Winter's Fury (The Furyck Saga: Book One)

by A. E. Rayne

  Thorgils grinned sleepily at that. ‘You needn’t worry, Torstan and I have already spoken of it. We’ll keep him in our sights all day. He won’t get near any ale until the guests arrive. We won’t let him!’

  ‘I would believe that Thorgils, if only I didn’t know my son so well,’ Eirik sighed as he headed towards his bedchamber. ‘But I wish you luck with your prisoner. As long as he’s standing by the time they arrive, I shall be a happy man indeed. There may even be a new arm ring in it for you both.’

  Thorgils had more arm rings than most on Oss and Eirik didn’t think he’d care for another, but even in his slightly drunken state, Thorgils stood a little taller, keen to take on the responsibility. He looked around at the bodies near him, hoping to locate Torstan, who he’d last seen humping a comely serving girl against the wall; he was going to need all the help he could get.

  They were both silent with thoughts of Ren and what would come tomorrow as they lay there, pressed into one another’s naked flesh.

  Sadness lay heavily on Aleksander’s face; he looked even thinner and more drawn than usual. Jael could tell that he had barely eaten or slept since he’d been gone. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, his lips scabbed, and his fingernails bloody; whatever he had been doing, it hadn’t been enjoyable.

  ‘Tell me,’ Jael breathed into his mouth, wanting to keep their conversation just between them. ‘Where have you been?’

  He was wary at first, his eyes searching hers for some sign as to her mood. It was impossible to tell, of course; the snow had blanketed the moon, so no light filtered down the smoke hole. There was only the faded glow of the banked fire to see by.

  He hesitated, then barely spoke. ‘I went to find the Widow.’

  Jael stilled. ‘The Widow?’ She was confused. ‘What for? How did you find her? Surely she’s dead?’

  Aleksander shook his head. ‘Not quite. In fact, she looks barely older than Gisila.’

  ‘But she must be a hundred years old, or more,’ Jael frowned. ‘And you found where she’s been hiding all these years? How?’

  ‘It took a while, but yes, I found her. She wouldn’t see me, though,’ he murmured, choosing his words with care. ‘Not at first. She refused. I waited for days in the snow, trying to get her to speak to me, to listen to me. I think she had enough of me bothering her in the end because she finally let me in.’

  ‘But how did you know where to find her?’ Jael asked again.

  Aleksander sighed. ‘When I was a child, my mother would tell stories about her. She told me where to find her... I don’t know why. I suppose she thought it was nothing, certainly not something I would remember. But after she died, I didn’t want to let go of her, so I memorised them, just the way she would tell them, imagining her voice, remembering her words,’ he whispered sadly. ‘I just didn’t want to think that you would leave and I would do nothing but let you go. I couldn’t ask Edela to help me, and you wouldn’t tell me what she saw for us, not all of it. I had to know what would happen myself.’

  ‘And what did she tell you?’ Jael wondered breathlessly.

  Aleksander looked away, shuddering with the memory of it. ‘She wouldn’t say anything. Nothing. After all I went through to get there, after finding her cottage and convincing her to let me in, she made it plain that she wasn’t about to help me. She gave me a meal, then threw me out. But I stayed there, waiting, and eventually, she came out to me again. She handed me a tincture and told me to go up into the mountains, to the very tip of God’s Point, to Vidar’s Tree. I had to drink the tincture and stay there for three nights, and on the last night I would be shown the visions the gods wanted me to see.’

  Jael’s eyes were wide. ‘And what happened?’

  ‘Well, I did as she said. I was barely able to stand in the wind up there. The tip of God’s Point is no safe place to be, hanging there above the cliffs. I tied myself to the tree as best I could. I’m not sure if it was her tincture, or that I went mad from hunger and thirst, but the visions came so powerfully, as though I was in them. They were like dreams, nightmares, but I was awake the whole time. I didn’t sleep at all.’ He paused, the memory of it unsettling him. ‘I saw Edela tell you about him, heard what she said, that you were meant to be together. I saw all of that between you and her, and then, I saw more... all the things Edela didn’t say.’

  Jael gripped his hand tightly. ‘What things?’

  ‘That you would come back to me, with your child, your daughter. That we would be together again.’ Aleksander knew he should feel happy because of that, but he didn’t. His wild, painful dreams had been scarred by dark images, warnings of horrors to come. He didn’t understand most of them, but he knew that he had to keep them from Jael.

  ‘A daughter?’ was all Jael could say. ‘With him?’ She closed her eyes. The thought of that made her want to scream, but then there was better news; they would be together again. That was something to hold onto but why hadn’t Edela mentioned it?

  ‘Yes, a little girl,’ he said sadly. ‘Just like you. She looked very much like you in my dream. I thought she might even have been you, but then I saw you holding her hand, introducing her to me.’

  Aleksander’s story was so strange, almost more than Jael could take in. She had been preparing herself to say goodbye to him, forever. And now there was this unexpected twist; their paths would turn back towards one another again it seemed. So, it was only goodbye for a short while, or at least until she came back again with this child. Jael felt more and more removed from herself, from all that was coming, from all that she wanted no part of. She closed her eyes and imagined herself on a battlefield, swinging her sword in a wild, blood-making fury. Alone. Free.

  In the silence, Aleksander could sense Jael’s discomfort. He knew his story had been riddled with so many holes, which she would soon be desperate to fill. He kissed her quickly, hoping to distract her so that there would be no time for questions, only time for goodbyes. He tried not to see his dreams again; he didn’t want them to ruin this beautiful illusion, that she was his and would always be so. Whatever he had told her, he knew that when she met Eadmund, it would never be the same between them again.

  Still kissing her, Aleksander ran his hand firmly down Jael’s troubled face, over her sharp jaw, down between her frozen breasts and nestled it firmly between her thighs.

  In whatever was left of this night, she would still be his.

  6

  If only the snow had settled. If only the Freeze had come.

  Jael stood on the pier, wrapped in her cloak, shivering in the bitter grip of the morning. There were small, ever-decreasing puddles of snow lingering about but the still, dark water was clear of ice, the ships were almost finished being loaded, and they would be leaving soon.

  They were taking two ships, partly because they were taking two horses and neither horse would make good company, especially for the other, so it was best to separate them. Tig had sailed a few times but hated the rocking sensation and could never settle. They were also carrying a large, white mare named Leada; younger and much more agreeable than Tig. She was to be Jael’s gift to her new husband. It had been Lothar’s idea, and although she could have cared less, she was pleased to know that Tig would have company on the island. The thought of horses made her think of Ren, and the sadness of his sudden loss pulled at her heart. It would be so hard on Aleksander to lose both him and her within days of each other.

  ‘Warm enough?’ Lothar chortled as he crept up behind his niece. ‘You’re not going to enjoy our journey if you think this is cold!’

  Jael didn’t reply; she was in no mood to even attempt conversation today.

  Lothar didn’t care. As soon as winter had done its worst, they would be at the piers again, knee-deep in ships and weapons, preparing to invade Hest; he couldn’t have been happier. ‘I have organised for Tiras to stay with you on Oss,’ he murmured into Jael’s ear, far too close for her liking; his breath stunk of ripe cheese and onions. ‘To ensure you stay loya
l, that you represent this family well, that my part of the alliance holds true. He will be watching you.’

  He expected Jael to flinch at that, but she didn’t even blink. ‘As you wish, my lord,’ was all she could be bothered with. She knew she still had to please him, to keep everyone safe, as she had done these past few years, but there was just so little left inside her to care today. She wanted to be gone, to be on their way, to have said her goodbyes. Jael’s stomach was churning, and she felt nauseated, nervous about what was to come; if only Lothar would shut his stinking mouth and just fuck off.

  Lothar grinned, unbothered. ‘There is one last thing, Niece. And that is my sword.’

  That stilled Jael’s breathing, and she instinctively grabbed the hilt of the Furyck sword, for the last time it would seem.

  ‘You may keep that old scabbard,’ he said dismissively. ‘I have my father’s. It’s just my sword I require.’ He came around in front of her, and she was forced to look into his pudgy, pasty face. He was nothing like her father, although, admittedly they both had dark hair and dark eyes; but Ranuf had appeared as if carved out of stone and Lothar looked ready to melt, like a sheep-fat candle. He was a man filled with so little substance that Jael was convinced he would slither away to nothing at the merest hint of flame.

  She stared blankly at her uncle as she handed over the sword. Her father may have chosen to pass his crown to Axl, but for some reason, he had left his sword to her. And now here she was, placing it into the sweaty, pink hands of the Usurper, a man so foolishly ambitious that he was likely to destroy 2000 years of Furyck rule before long. Whatever was about to happen, whatever path the gods had laid out for her, she promised herself that she would return to Brekka and remove Lothar’s head, wiping his name from their history.

  Lothar took the sword, making a great pretence of inspecting it. He glanced at her as he slipped the sword into the ancient scabbard he had only just managed to tie around his rotund frame. ‘We shall be away within the hour, so best say your goodbyes quickly.’ His smile was smug as he waddled down the pier, his new boots squeaking through the melting slush.

  Jael couldn’t move. She kept staring straight ahead, watching as the sun struggled higher into the bleak, grey sky, her hand absently fingering the empty scabbard. Everything was changing. Every part of her was being stripped away, piece by piece.

  ‘You’ve lost him? Already?’ Thorgils was dumbfounded. He towered over the guilty looking Torstan, who had been charged with keeping Eadmund on a leash while Thorgils helped move benches and tables about in the hall. ‘How is that possible? He was unconscious! Snoring! Dribbling, even!’

  ‘Well, he’s gone now,’ Torstan mumbled into his blonde beard, rubbing his head in a typically bemused fashion.

  Thorgils sighed. Perhaps his slightly confused friend hadn’t been the best choice to help him watch Eadmund. ‘Well, go and find him then!’ Thorgils urged crossly, bending down to Torstan’s ear, not wanting to be overheard. He looked about the hall, but nobody seemed bothered with their conversation; they were far too panicked getting everything ready in time for their guests. ‘I will come shortly. Try the drying sheds, try Evaine’s, try anywhere he might be likely to find a drink. And do it without Eirik noticing. If he sees you looking about, calling out, he’s going to kill Eadmund and then us!’

  There was a crash then, from the back of the hall. ‘Thorgils!’

  ‘I have to go,’ he muttered, looking around impatiently. ‘Just go, and I will find you.’

  Torstan nodded and made to leave, at a typically slow pace.

  ‘And quickly!’ Thorgils grumbled after him.

  They were in their cottage. It felt like the right place to do it; hidden away from all those who would wish to stare. The silence was awkward, though, and neither wanted to make the first move because a beginning would require an ending, and that was the thing they were dreading the most.

  ‘Don’t come down to the pier. Stay here,’ Jael insisted agitatedly. She couldn’t look at Aleksander. She didn’t want to do the actual goodbye part yet but it was here, and now she couldn’t run away from it any longer.

  He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Tears were threatening to come from both of them; he could sense that. ‘I won’t. I don’t want to.’

  She reached up and touched his face. ‘You’ll be all alone here, not even Ren for company, not till Axl gets back.’

  ‘Ahhh, because Axl is such great company,’ he mocked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Jael smiled sadly and let him hold her, hiding inside that warm, safe place he kept just for her. She clung onto him, remembering the night before; how glad she had been to see him, to be with him that one last time. She didn’t want to let go. They’d been inseparable through arguments, through battles, through everything that had mattered. He had never let her go, no matter how many times she had given him reason to. Jael felt so cross with herself then; she should have fought harder to stay, she should have fought at all, but she’d just given in, accepted the destiny of it, as though everyone else had the right to decide their future, even the gods. Perhaps they did. For now. She had been so passive since her father had died, creeping into the background, hiding from things she should have faced, accepting things she shouldn’t have. And now this.

  Jael held on tighter, feeling Aleksander’s tears as they ran down his face onto hers. Her fault, she told herself, it was all her fault. If only she had...

  ‘You’re coming back to me, remember that,’ Aleksander mouthed into Jael’s hair, then pulled her head back to kiss her, for the last time, gently, remembering her and then letting her go.

  Jael cried, painful tears, which fell helplessly down her cheeks. She cried for the first time since her father had died and was unable to stop. ‘I’m coming back,’ she whispered, more to herself than Aleksander. ‘I’m coming back. If I have to kill the lot of them, I’m coming back to you.’

  Aleksander grabbed her head and held it against his, wanting to believe her but seeing his visions again, laughing at him and her as they stood there, wrapped around each, not knowing how to let go.

  They were on board and waiting, impatiently. Gisila, Lothar, and his daughter, Amma, on Lightning, the largest and newest of two cargo ships charged with taking the wedding party across the treacherous Nebbar Straights. Gant was there too, and Lothar’s most loyal men. Osbert was pacing about on Storm Chaser, with Axl and Edela hovering nearby, all eyes on the entrance to the town, watching for any sign of Jael. The horses were jittery, especially Tig, who knew Jael wasn’t there and was unsettled because of it.

  The wind was getting up now, the sky grimmer than ever and more snow was threatening. They had to leave now; if only Jael would hurry up.

  Gisila felt ill; surely she wouldn’t just escape, leave them all like this? No, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t. She smiled confidently up at Lothar. ‘Jael will be here any moment, I’m certain of it. She needed to say goodbye to Aleksander. That would have been hard.’

  Lothar grunted unsympathetically. ‘A king does not like to be kept waiting, as I’m sure you know, Gisila. Not the King of Brekka, nor the King of Oss, so she had better hurry up.’ He said this through gritted, grinding teeth but his rank breath still managed to escape, wafting over Gisila, who glanced quickly away.

  Jael emerged from amongst the houses then, walking steadily down the main street towards the pier. She was not hurrying, but nor was she dawdling, so there was little for Lothar to grumble about.

  ‘Finally!’ he barked. ‘Let us be away!’ Lothar yelled at both helmsmen, who nodded at boys standing nearby to loosen the ropes binding the ships to the pier.

  Jael stepped down into Storm Chaser as the rope fell away, ignoring the wishes from the townspeople who had formed a line down each side of the pier. It was not a moment to celebrate, and they understood that, but still, some, those who had known Jael throughout her life, wanted her to know that she would not be forgotten. Jael didn’t care what they thou
ght, though, not now. She was slowly shutting herself away into a place that would make things bearable. Her tears had dried, her goodbyes were done, and she was ready to sail away from all that she had been.

  She raised her hood, which as well as protecting her from the icy sea winds, had the benefit of shielding her swollen eyes from Osbert. She tried not to look at his gloating little face as she made her way down the deck, past the busy oarsmen. The roll was instant, as the men locked their oars in and started to pull the ship slowly away from the pier.

  Tig whinnied anxiously as Jael stumbled to the mast where he was tethered, grabbing hold of his bridle. She put her face to his, blowing gently on his dark cheek, murmuring in his ear, as much for her own comfort as his. He stilled, his muscles relaxing slightly, his head touching hers. Jael closed her eyes and held on, not wanting to look back, knowing that Aleksander wouldn’t be there; hoping he wouldn’t be there. She cleared her mind of everything but the sea and sky ahead.

  Aleksander stood solemnly near the edge of the houses, those that bordered the entrance to the pier. He stood there, concealed in the shadows of the morning cloud, watching the ships as they shrank from view. He would see her again, he knew, but what happened between now and then would change them both irrevocably.

  II

  Adrift

  7

  ‘I don’t want her anywhere near him, do you understand me, Morac?’ Eirik threatened irritably. ‘Nowhere! Not a sound, nor a smell of her. Put her away somewhere. Lock her up! Just keep her out of my sight!’

  Eirik stood, surveying the hall, on edge, anxious. Nothing was happening fast enough for his liking. Dusk was already falling. Their guests would be here soon, and flower garlands were still being strung about the walls; lamps and candles were still being carried in. Not enough, not nearly enough to convey the illusion of luxury and wealth. For, although Eirik had dreamed of turning the Slave Islands into a prosperous, free kingdom, the truth is that fishing and whaling were nowhere near as profitable as slaving had been for his tyrannical father. They needed more markets and opportunities for trade if they were to thrive. A few extra candles and lamps would do little to mask the stark reality that theirs was a kingdom in decline.