice. ‘I try to stay away from dreamers, my love, you know that.’ He looked away from Lotta, turning his attention back to his wife, disturbed by the strange look in her eyes.
Solveigh was Tarl Brava’s wife, stolen away from her wedding to another man.
A man she had loved with all her heart.
Her family were gone, as was her betrothed.
All of them burned in the hall, torched by Tarl’s men.
He had come to her village to make an alliance with her father. That’s what he’d said, at least, and her father, growing older and more pragmatic in his later years, had consented to meet with Tarl, inviting him to his daughter’s wedding feast.
Solveigh didn’t know what had been in Tarl’s mind when he’d entered the hall that day, but by nightfall, he had torn her away from her betrothed, murdering everyone she cared about.
And now she was in Orvala, trying to end her life.
It was proving impossible, though. Mirella kept watching her, seeing everything she would do before she could do it; warning her husband, who quickly sent his thuggish warriors to stop her.
‘I’m not sure how you keep getting all these knives, Solveigh,’ Mirella murmured, taking a seat beside the sullen woman, who slumped over on a bench, ignoring her. ‘Will we all be forced to use wooden utensils in the hall now?’
Solveigh stared at the snow, her boots almost buried in it.
Mirella had taken her for a ride, leaving the city behind. They had stopped their horses by Bear Lake, where the Orvalans would come to bathe and swim in the few months that were slightly warmer than the rest. Though, in this bitter weather, not even a duck dared venture out on that near-frozen lake. So, instead, the two women sat on a bench, only one of them willingly.
Solveigh felt little ability to do what she wanted around the dreamer, and even now, thoughts of running away were quickly gone from her mind, and she remained seated on the bench, hands clasped in her lap, listening, as Mirella scolded her.
Mirella laughed. ‘Once you are with child, you’ll feel differently. You won’t want to kill yourself then.’
Solveigh turned to her. ‘You think I want his child? That I would give birth to a monster?’ She spat, standing, hands shaking by her sides. She was a slender woman, becoming increasingly gaunt since her marriage to Tarl. Long dark hair tumbled over her chest in a mixture of thin braids and loose waves. Her eyes were pronounced, dark-brown, and full of despair.
She was quite lovely, Mirella thought; a perfect queen. If only she would stop being so self-obsessed and pitiful. ‘Soon, you will be the Queen of Alekka, Solveigh. Can you not think of that? Of something or someone other than yourself?’
Mirella was becoming impatient.
Solveigh came from an ancient Alekkan family; a long and noble line. Her blood with Tarl’s would create generations of strong rulers for the Alekka she was attempting to build. Though, trying to get Solveigh to see the future was nigh on impossible.
‘You are so cruel, Mirella. So heartless and cruel! Tarl murdered my family, yet you think that was a sacrifice worth making? That I should ignore what he’s done? Shut out the nightmares? Just smile and simper and close my mouth until I fall in love with him?’
Mirella lifted her hood over her hair, dropping her shoulders. ‘Love is not what I’m suggesting at all. Certainly not. I have known love, and love almost destroyed me, as it’s destroyed many, as it attempts to destroy you now. Love is no goal to pursue. But purpose is. Helping others. Having a life of purpose and meaning. That is what you must focus on now, Solveigh.’ Mirella could hear their horses snorting in the distance, and she sighed, wanting to get back to the hall.
‘But Tarl is an evil man. Why can’t you see it?’ Solveigh stood, desperate to get through to the one person who could help her. ‘You’re asking me to sit by his side while he kills innocent people!’ She dragged her hands through her hair, pulling out the braids. Mirella had ordered her servants to dress and groom her every day, for if Solveigh had her way, she would never wash, never change her clothes, never brush her hair.
She just wanted to die!
Mirella rubbed her gloved hands together, barely blinking. ‘But you will not die, Solveigh, for I will not allow it. You will be the perfect queen, and I will ensure that it comes to pass. So you must decide, for you will either be a willing participant, or I shall bind you to me and force you to do whatever I want.’ And smiling, she stood, holding out a hand to the
woman. ‘The gods chose you to bear Tarl’s sons. They saw the future you would have, and you will not run from that destiny.’
‘You’ve been quiet,’ Stina smiled, sitting down beside Eddeth. She felt better than she had in days. The freedom of being on the ship was a relief. The men were under Sigurd’s command, and he had complete control. Barely a man looked her way, and those who did appeared more interested in gossiping about her than ogling her. And then there was Ludo, who stumbled over his words, eyes full of guilt, trying hard to be friendly.
She almost felt calm.
Apart from the tremors of worry she felt when she thought of Alys.
Eddeth yawned loudly. She had been desperately trying to find more memories of her grandmother, more understanding of what she could do to be useful. ‘It’s hard work, being a dreamer!’ she insisted loudly. ‘Oh yes, it is. Poor Alys. I’m not sure how she coped. Or how she’s coping now!’
‘Can you try and reach her?’
‘I...’ Eddeth blinked furiously. ‘I don’t think so. Not yet. But once we get on land again, perhaps I can try? You could help me. You and Aldo.’ Aldo was sound asleep, curled into a corner of the stern, and she smiled at him, then frowning, she shivered all over. Standing quickly, Eddeth reached for a rope, peering into Dagger’s wake of dark waves, the clouds rushing towards her.
She’d heard something.
Something odd.
‘What?’ Stina twisted around, trying to see what Eddeth was staring at, though there was nothing but the churn of cold, frothing water.
‘Nothing,’ Eddeth agreed, picking her wart, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. ‘Don’t you worry now. I’m sure it was nothing at all.’
7
Night came quickly after a busy day.
The bad weather had held off until they had drawn inside, closing the hall doors and gathering around the two long fire pits. Falla was busy organising food and wine. Ale and mead too. She had dressed up again, her black hair finely braided now, swept back from her face, sparkling jewels hanging from her ears and neck.
