by Kim Wilkins
Well, she could if she wanted to, if it wasn’t for Vex.
No and Wander had departed at the end of the first day. Vex had agreed to meet them in a week or so. Vex felt she could help here among the refugees, especially with the mothers who did not know where their husbands were. Vex’s goodness shamed Ivy into staying. The idea that Vex should look over and see her gone and silently judge her was beyond contemplation. She stayed, determined to do good, sure that everyone who did good in the world also hated it but did it anyway, because it was right.
Vex spied her from across the field and trudged over to join her. The older woman often took her breaks at the same time as Ivy.
‘Little Goldie, Princess Stupid, how goes it?’ she said as she approached. This is what Vex had decided to continue to call her, and Ivy didn’t mind but she rather wished Vex wouldn’t do it while the people of Blicstowe were listening.
Ivy waited until Vex stood next to her, beaming her simple smile.
‘I am tired,’ Ivy confessed, ‘but I keep going.’
Vex gestured expansively towards the field. ‘They love you,’ she said. ‘They are always telling me that to have one of the princesses of Blicstowe here means the world to them. That they haven’t been forgotten.’
‘Really?’ Ivy was puzzled by this. She’d assumed her reluctance, her permanent distractedness, was evident to everyone. It was a little easier, now, to straighten her spine. ‘Well, then. I was never popular in Sæcaster. Perhaps I should have left ages ago.’
Vex tilted her head and squinted. ‘Is that what Crispin told you?’
Ivy nodded slowly. ‘Yes. That nobody liked me.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I have done some … stupid things.’
Vex sniffed dismissively. ‘Haven’t we all.’ She shifted her hips, settling into a new stance. ‘You know, you should return to Sæcaster and you should kick him out and you should take back what’s yours.’
Vex had said this or some version of this before. Ivy went mute every time. Take back what was hers? Sæcaster had never been hers. She had been forced into marriage so young, to a man who already had one foot in his grave. While she’d thought to keep it for her children, Ivy was no longer sure if that would be best for them. But she didn’t want to tell Vex that Crispin was welcome to the freezing northern shore fort, because Vex would think her weak. Spoiled. Ivy could decide never to return and she’d still live in luxury.
Well. If Bluebell won back Blicstowe she would.
A commotion stirred up near the carts, which were parked along the edge of the field. People began to shout and cheer. Ivy turned. She felt Goldie’s body tense, and gave her a squeeze.
‘They are happy noises,’ she said. ‘Do not worry.’
‘What’s going on?’ Vex asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Ivy released Goldie and took a few steps towards the carts. Now more people were gathering, craning to see the top of the woodland road, where it descended through rocks to the town. Ivy was too short to see, so Vex patted her shoulder and said, ‘Here, climb on my back.’
Ivy would never have done so, but Vex had suddenly bent in front of her, so Ivy locked her arms around Vex’s throat and Vex stood. Now she could see over the other heads.
Her heart lifted. Bluebell, a small band of soldiers – and six giants in full war gear. They were the most beautiful, fierce and noble creatures Ivy had ever seen. Fearsome helms and ringing mail, all of them faithfully following Bluebell towards Æcstede. The cheers and cries intensified. People gasped and shouted to each other, ‘Giants! She has brought giants!’
‘What is it?’ Vex asked. ‘Can you see?’
‘It’s my big sister,’ Ivy said, and swelled with pride.
Thirty-four
Ash had reunited with so many loved ones that day – her sisters, her nieces, her nephews – but the reunion she craved the most – with Sighere – necessarily had to come last.
Of course they had seen each other: in the square, where cheering crowds had mobbed their arrival and Bluebell had glowed as though the sun rose in her chest; in the war room, as the giants crouched under the roof beams and their plans were laid out in detail; in the hall, over a crowded but subdued dinner, aware that outside in the cold were hundreds of people who did not have roasted deer on their plates. Aware that tomorrow any or all of them could be dead.
But no matter how much she longed for his presence, somewhere quiet and uninterrupted, she still dreaded having to tell him about her future. For he would soon realise he could not be part of it.
Finally, as she and Bluebell were returning to their room after dinner, the quiet knock at the door came.
Ash opened it and smiled at him. He smiled back. For a moment there were no words.
‘I’ll go out, shall I?’ Bluebell said.
‘No, no, my lord,’ Sighere replied quickly. ‘We can walk outside.’
Bluebell made a dismissive gesture and whistled for Hyld. ‘I must speak to Rowan about our plans for tomorrow, and I would like to walk and think.’
A few moments later she was gone, closing the door behind her.
Ash, suddenly shy, crossed her arms over her middle.
Sighere advanced, moved her arms and pulled her into an embrace. ‘My dear Ash.’
‘Do not love me too much, Sighere,’ she blurted.
He stood back and frowned. ‘That sounds ominous.’
‘I would … I would only like you to protect your heart.’
‘Your feelings for me have changed then?’
She pressed her lips together. Shook her head.
‘You fear that one of us will die in battle tomorrow, then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I believe we will both live. I know I will.’ She touched the hollow of her throat, where the god stone hung. ‘But … my presence here, my powers … I have now been told what they will cost me.’
He nodded, understanding dawning. ‘I see. They will cost you love?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you certain?’
She thought of asking him, begging him, to come with her. To a lonely, isolated existence on a wretched island. But she could not. ‘I am certain,’ she said.
‘And how long do I have with you?’
‘Less than a week.’ Then she dropped her voice. ‘Bluebell doesn’t know that yet. Don’t tell her. I will explain it all after we have won back Blicstowe. She has enough on her mind.’
Sighere put his palm against his forehead and rubbed his brow. The candles were burning low, giving them only dim brown light. She could hear cheers and laughter from outside, far away. The whole town was in a merry mood, which made this exchange all the more sombre.
‘Where will you be?’ he asked at last. ‘On the Brenci Isles?’
Ash thought she ought not tell him, but her lips moved anyway. ‘Yes.’
‘You cannot stop me coming to you, Ash.’
‘There will be nothing for you there.’
‘You will be there.’
‘Yes, me and nothing else. Not the fame or glory you have here in Thyrsland. Not the children I know you long for. Magic has driven that possibility out of my body.’
He grasped her hands and brought them to his lips to kiss them. ‘But you are all I need.’
‘That is something a much younger man would say,’ she replied. ‘You haven’t thought through what it means. An empty island. Far from home.’
‘I have thought it through, and I know I would not leave you in such circumstances without company.’
Ash could not find more words. He had named her most violent fear: loneliness.
He dropped her hands and caught her against him once more. ‘I do not need fame or glory or sons, Ash. I have had enough of all – well, except the sons.’
‘You cannot leave Bluebell.’
‘I can. She has Sal.’
‘Sal is not half the soldier you are.’
‘He will be, when given a chance. His father was your f
ather’s closest advisor. He has good blood.’ He placed a hand either side of her face. ‘Ash, I am a free man. I choose my own destiny. I am free to choose to come with you.’
Ash’s mind raced with lies she could tell him. She could say the gods would not allow it, that the island was dangerous and he would not survive, that the hardship would end both their lives early. But then an image came to her, so clear and so detailed it almost made her gasp.
The little house in the hollow. Their bed. His face in the morning.
She pushed herself against him and began to cry. ‘Would you, Sighere? Would you come after me when I go?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, planting feverish kisses on her brow. ‘I would follow you anywhere.’
The clouds had cleared and to Bluebell this was a sign that all would be well. Perhaps, this time tomorrow, she would be in Snowy’s arms. She allowed herself to imagine it, dangerous though it was. She walked among sleeping children in the town square, stopping to talk or shake hands. One young boy asked how she had found the giants, and she crouched beside him to tell the story of their journey and the three tests, while a small group of others gathered to hear. Then she made her way out of the town gates and into the fields, past the campfires of the refugees and beyond to where the other armies were camped. She walked past Wengest’s tents and Renward’s standard, the small army of Wulfgar under the banner of the bear claw, and finally to the gathered tribes, who had built a zigzag of mismatched oilskin tents around one large bonfire. Rowan saw her and called out, loping out to greet her.
‘Giants!’ she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. ‘We cannot lose now.’
Bluebell was reminded by her voice, her posture, how young Rowan yet was. ‘We can still lose,’ Bluebell said. ‘Nothing is certain.’
Rowan bounced from one foot to the other. ‘Yes, I know. But giants. Are they strong?’
‘As strong as twenty men,’ Bluebell said.
‘Then the six of them are stronger than my whole army.’ She looked uncertain now, and glanced back over her shoulder at the Ærfolc gathered around the bonfire.
‘You are not taking your army into the fray,’ Bluebell said, dropping her voice low.
‘No?’
‘I want thirty good archers, yourself included, to assemble tonight outside the alderman’s hall. Tell Heath to hold the rest of the army here. I’ll send Renward with further instructions. Tomorrow they can stay at the back, pick off any runners.’
‘So Heath will be leading my army?’
‘I need you and your bow somewhere else,’ Bluebell said. ‘All will be explained when you come down to the hall, chicken. Tell Heath what to do and encourage your followers to rest.’
Rowan glanced over her shoulder again, grinning. Bluebell spotted Niamma the Bold, who gave Rowan a wave and a smile. ‘They are all so excited,’ Rowan said. ‘Because of the giants.’
‘We will all need cool heads. You especially, Rowan. Tomorrow will be dangerous. Some of them will almost certainly die.’
Rowan nodded. ‘Yes, I know. They know.’
Bluebell tapped Rowan’s collarbone. ‘Just make sure you stay alive.’
The girl pulled herself up proudly. ‘I intend to.’
Bluebell patted her shoulder. ‘Thirty archers. Within an hour please.’ She had turned to walk back towards town when Rowan called her back.
‘Bluebell?’
‘What is it?’
‘I can find out if he’s alive.’
Bluebell frowned. ‘Snowy?’ It wasn’t the first time Rowan had said something odd or uncanny.
Rowan nodded. ‘I can send out … I can leave my body and see things. Do you want me to look?’
Bluebell hesitated. If she found out now that Snowy was dead, her heart would break. But it would stoke her battle rage, make her impossible to defeat.
And then, she might find out he was alive.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Go on.’
Rowan smiled. ‘Not that easy. I go cold. You’ll need to sit with me, by the fire. Rouse me if my temperature drops too far.’
Bluebell grasped Rowan’s elbow and led her to the fire, shouted at everyone to clear off and leave them. Some did as she asked, others stared at her defiantly until Rowan asked more sweetly. She sat with Rowan at the edge of the bonfire, pulled the girl close against her side.
‘Don’t let me be gone too long,’ Rowan said, and closed her eyes.
Bluebell muttered a reassurance, too stirred up with fear and longing to be articulate. She watched Rowan’s face, firelit and smooth. A girl’s face. A girl about to lead a band of archers into a besieged city. For the first time, she imagined how Rose might feel about Rowan walking into danger.
She became aware of a pocket of cold air near her, and realised with alarm that it was Rowan. She pressed her hand on Rowan’s tattooed cheek and it was icy. How long would it take her to see Snowy? Bluebell shifted a little closer to the bonfire. It cracked and popped. Embers danced on the breeze. Under her fingers, Rowan’s skin cooled further. Bluebell thought of Rose and shook her roughly. ‘Wake up, Rowan,’ she said. ‘Wake up.’
Rowan blinked her eyes open. Almost immediately the cold faded from her skin. She seemed dead-eyed for a moment or two, then animation returned to her face. She sat up straight and took Bluebell’s hands. ‘I saw him,’ she gasped. ‘He’s alive.’
‘Alive? Where?’
Rowan shook her head. ‘You didn’t leave me long enough to see the detail.’
‘Well,’ Bluebell said, then not another word lest emotion make her voice shake. Despite the dark autumn chill, the world felt suddenly bright.
‘It’s a rescue mission then,’ Rowan said. ‘I’m happy to play my part.’
Bluebell didn’t respond. ‘Within an hour. Alderman’s hall,’ she said tightly, and got to her feet to walk away.
Willow and Hakon knelt together in prayer every night, on the mat by the end of their bed, with one small candle flickering weakly to light them. The room was warm. She was comfortable, cosy. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to and sometimes she felt guilty about it but then she flicked her eye to the bench by the fire and saw Maava sitting there and knew all was well and she was where she was meant to be.
Sometimes she saw Him only sidelong, out of the corner of her vision, in the first half of a blink. Sometimes she could see Him clearly, but not remember His face a second later; had instead only the memory of mist lit by sunshine. Sometimes she could speak to Him and He would answer. Other times she could not penetrate the tough membrane between her world and His, and smashed her words up against it until they were deformed and bloody.
But He remained close.
She smiled at Him now. His face emerged from the mist and smiled back.
Hakon sat back from prayer and climbed to his feet, rubbing his beard. ‘Are you finished, wife?’
‘One never finishes worshipping Lord Maava,’ she said, with a sly glance to the figure in the corner. But she stood anyway.
Hakon stripped to his trousers and got onto the bed. ‘Ah, so warm. I am getting used to being king of Blicstowe.’
‘King of all Thyrsland in time,’ Willow said. She came to bed fully clothed and wearing a scarf as she always did, even in sleep, lying down straight as a spear on her back.
An urgent knock at the door had her sitting up again, and Hakon, shirtless, rose to answer it.
At the threshold stood a young woman, no older than Willow. Her name was Arna, and she was a citizen of Blicstowe who was so on fire with the trimartyr faith that she had sought out Willow in the hopes of helping the cause in some way. Betraying her own nation. Two days ago, Willow had sent Arna out to camp with the refugees, with instructions only to return if she had something of consequence to tell.
Willow rose, grasped Arna by her elbow and closed the door behind her. ‘Were you seen returning?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It was dark. Most people were sleeping.’
‘What do you have to te
ll me?’
‘The queen – Bluebell has been away. Today she returned with six giants.’
Hakon stiffened. ‘Giants?’
‘Six of them. Ten feet tall. Spirits are very high. The armies of Wengest and Renward have come, including all the Ærfolc armies.’
‘Heathens,’ Willow spat. ‘And as for Wengest, I had thought better of a trimartyr king. We will take Netelchester next, and then we will push up through Bradsey and wipe out every last member of the Ærfolc. They must be ended.’
‘There is something else, my queen,’ Arna said. ‘In the refugee camps your sister, the duchess of Sæcaster, has been helping with food and water.’
‘Ivy helping anyone? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, for I have seen her once before, when she visited Blicstowe with her sons. But her sons were not with her in the camp. Instead, there was a girl of about eight.’
Willow’s pulse began to quicken. The woman knew about Avaarni, but Willow had told her to keep alert for a boy of about eight. She would not be so blind as to dismiss this news.
‘What did she look like?’
‘Golden curls. Very pretty. Quiet. Would not smile at me, even though I smiled at her.’
You smile too much. Willow remembered the thousand times she had told Avaarni this, until the smiles had stopped.
‘She is very like you, my queen. She could pass for Princess Ivy’s daughter, but I know that no such daughter exists. Could she be your lost –’ Arna stopped. Willow knew the woman could not say ‘lost son’ because she had seen with her own eyes that Avaarni’s transformation had not yet taken place.
‘All this can wait,’ Hakon said gruffly. ‘A curly-haired girl in the refugee camp is not our concern now. Wife, it is time we burn Blicstowe and move on.’
Willow turned to Maava, who was perfectly clear now.
Can we defeat the giants? Willow asked Him, inside her head. Or should we flee and burn the remaining citizens?
I do not care who burns in my name, He said, but the giants are friends of my enemies. Let them come so I may destroy them.
