Queens of the Sea

by Kim Wilkins

  ‘When will your roof be fixed?’ Ivy asked.

  Bluebell shrugged. ‘We are all struggling with damage and loss. This side of the room stays dry, mostly.’ She sat down across from Ivy. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ Ivy had killed her twin sister, and Ivy wasn’t used to war and death.

  ‘I did the right thing.’

  ‘That you did.’ She glanced at Ivy’s blonde hair and thought about giant blood, then shook her head. There was no way this ninny had giant blood. ‘I called you to see me because I have plans for you.’

  Ivy’s mouth tensed. ‘Don’t make me go back to Sæcaster.’

  ‘You’re going back to Sæcaster.’

  ‘I’m not safe there.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Captain Crispin is no longer in charge.’

  Ivy’s eyes rounded. ‘Did you have him killed?’

  Bluebell shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ She hadn’t had him killed, but he was so far away in exile it would take him a hundred years to get back.

  Ivy didn’t answer.

  Bluebell stood and came around to sit on the table in front of her sister, then leaned forward and drilled a finger into Ivy’s soft shoulder. ‘Sæcaster is yours, rightly held now as Thyrsland is rid of the trimartyr religion.’ That wasn’t strictly true. In name, it would be. The battle between the gods had been decisive. But there would be those who liked the religion for other reasons; it would never completely go away. It didn’t help that somebody had murdered Wengest with undermagic; the suspicion of heathen ways would continue for many years yet. ‘You’ll get the city back on its feet,’ Bluebell finished.

  Still Ivy didn’t answer.

  ‘What would you do otherwise?’ she asked.

  ‘Disappear. Go live with … somewhere quiet.’

  ‘You can go and live somewhere quiet and have no troubles,’ Bluebell said, ‘but you’d quickly tire of that. We have to rebuild Thyrsland one city at a time. With Wengest dead, you will be the most powerful person in Netelchester.’

  Ivy’s cheeks pinked.

  ‘There. Now you see.’

  ‘I’m stupid, Bluebell. I can’t lead a city.’

  ‘That you are, Ivy, but I will send you a standing guard and a team of good counsellors. While Thyrsland rebuilds, while rightful rulers are determined, the descendants of Æthlric the Storm King are caretakers from east to west of this country. Queens from sea to sea.’ She liked the sound of that, took a moment to savour it.

  ‘I’ll do it then,’ Ivy said.

  Bluebell glanced at the children. ‘Keep them with you. Raise them well and teach them to do good in the world. They are the next generation of a family of mighty warriors. What a glorious future it will be.’

  ‘You sound very optimistic,’ Ivy joked.

  ‘With good reason,’ Bluebell said. ‘With the very best reason.’

  Thirty-eight

  It was a cool, clear day; the air was crisp and the wind was strong from the east, driving the longboat towards the familiar shore of the largest island in the Brenci chain. Bluebell remembered the moment she had first come here, in desperation and doubt, and despite the heavy losses she had endured since then, she could not regret her action. Blicstowe was once again returned to her family; war had strengthened Thyrsland. She now had a united force from the south to the northern border, allies across to the eastern kingdoms, and her traditional enemies, the Is-hjartans, were relieved of the yoke of Hakon and keen to make peace. There were still many things to be resolved. Wengest’s killer had to be found and brought to justice; Rowan had to be convinced to marry Renward; and Bluebell had no idea where Rose had gone. But she had lost her kingdom and won it back: all other problems were simple by comparison.

  Sighere sat beside her and Withowind in the prow, craning her neck around to see the island. Alongside them, the giants’ longboat, laden with five lifeless bodies, and ably commanded and manned by a team of experienced shipmen she had hired at great expense. Bluebell had brought a mixed band of Ælmesseans and some of the uruly half-bloods from Renward’s train, eager for adventure.

  Bluebell smiled as she saw Ash riding down to the shore on her ghost horse, Wraith. She dismounted, waving both arms vastly. Withowind had reassured Bluebell that Ash would be here, but until she saw her sister with her own eyes she had held a little doubt. Now it washed away with the smell of salt and seaweed, as the longboats slid ashore with a crunch and skid. Bluebell was already leaping out, taking Ash in her arms.

  ‘You saved us!’ Bluebell cried.

  ‘The gods saved you.’

  ‘You went and fetched them.’ She turned back to the longboat, where Withowind was slowly stepping over the side and onto the shore. She moved like an elderly woman now, frail and a little stooped. ‘The giants saved us too.’

  ‘It was a group effort,’ Ash said, and her eyes had gone over Bluebell’s shoulder to Sighere.

  ‘Yes,’ Bluebell said with a grin. ‘You get to keep him.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him? Is he sure he wants to stay?’

  Bluebell glanced over her shoulder at Sighere. ‘Can you not see the answer to that question in his expression, sister? Has magic made you blind?’ Bluebell stood aside while Sighere strode forward and grasped Ash’s hands in his own, brought them to his mouth and kissed them.

  By late evening, her war-hardened and sea-hardened teams had brought Withowind’s ship up onto the headlands and laid the giants’ bodies inside it. They had brought stores of kindling and fire oil from Thyrsland, and the pyre was constructed and lit. The flames roared up to the sky and Bluebell and Ash stood by it, their arms around each other, as the fire grew so bright it dimmed the stars.

  ‘You will come to visit me and Sighere from time to time, will you not?’ Ash asked.

  ‘I will. I will have a little surprise next time you see me.’ Bluebell smiled.

  ‘What kind of surprise?’

  ‘If I told you, then it would not be a surprise, sister.’ She thought about travelling all that distance over the sea with a baby, or perhaps a little fellow with sturdy legs. It would be difficult, but best he get used to hardship young.

  Bluebell glanced over at Withowind, who sat very close to the fire, staring mournfully into the flames. ‘She wants to die alone,’ Bluebell said. ‘Do not let her.’

  ‘I don’t tell gods or giants what to do,’ Ash replied.

  They both watched the giant for a while, then the men and women Bluebell had brought with her, drinking and carousing by the fire. One of the sailors – an enormous woman with bosoms seemingly bigger than her head – was dancing a surprisingly graceful jig, while another fellow played a tune on a pipe. The wind gusted over, lifting the flames higher. Bluebell imagined they could be seen for miles, though there was nobody to see them. Like men on earth: a bright light to dance by, spectacular and hot up close, but ultimately nothing more than a brief flash in the distance to gods.

  ‘Where will you go after this?’ Ash asked.

  ‘North to Hrafnsey. We will flush out any of the last of Hakon’s supporters.’

  ‘Then home?’

  ‘No. I have a country to rebuild.’ She turned to Ash and smiled. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘I know your surprise,’ Ash said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I guessed. Just then.’

  ‘Then tell nobody. Not even Sighere.’

  ‘Who will he tell it to? The gulls?’

  Bluebell didn’t answer.

  ‘You’ll show eventually. Then everyone will know.’

  ‘I have time,’ Bluebell said. ‘And I will have time again after. Many more adventures wait for me, sister.’

  ‘I have no doubt.’

  They fell into companionable silence, as the bright flame blazed on the headland.

  Epilogue

  All things end and so shall I.

  With my death, the eoten will forever have passed out of the world. Nobody will
know or say anything, but they may feel it a little, in some small nook of their souls. Magic leaving, dragging dewy feet. The mennisc won’t remember us, even though their land is built from our bones.

  The effort it took to climb up here will finish me. There is nothing left to help me back down. I find I do not mind as much as I’d feared. From here I can see the headland where my beloved Wermod’s ashes swirl in the chill wind, on this the first day of the winter. And my dear friends, Gagel and Finol, Nepsed and Cammoc.

  We had hundreds of years together, and yet it was not enough. The years we have, whether long or short, are never enough. I am glad I always remembered to love on all of those days. I am glad I remembered to gaze out at the restless sea and note the sun on the water, take deep breaths of the crushed leaves of sea lavender, listen to the gulls in the sky. For all these things matter more than the rise and fall of kingdoms, the wonders of magic, the deeds of heroes. Those things pass and we are left with ourselves, our loved ones, our warm beating hearts.

  Our memories.

  Time rushes over me like fast-moving fog and my vision forms a tunnel. I am now and never, I am then and forever. A tiny bud struggles open on the straggling winterwort that grows, hardy among the stones, and I watch it in wonder. Life renews. All things end.

  And so shall I.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a book is no small undertaking and there are always many people to thank.

  Selwa Anthony, my beloved literary agent, has always known exactly what to do to advance my career while not compromising my heart: that is her gift to all her authors.

  The wonderful people I work with in publishing, across many houses, enrich and inspire me (and send me free books): Jo Mackay, Vanessa Radnidge, Anne Groell, and many others.

  My colleagues in my ‘other life’ as an academic are too many to name, but I must make special mention of Lisa Fletcher and Beth Driscoll, who always help me make sense of the world and my place in it.

  I am blessed with so many friends and travelling companions in the writing community, again too many to name. But I wrote this book particularly for the reading pleasure of Mary-Rose MacColl (unofficial big sister), Lisa Hannett (for Viking and hiking), Lizzie and Meg (everyday therapy), and my ‘kindred spirit’, Kate Forsyth, to whom the story is dedicated.

  There are many in my private life who have to put up with my absences, both physical and mental, while I write. I hope they know how grateful I am and how lucky I feel. All my love to the three stars by which I navigate: Ollie, Luka and Astrid. Blessings to my wonderful mother, who always lets me be me; my brother, who loves the sea; and a special shout out to my ‘out-laws’, Mirko, Nikki, Pixie, and all associated Rucks.

  My time spent away in Thyrsland has supplied me some of the richest and most pleasurable experiences of my life. To all of the readers who have joined me there, thank you. I’m glad you get it too.

  ISBN: 9781489257741

  TITLE: QUEENS OF THE SEA

  First Australian Publication 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Kim Wilkins

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