by A. E. Rayne
‘Ottby men!’
That made no sense to a Northern lord, and Tarl shook his head, certain he’d heard that wrong. ‘I have to get to the hall! Hold here! Take prisoners! We want prisoners!’ He smiled, thinking of Mirella, and turning his horse away from Ulrick, who slashed with his sword, spitting and snarling, Tarl pushed through the crowd, demanding to be let through.
His men heard him, and they parted as they could, clearing a path, which Tarl aimed his horse at, bending low, heart thumping. And then he yanked the reins, seeing a glimpse of a face, immediately sliding down to the ground, striding after the disappearing figure.
Gudrum.
He’d know that wreck of a face anywhere.
Tarl was a tall man, easily spotted, though without the platform provided by his horse, he was quickly sucked into the dark melee, immediately losing sight of the usurper. ‘Gudrum, you fuck!’ he roared, elbowing a one-eyed man in the neck. ‘Gudrum!’ Some recognised his voice, stumbling out of the way, and Tarl moved forward, salivating at the thought of how he would kill the man. He wouldn’t escape, for there was nowhere to go.
The harbour? East? West?
His men were everywhere.
Gudrum would be his.
And then Tarl tripped over an arm, abandoned by its owner. He stumbled forward, his sword scratching the ice, where a lifeless Mirella lay, an arrow in her back. ‘Mirella!’ Tarl sheathed his sword, all thoughts of Gudrum gone. ‘Mirella!’ He skidded to the ground, trying to turn her over, conscious of the arrow. And rolling her onto her side, he brushed hair out of her eyes, trying to see her face.
It was dark.
She was cold.
He couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
‘Mirella!’
The noise of the battle blurred around him like waves assaulting a beach, his heart racing.
She opened her eyes, confused, and then blinking, she looked away, trying to move.
Tarl pulled her into his arms, holding her close.
‘You... have to... go!’ she tried, teeth gritted. ‘Stop... Solveigh.’
‘What?’ Tarl almost dropped Mirella back to the street.
‘They’re... leaving. Leaving!’ Mirella’s voice strengthened, rising now as she tried to focus her mind. She saw Alys on board a ship with Lotta and Solveigh. Gudrum, escaping with Raf.
And her father...
She slumped in Tarl’s arms, unable to find the strength to open her mouth.
She couldn’t speak. She tried to get through to him, wanting him to hear her thoughts, her urgent thoughts, but she could tell that he heard nothing at all.
Laying her gently back down on her side, Tarl called to his men. ‘Setti! Nilo! Carry Mirella to the hall! Hurry! Ulrick! Secure the hall! I have to get my wife!’ Tarl stood, wanting to find where Gudrum had slid away to. ‘Offa! Alvear! With me!’
Mirella tried to get his attention. He hadn’t understood her, but she was weak, her wound leaking blood, and she couldn’t reach him.
And closing her eyes, she let the darkness claim her.
They were on board the ship, and the growing flare of light building in the distance helped the men find benches, quickly dragging them into place while Ludo handed out the oars. It was a familiar ship. Arnon’s ship, Alys realised with some regret. They had enough hands to row, if they could get going in time, though that light was building quickly, and soon they would be discovered.
Alys heard Thenor’s scream, knowing that he was losing control of what remained of the darkness.
‘Hurry!’ she urged, pulling the children to her, out of the way of the busy men. Sigurd had handed Solveigh off to her, and together they moved away from the tiller, which Berger had quickly taken, heading for the stern.
‘Alari is coming!’ Lotta warned. ‘Can you feel her?’
Alys nodded, squeezing her daughter’s hand. ‘We can make it, though. Don’t worry, we can make it.’ She hoped that was true, but turning around, she saw a sudden explosion of light.
Alari strode towards Thenor, who had weakened now, his shoulders curling forward, entirely spent.
And her confidence rose like waves in a storm-tossed sea.
‘Did you think you could stand in my way? After all you taught me? Everything you showed me? That I wouldn’t know how to stop you?’ Alari laughed, enjoying herself now.
Thenor staggered backwards, hat falling over his face. ‘I know you can stop me, Alari,’ he growled, lifting his head, straightening his shoulders. ‘I have no doubt about that. One day, I’m sure you will. But here? Now? You’ve no chance at all.’
Alari stepped forward until she could almost reach out and touch him. Her body trembled, more laughter bubbling in her chest. ‘Your confidence is pathetic, truly pathetic, Father. After all this time? To be so deluded? Though I expect that’s what happens to the old. Eventually, their grip on power loosens, just as your hold loosened on the darkness.’
Thenor eyed her calmly, breath steadying now. ‘Loosened?’
The grim daylight had returned, the storm retreating, and he saw the strain on Alari’s face, knowing the effort it had taken to break his spell. ‘Is that what you thought was happening?’ And smiling, Thenor turned away from his malevolent daughter, running down the pier, cloak billowing behind him. She watched as he leaped off the end of the pier, dark cloak swirling, turning into a raven, soaring high above a ship pulling out into the harbour.
Sigurd watched him. And tilting back his head, his mouth dropped open in surprise, leaning on the oar as he listened to that familiar cawing.
Alari threw up her own hands, seeking to stop her father, trying to run forward, but she saw the line of symbols etched across the entrance to the pier, hearing the cackle of an old woman in her ears.
She couldn’t pass that line.
And spinning around in fury, braid slapping her back, Alari tried to focus her rage on what she could do.
The Vilanders were escaping. Thenor had gone.
And Gudrum?
Where was Gudrum?
Ulrick flew up the hall steps, boots slipping, heart racing, seeing the bodies scattered before him, smelling blood and death in the air. ‘Bergit!’ He was supposed to be focused on securing the hall, but he wanted to find his wife first. ‘Lotta?’
Lotta too.
He turned back around, eyes sweeping the street. The Orvala men were thundering in on blowing horses now, more men running beside them, faces weary after such a fast march home, but the desire to exact revenge on those who had stolen their city was irresistible. And they charged with energy now that they could see again, blades swinging, slaughtering any man they didn’t know.
The hall was abandoned.
More bodies.
Ulrick could smell mead. He saw a wedding archway knocked over, and he frowned.
And then Bergit was running towards him with tears in her frantic eyes. ‘Ulrick!’
More tired than he could remember, Ulrick jumped over a heap of bodies, launching himself at his wife. ‘You’re alive! You’re alive! My love! My sweet, sweet love!’
Bergit clung to him, sobbing. ‘I thought... oh, I thought!’
‘Sssshhh,’ he soothed, holding her head firmly with his hand, feeling her tremble. Or perhaps that was him? He shook from lack of sleep and food, from the loss of blood draining steadily from a leg wound. And stumbling now, Ulrick reached out a hand, grabbing a table. ‘Lotta? Where is she?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bergit admitted, shaking her head. ‘There was a wedding. That Gudrum. Oh, what he did to Solveigh! The poor woman. He’s an animal!’
Ulrick peered at his wife, kissing her quickly, so relieved that she was alive. ‘He took Solveigh? Gudrum?’
Bergit didn’t know, but she guessed as much. ‘From the moment he saw her, he was determined to have her, so I’d say so.’
‘Stay here! Hide in a bedchamber. Lock the door. I’ll be right back. Soon!’ And with one more kiss, Ulrick spun around, skidding through a puddle of b
lood, running for the open doors.
Wondering where Lotta was.
Sigurd watched the raven as Reinar bellowed at them to row faster.
Alys had her eyes on the disappearing docks, seeing no sign of her mother. She saw flashes of her grandfather with Bolli and Ilene.
Vik and Ollo too.
She saw Arnon’s headless body lying at the foot of the hall steps, and she closed her eyes, feeling sick.
‘You saved us, Mama,’ Lotta whispered, pushing her head under Alys’ arm, wanting to be close to her. ‘You saved Puddle too. Father was going to kill him, wasn’t he?’
Alys nodded. ‘He was.’
‘So don’t feel bad. You saved Puddle and us. Now we’re free!’ Lotta giggled as Puddle licked her face, though she still felt scared, knowing that they wouldn’t be free for long. With all those dangerous dreamers and gods about, they wouldn’t be free for long.
‘Well, I think you might have helped,’ Alys sighed, feeling the relief of having her daughter in her arms again. ‘We have to work together now, don’t we? If we’re going to help Thenor and keep Alekka safe, we’re going to have to work together.’
Lotta’s eyes were on Sigurd, who was pulling his oar with a grunt and a groan, frown burrowed deep between his eyebrows. ‘All of us,’ she smiled, so relieved to be away from her father and her grandmother. ‘All of us will.’
Gudrum moved swiftly, hood over his face, sword by his side, hearing Tarl Brava bellowing his name.
He found a riderless horse, and throwing Raf into the saddle, he quickly joined her, grabbing the reins and pointing the mud-splattered brown stallion east. He was confused, remembering what Mirella had said about Raf betraying him with Sigurd. Though Raf had returned, trying to help him escape the city. And he needed all the help he could get, Gudrum realised, knowing that his men had been overwhelmed at the gates. That with the Vilanders’ army supporting Tarl Brava, they were outnumbered.
East meant an escape. A chance to regroup and begin again.
Trapped here in Orvala, they stood no chance.
Raf felt Gudrum’s chest banging against her back, his voice rumbling in her ear as he bent low, spurring the skittish horse on through the fighting men, who slipped and slid on the ice.
‘Retreat!’ he shouted, glancing over his shoulder to see Ilmar calling the same. ‘Retreat!’
Raf could feel his anger mounting, and her fears heightened.
She’d wanted to go with Sigurd. Sigurd wasn’t safe from Alari.
It was all her fault.
And what would that vengeful goddess do now?
But dropping her head, clinging to the horse’s mane, Raf realised that she was Gudrum’s dreamer.
And with Gudrum, she was destined to remain.
Jonas felt a deep reluctance to leave his family behind, but it wasn’t just Alys’ voice in his ears now, urging him to get everyone to safety. He heard Eida too, and he knew that while Tarl Brava was distracted with Gudrum, they stood a chance of disappearing.
But only a small one.
They had to leave.
Vik saw Bolli on Jonas’ right, bleeding from a cut above the nose. ‘Go with Bolli, take the men!’ he shouted at Jonas, for though it was hardly discreet, there was no other way of making himself heard over the noise. Gudrum was calling a retreat, and Vik was worried that soon everyone would be heading through the gates after them. ‘I’ll get Eddeth and Stina. We’ll follow!’
Jonas nodded, veering away from a horse rearing up on its hind legs, bloody hooves in the air, an arrow through its rump. ‘Ollo, come on!’ And spinning in the saddle, not wanting to let Ollo die before he could thank him for saving his life, he caught his eye. ‘You ready?’
Ollo couldn’t breathe. It was freezing, he was certain, though he hadn’t been this warm in days. ‘Let’s go!’ He aimed Destroyer after Jonas, hoping the old horse had enough in him to make a fast getaway.
The sail was up, and the raven had gone, and no one knew what to make of that. Sigurd certainly didn’t, and he moved his attention to Solveigh, remembering how that Ullaberg woman had thrown herself into the sea. He saw Berger watching Solveigh too, almost reading his mind. He tried not to think of Raf, hoping she was safe with Jonas and Vik. Hoping he would see her soon.
The children were sitting with Solveigh, talking to Ludo about the puppy. Ludo wanted to take their minds off everything that had happened. And his own. Off what might come next, too. What Gudrum had said about Ottby terrified him. As though he knew. As though he’d planned something.
Gudrum?
It didn’t make sense.
Reinar left them all behind, heading down the deck to where Alys stood in her black cloak, swaying with the ship, one hand gripping a rope to steady herself. ‘What do you see?’ he wondered softly, enjoying the bitter wind on his face.
She turned to him in surprise, emerging from a trance.
‘You were somewhere else?’
Alys shrugged. ‘Trying to be. Hoping to see what’s coming next.’
‘And Ottby?’ Reinar’s heart ached at the thought of anything happening to Ottby. He’d sent Bjarni and Elin back to Ottby. His father was there with Gerda and Agnette.
Agnette and her baby.
Alys placed a hand on his arm, looking into his eyes. ‘Ottby’s in trouble.’
‘From who? Who can be there?’
Alys had searched the darkness for answers, finding none. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’
Reinar scratched his beard, staring out to sea himself. ‘Thenor will help us, though, won’t he? He’ll save Ottby.’
‘I don’t think he can,’ Alys warned. ‘He’s weak. I spoke to Ragnahild. She warned me that he needed help.’
Reinar turned to her in surprise. ‘What? Ragnahild One Eye?’
‘I... there’s a lot we have to talk about, though out here, we’ll have plenty of time.’ She shivered. The wind was bitter, and she was struggling to stop her teeth chattering.
‘You’re cold.’
‘I am,’ Alys agreed with a smile. ‘Though I’ve got my cloak, so I’ll be fine.’
Reinar wasn’t so sure. He watched her, sensing that she was different somehow. ‘You killed your husband.’
Alys dropped her head, sighing heavily, unable to speak. Eventually, she looked up at him. ‘Once, I thought I loved Arnon. Perhaps I did? I don’t know what I was thinking, what was wrong with me putting up with him for so long. To endure so much.’ She thought of her children and felt ashamed.
‘Sometimes, we can’t find a way out. A way to be free without hurting everyone.’ Reinar stared into Alys’ eyes, unable to look away. ‘It’s hard to break a vow, whether it’s to your king, your lord...’
‘Or your wife?’
Reinar nodded slowly, not even blinking now.
Alys took his hand, holding it gently. ‘Don’t, then. Don’t break it, Reinar. Whatever this was, whatever it could have been, we both need to let it go. It won’t help us now. For what we have to do, we can’t be distracted by...’
Reinar swallowed, squeezing her hand, and then, pulling her into his arms, he held her close, not aware of another soul. ‘I’ll let you go, then,’ he breathed, not letting her go at all, tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll let you go, Alys de Sant, this time, I promise.’ He thought of Salma and of Ragnahild. Of his father and Elin. He wasn’t sure he meant it because Alys was in his arms, and he was holding her tightly, wanting to kiss her.
Alys flinched at the sound of that name, tears blurring her eyes. ‘Bergstrom,’ she decided, her voice muffled in his bear cloak. ‘From now on, I am Alys Bergstrom.’
THE END
Epilogue
It surprised Ake Bluefinn that after all these years, he still felt like a boy around Adelborg.
She was not an intimidating woman.
She was tiny and round and sweet, with a kind face, like a grandmother who always liked to give you a big slice of cake.
But the fates of the many rested on her s
houlders, and the secrets she pulled out of the dark depths of her dreams weighed upon her. And her visions, in turn, weighed upon him.
For every dream was a call to arms.
Every dream demanded he act.
Many were warnings of heartbreak to come.
Though Ake wasn’t sure he could face any more heartbreak.
He dropped his head, feeling the loss of his son stab deep into his heart again.
‘You must not feel defeated before you’ve even begun,’ Adelborg smiled. ‘For this battle will be your finest. Your greatest. Your... last.’
Ake’s head snapped up, horror in his eyes. ‘What?’
Adelborg was almost absent of feeling now. After so many years of pulling the threads, she had almost lost a sense of her self. Of her humanity. As though she was no more than a conduit, existing to serve both the gods and the humans they wanted to help.
And yet, she had loved this king more than any man.
As though he was both her child and her dearest friend.
Tears pricked her eyes as she extended a blue-tinged hand. ‘I am sorry, my dearest Ake, but you will not survive this storm of death and destruction. Your end is coming, as it must come for us all eventually.’
Ake’s thoughts were immediately with his wife, his daughters.
They were too young for husbands. His wife could marry again, of course.
But his daughters?
His kingdom?
‘But what can I do? What time do I have?’ He was quickly scrambling to his feet, body vibrating with urgency, staring down at his dreamer. ‘I... what can I do?’
Adelborg was calm as she sat before him, hands in her lap now, ice-cold, despite the blazing fire. She had seen her king’s death coming for years, and it did not shock her. It had only been a matter of when to tell him.
And that time was finally now.
‘You, my lord, must save Ottby.’
