by A. E. Rayne
‘Well, you were carrying twins, so perhaps you had it twice as bad?’ Reinar suggested, ruffling the little boy’s hair, surprised by how happy he was. Lief was a morose man, never smiling, though his son had a sweet, dimpled smile. ‘Hopefully, next time won’t be so bad.’
‘I hope not.’ Elin tilted her head for Reinar to kiss her, the words of the old dreamer in Lundvik cutting her deeply. ‘You will never bear another child, my dear. Not after what happened. You are barren now!’
Arnon was in a foul mood when he returned to the tavern, dark-blonde eyebrows knitting together, lips curled into a threatening snarl. He eyed the three men who stood guarding Alys and Magnus. ‘Any of you touch my wife, and you’ll end up just like Dead-Eye, sinking to the bottom of the harbour! An offering to Hartu and her hungry serpent!’ And growling, he pushed past them, heading into the tavern. ‘There’ll be more silver for you, but you won’t get a chance to spend it if you touch my wife!’ And turning back for Alys, Arnon wrapped a bloody hand around her wrist, yanking her into the tavern.
Which stunk.
Something was stewing. It smelled like offal and onions, which quickly turned her stomach, and she looked away, getting an immediate image of Lotta sitting at one of the tables with that man, Ulrick Dyre. They appeared to be talking, Alys thought, wishing she could hear what they were saying. But Arnon tugged her forward, almost pulling her off her feet, the vision slipping away.
He was angry, almost barking as he ordered ale and bowls of stew, though Magnus looked as ill as she felt, neither of them able to stand the smell.
Arnon eyed the filthy woman behind the serving counter. ‘We’re looking for a girl. Blonde-haired, small. She’s...’ He turned back to Alys, needing some help.
‘Eight. She’s eight,’ Alys said. ‘With blonde hair and a grey cloak. She was with a man. His name’s Ulrick Dyre.’
Arnon pushed Alys forward, seeing that the woman appeared more inclined to listen to his wife.
‘And what do you want with Ulrick, then? Has he done something wrong?’ The wary-looking woman only had a couple of teeth, and she spoke with a whistle.
‘Wrong?’ Alys tried to think of how best to extract information from her. ‘No, not wrong. He thought I was dead, my husband too. He took our daughter, rescuing her, but now we want her back. She thinks we’re dead.’
The woman was surprised by that. ‘He took your daughter?’ She knew Ulrick, and though she’d always been fond of him, she didn’t like his shrew of a wife. ‘Doesn’t sound like Ulrick. He’s more into hunting down men for silver, not rescuing children.’
Alys smiled, sensing the woman’s reluctance to speak freely. ‘He thought he was doing the right thing, I imagine.’ It wasn’t true, Alys knew. Ulrick had stolen Lotta, sold her brother, and kept her from her great-grandfather. He’d known that Lotta had a family to care for her, but he’d kept her, and Alys worried that he had no intention of giving her back.
‘You tell us where they are, and there’ll be some silver for you,’ Arnon promised with a wink. The woman was as unattractive as any he’d seen, but he wasn’t averse to saying whatever was necessary to get what he wanted.
‘Silver? What’s this about silver?’ came a wheezing voice as the woman’s husband pushed his way to the front of the counter, rubbing a hand over his squashed nose. ‘You come along with me,’ he murmured, motioning for Arnon to follow him to a corner of the tavern where they could talk in private.
The woman looked after her husband with hate in her eyes, and Alys turned away from her, one hand on Magnus, wanting to see the image of Lotta again. Lotta had been whispering in Ulrick’s ear, telling him something important, but what?
Alys felt fear.
Her daughter was afraid.
But not of Ulrick.
So what had she seen?
‘Tell me about him, Magnus, this Ulrick Dyre. Tell me about him and his wife.’
Bergit’s dreams were rich with colour, and she was young and beautiful.
She was in Stornas, and it was summer. It was where she’d met Ulrick.
He looked so tidy, she thought with a smile. His beard was short and groomed, his face almost clean. He had more teeth, fewer wrinkles. His hair was light brown, not even a hint of grey.
And he looked strong.
He looked strong now, she knew, but he looked hard and firm and unbreakable in her dream. She felt no tremors of fear when she watched him. No worry that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.
Youth was a weapon wielded by the young.
The older you got, the more vulnerable you became, until you couldn’t rely on yourself at all. Until you needed others to care for you like a baby. For life was a circle, one where many ended up back where they began. Helpless and needy. Crying and begging for someone to save them.
But not now, not here, in Stornas, where everything was bright and colourful, and she was more beautiful than she’d ever been in her life.
‘And you could be again,’ came the voice.
Bergit spun around, seeing a hooded woman standing in the shade of the shoemaker’s porch.
‘Who are you?’
‘I am a gift, Bergit dear. A gift I give to you, freely. You will help me with the girl, and in return, I will give you this dream. I will make it real.’
‘How?’ Bergit shivered as the woman walked towards her, circling her now. ‘Who are you?’ she asked again, not recognising the voice.
But the woman only laughed, lowering her head even further, giving Bergit no opportunity to see her face. ‘You needn’t worry, Bergit, for I will look after you both. You and Ulrick. Once you help me get what I want, I will look after you forever.’ And slipping her arm through Bergit’s, the woman led her away.
10
The tavern owner hadn’t known as much as his wife, and eventually, he’d called her over, and she’d explained, somewhat reluctantly, that Ulrick’s wife had taken ill. They’d stayed for a few days, until she improved, and then left.
She’d seen them go.
Arnon was enraged.
Alys wasn’t surprised, and leaving him to grumble over his ale, she wandered back to talk to the woman, who had returned to serving customers.
Arnon kept an eye on her, though he had Magnus with him, and he knew his wife well enough to feel confident that she wasn’t going anywhere without her son.
The woman poured Alys a cup of ale, and she was grateful, taking a big gulp, disappointed by its insipid taste. She felt sad, remembering Ivan Vettel and his potent ale, still shocked to think that he was dead.
Hakon too.
‘You said you knew Ulrick?’ Alys smiled encouragingly. ‘Can you tell me about him?’ The tavern was quiet, no one demanding anything from her for a moment, and the woman sighed. ‘I have no coins to pay you. It’s my daughter, you see.’ Alys felt tears coming, and she blinked them away. ‘I... I’m worried about her. Will he hurt her?’
‘Ulrick?’ The woman shook her head. ‘He’s as tough as they come. Has a reputation around these parts as a man you don’t want to cross. My husband would tell you that. And that’s all he’d tell you, him being a man. He doesn’t see. Doesn’t hear the way Ulrick talks about his wife. Or his daughter. That’s not a hard man. That’s a man with a heart.’
‘What happened to his daughter?’Alys wondered softly, edging closer, seeing a touch of warmth in the woman’s eyes.
‘She died, years ago now. From a sickness, I think. Though there’s been nothing but sickness killing us all for years. He’s not the only man to have lost a child.’ She glanced at her own husband, busy throwing a drunk out the door.
‘And he had no more children?’
‘No, though I’m not surprised. With a wife like that Bergit? Stuck up cow. Never met such a bitch. He’s blind to it, of course. Men always are. They don’t see what’s right in front of their eyes, but that girl, your girl... you’ve nothing to fear from Ulrick. I saw her with him, and he cared for her, feeding her, keeping her w
arm. It’s only his wife you need worry about. If Bergit gets her hands on her...’
Alys froze, hearing the worry in the woman’s voice, and then she was gone, called away by her wheezing husband, a look of disgust in her eyes, the smell of onions intensifying.
Alys turned away, seeking some respite from her fears.
But seeing a glimpse of orange-haired Bergit Dyre, she didn’t find any.
Sigurd hung over the gunwale with some trepidation, searching the water, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Some warning would be useful, but if that serpent planned to come back, he doubted there was much they could do to stop it. Falki’s last screams still rang in his ears, and he couldn’t shake the vision of that long, slippery neck swooping down to Dagger, snatching him off the tiller.
He turned away from the water with a sigh, wondering what Reinar would make of things.
Jonas stood beside him, just as anxious to see what was lurking beneath the surface of the cold water. Snow sprinkled them often, and they were now growing just as concerned that the sea might freeze over. Sigurd shook his head, thinking about those gods his brother was so fond of.
‘What? Not having any fun?’ Jonas grinned. ‘Not enjoying this beautiful weather and the ever-present threat of death from below?’
Sigurd smiled. ‘The weather I could’ve guessed, but that creature?’
‘Well, you saw what happened to Hakon Vettel. The gods are stirring, that’s undeniable. You felt Thenor, didn’t you? Eddeth said Alys saw him. Twice. Reinar said he heard him. You can’t deny that.’
Sigurd grumbled nonetheless.
Jonas laughed, patting him on the back. ‘Stellan was always like you. Full of doubts. He used to have battles with Vik about the gods. They’d last for hours!’ He shook his head, remembering. ‘Ake would have to break them up. Even back then, he was always the leader. Always destined to rule.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘It was well before you came along. But, in fact, you coming along was what changed Stellan.’
Sigurd straightened up, turning to Jonas, whose long grey hair blew about his face, despite his best efforts to keep it tucked behind his ears. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Finding you in the forest is what changed Stellan’s mind. He saw the gods differently after that. So very differently.’
‘Why? What was finding me to do with the gods?’ The circumstances around how Stellan had come to find him in the forest had mostly been a mystery to Sigurd. His parents had never spoken about it.
Not to him, at least.
Jonas was surprised by Sigurd’s surprise. ‘Stellan said an old woman came to him in a dream. Told him about a baby. Didn’t he tell you?’
Sigurd shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Oh. Well, Stellan left the fort in the middle of the night. Didn’t tell anyone. Said he woke up with the certainty that his dream had been real, though by the time he got to the forest, he started doubting himself. Snow was on the ground, and he didn’t imagine any child left out in that weather would still be alive.’
Sigurd held his breath, listening.
‘He was about to give up, head back to the fort, when he heard a voice whispering, leading him down a path to where you lay, bundled up beneath a little shelter. Whoever left you there cared enough to try and keep you alive until he could find you.’
‘But, but... why wouldn’t he have told me that?’
Jonas stumbled as Dagger reared up, slapping the waves. He shrugged. ‘It was always contentious, I know. Gerda’s never been the easiest woman, not even then. Likely, he just wanted some peace.’
‘Who was the woman?’ Sigurd wondered. ‘The woman who came into his dream?’
Jonas shrugged. ‘No idea. Someone powerful enough to save your life, that’s for sure, for without her, what would have happened to you?’
Sigurd held down his flapping cloak, feeling disturbed, wishing he’d pressed his father more over the years. Stellan had never wanted to talk about it. Gerda had never wanted to talk about it, and Sigurd had tried to avoid even thinking about it, just wanting to forget that he didn’t share his family’s blood; not wanting to believe that whoever had left him in the forest had abandoned him.
Not loved him enough to care if he lived.
But now?
It didn’t make sense, but turning his attention back to the waves, thinking of Hartu and her serpent, Sigurd realised that he’d run out of reasons for not believing in the gods or their dreamers.
After twenty-nine years, it was finally time to face the truth.
The snow was thickening, falling in freezing clumps, but Reinar and Bjarni made their way to a table outside Slussfall’s tavern for a quick cup of ale. They’d been working solidly since dawn to get the fort in order, and things were slowly coming together now. Reinar had more confidence in leaving Lief in charge, though he planned to leave enough of his own men behind, wanting to set both his and Ake’s minds at ease.
He would take half the Slussfall men with him too, so there would be an even distribution of Ake’s men and Hakon’s men left in the fort.
Reinar stopped, frowning, deciding to leave even more men behind. He didn’t want it to be even. Better the scales tipped in his and Ake’s favour.
And smiling, he lifted his cup to Bjarni. ‘Home soon.’
‘How soon?’ Bjarni wanted to know, surprised by his hunger to be back in Ottby. He had loved Agnette since he was a boy, but he’d always enjoyed those times he escaped the fort for an adventure with Reinar and Sigurd. Though now, knowing that his daughter waited for him in Agnette’s arms, he felt impatient to get home, wanting to make sure they were both safe. ‘Might be trouble.’
‘What? In Ottby?’ Reinar shook his head. ‘Hopefully not, but we won’t stay long. I think Lief’s got a handle on things.’
‘Seems to,’ Bjarni admitted. ‘His wife certainly does.’
Reinar laughed. Falla Gundersen was a woman of exquisite beauty, with a sharp mind to match, and she’d been running rings around them all since they’d arrived. He had no doubt that she had a handle on things.
‘And Hakon’s wife? What will you do with her and the boy? Maybe you should take them back to Ake?’
‘What? Why?’ Reinar hadn’t told anyone but Sigurd about what Ake had tasked him to do, but Bjarni had always had an annoying habit of reading his mind. ‘She’ll stay here with Lief and Falla. They’ve said they’ll look after her, and she wants that too. Her son’s a baby. They’re hardly going to cause trouble elsewhere.’
Bjarni grabbed a snow-covered chestnut from a bowl, wishing it was still warm. ‘No, but Ake won’t be pleased with you, will he? I’m sure he wanted you to finish them off.’
Reinar scowled at him. ‘Then he’ll have to do it himself. He’ll have to come up here and do it himself. I see no reason to kill the baby. Hakon was raised by Jesper to be just like the rest of them, another murderous tyrant. But Karolina doesn’t want that for her son.’ He thought of Alys, who was a Vettel, feeling odd, then he blinked, not wanting to think about Alys at all.
‘Well, I suspect you’re right. Without Hakon, the boy will likely grow up a half-decent man.’
‘I hope so, or else he’ll be doomed like the rest of them. Though I hope he gets a chance.’
‘And you?’ Bjarni wondered. ‘What about you, Reinar Vilander, long-fated to be the High King of Alekka? Will you get your chance?’
Reinar shook his head. ‘You think I want that?’
‘I think the gods decide your fate, not you or me, my friend.’
‘No, I suspect not, though maybe Ragnahild was wrong? She was old, half-dead when she came to Ottby. Maybe she wasn’t seeing things clearly?’
‘She travelled from the North to tell Gerda about her vision. Not something an old woman not seeing clearly would do. Sounds more like a woman determined to reveal something important,’ Bjarni insisted, always more interested in Ragnahild’s premonition than Reinar ever was. There w
as something special about Reinar Vilander, he knew. It wasn’t just his size or his presence or his skill in battle. He’d taken on the mantle of the Lord of Ottby without hesitation, becoming every bit the leader his father had been. He was fierce and determined, loyal and brave. And as king?
Bjarni had no doubt that Reinar would be unstoppable.
‘You’ve had too much ale, Bjarni Sansgard, if you’re on that subject again!’ Reinar grumbled, watching Lief hobble down the hall steps, looking around. And seeing them, he made his way over. ‘You always liked the idea of me being a king,’ he muttered. ‘But just being a lord is more work than you could imagine. Can’t remember the last time I slept through the night. And you want me to be a king? A high king? Ha!’ He drained his cup, heading towards Lief, wanting to leave the subject of kings and Vettels behind, eager to take his mind off everything that reminded him of Alys.
Arnon was speaking to men on the pier – fishermen and traders – all of whom were pointing through the rain.
Out to sea.
Magnus was shivering beside Alys, who wanted to give him her cloak, but she didn’t dare let it out of her sight. Magnus lost everything, and the cloak was important. She felt it strongly. Though how, she wasn’t yet sure.
Arnon walked back to them, hair plastered to his face, scowling. ‘They’ve gone. Everyone thinks they’ve gone to Orvala.’
Alys shivered, repeating that name in her mind.
Shivering some more.
And then she blinked. ‘It’s cold up there. So much colder than here. Please, can you buy Magnus a cloak? He’s already freezing.’ She closed her eyes, hoping to jam her thoughts into Arnon’s mind, urging him in the direction she so desperately wanted him to go.
Arnon peered at her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Headache.’ Alys didn’t open her eyes.
Arnon turned to the boy with no intention of getting him a cloak at all. He looked pathetic, weak, and no son of his would ever survive in this world by being weak. And then he turned to one of his men, slipping a hand into his pouch, tossing him a few coins. ‘Take the boy, find him something that fits. Make it warm. But hurry back. We’ll get more supplies, then head to Orvala.’ He turned to Alys, who had opened her eyes wide. ‘Better?’
