by A. E. Rayne
The view from up here, on the highest peak of the island, with the sun almost directly overhead, was breathtaking. The dark sea was now ice-covered and looked as though it was consuming the entire island, gathering it into an ominous, wintry embrace. Jael shivered as she looked down to the shore, remembering Edela’s terrified face. That face would not leave her alone. She hoped they had made it back to Andala safely.
‘Come on!’ Thorgils called, the cloudy waves of his cold breath streaming out behind him like a veil. He was already well ahead, but Jael only had to give Tig light encouragement before he was trotting to catch up.
They rode relatively carefully, in total silence. Jael was alert and consumed with interest by everything she came across. Up here, as they were on the ridge, there was sparse foliage and not much that wasn’t snow covered. It was rocky and uneven beneath the snow; she could feel that in the way Tig skidded, at times unbalanced, his feet unsteady. It was hard to keep her mind on that, though, when there was just so much to take in. She looked hard, with a great dose of wishful thinking, to see if she could spot a glimpse of Brekka in the vast expanse of sea ice but only the outer islands were visible.
‘Not such a bad view?’ Thorgils suggested with a grin.
‘No, not so bad,’ Jael admitted. ‘Do all of the smaller islands belong to Oss?’
‘Yes, all seven of them,’ Thorgils nodded, leaning over to give Leada a reassuring pat; she was also struggling with her footing. ‘They’re all Eirik’s. He has a lord on each, but he is the only king.’
‘And they give him no trouble?’ Jael leaned back in the saddle as they started the slow descent towards the lowlands. Tig’s feet came in and out of the snow deliberately, slowly, as Jael swayed from side to side. She could tell he was enjoying himself; his ears were pointing forward, and his head was high as he followed Leada down the hill.
‘Not normally. He’s softened in his old age, but Eirik is still a beast. He will cut you down if you cross him.’
Jael raised an eyebrow as she pulled on Tig’s reins, trying to contain his eagerness. The cold was biting into her legs now, a dull ache forming behind each knee. She wondered how long it would be until her lips were too frozen to speak. ‘So, he thinks he can cut Haaron down, then? Conquer Hest, when everyone else has failed?’
‘Eirik? No, that’s not his game. He had to agree to join Lothar’s invasion in order to get you.’
‘Get me? You make me sound like a prize!’ she snorted, relieved to be down on flat terrain again. Tig shook his rump and hurried to catch up with Leada.
‘Well, to Eirik you are,’ Thorgils said, eyeing Jael earnestly. ‘He’d almost given up on Eadmund before Eydis dreamed about you. He doesn’t care about Hest. He stopped trying to build an empire years ago. He just wants to secure what he has, for the future. And he needs Eadmund to do that for him. And if Eadmund can’t, then he has to turn to Ivaar.’
Jael glanced at Thorgils. ‘Ivaar? Eadmund’s brother?’
Thorgils stared at her darkly. ‘Yes, Ivaar. No one wants to think he will resort to that.’
‘And where is this Ivaar?’ Jael wondered as they came to a small lake, frozen solid, its pale surface glinting menacingly under the sun.
‘Ivaar is Lord of Kalfa, one of the islands,’ he grunted, tugging on Leada’s reins so that she turned to the right, skirting the lake. ‘But of course, he is the eldest son, and his ambitions extend beyond that pebble. He wants the throne, you can be sure of that.’
‘So, if he’s the eldest, why is Eadmund Eirik’s heir?’
‘Ahhh... well that’s a long story, and my lips are probably going to freeze before I can tell it,’ he grinned. ‘But the short story would be that Ivaar’s a cunt, and no one wants him here.’
‘Ha!’ Jael couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That was perhaps a little too short,’ she shivered. ‘Surely there’s more to say than that? What did he do to make everyone hate him? To make his father choose Eadmund over him?
‘You truly don’t know the story?’
‘No, why would I? In Brekka, we only ever bothered about Oss when you were sailing over to attack us. Why should we have cared about your family squabbles?’
Thorgils shrugged. ‘Fair point.’ He bent down to pat the accommodating Leada, who had not complained once about her very cumbersome load. ‘There’s a gap between the two mountains up ahead. We can let the horses run for a while then. It’s very flat.’
‘Good, they need it, as do I,’ she said desperately. ‘Now, tell me this story about Ivaar.’
‘Ahhh, well... Ivaar hated Eadmund before Eadmund was even born. Eirik was married to Odila, Ivaar’s mother, when he fell in love with Eskild. He divorced Odila and married Eskild, and they had Eadmund. Odila was so humiliated that she killed herself. So, there you go, a very good reason for Ivaar to grow up hating Eadmund.’
‘Indeed, who could blame him?’
‘Well, no one I suppose, apart from the fact that he was a strange shit of a child anyway. He would do nasty things to people and animals. He had a perverse sense of humour. He was jealous of Eadmund and hated Eskild too. He once even killed a dog she had given Eadmund.’
Jael frowned, disliking Ivaar instantly.
Thorgils paused as he navigated Leada around a cluster of smooth stones covered in ankle-breaking ice. ‘So, that’s how things went along until they all went completely wrong. Eirik was trying to make a trade alliance with a lord from Alekka, and his daughter came to Oss with him. Melaena.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘That was that, both brothers fell hard in love. She was pretty, for sure, but she knew it, and she played them both like a sweet tune. They thought she was the sun, and the moon, and the stars in one. And she couldn’t decide between them.’
‘Poor girl,’ Jael mumbled sarcastically.
‘Except that one day her father made her choose, and she chose Eadmund.’
‘And?’
‘And they were married,’ Thorgils said sadly. ‘And Melaena died that very same night.’
‘How?’ Jael was shocked.
‘Poisoned wine.’
‘So, everyone assumed Ivaar had done it?’
They were at the pass now. Jael smiled; it certainly was an inviting, flat stretch, and as both riders pulled up on their reins, they could feel the horse’s excitement rippling through their eager muscles.
‘Of course,’ Thorgils said blankly. ‘Who else? Eadmund demanded Ivaar’s head but there was no proof, nothing to tie him to Melaena’s murder except reputation and motive. It wasn’t enough, though, not if the law was to be upheld, so Eirik sent him away instead.’ He looked into the distance, his eyes further away than the white landscape before him. ‘Eirik found him a wife, gave him lordship over Kalfa, and Ivaar was never to be heard from again. Unless of course, Eadmund ruins this one last chance with Eirik. Then he’ll return. And I don’t imagine Ivaar will be feeling very charitable towards his brother, or his brother’s wife.’ He nodded pointedly towards Jael. ‘Especially as Ivaar always insisted he was innocent.’
The horses were getting cold and impatient as they stood there waiting, but there was suddenly so much Jael wanted to know. ‘So, Eadmund has one last chance? To do what? Prove he’s worthy of being king?’
‘Exactly,’ Thorgils said, shaking as the cold started to claim his limbs. ‘But will he? Can he? Perhaps that’s up to you, Jael.’ He stared at her intently, then kicking Leada’s rump with a loud, ‘ha!’, took off, white horse and white rider disappearing quickly into the white distance; the only marker of their presence being Thorgils’ flaming-red hair flapping ferociously behind him.
Tig skittered excitedly, flicking his tail, desperate to follow. Jael nudged him gently and let him fly. He was fast, even in the heavy conditions; it had only taken him a few strides to remember how to gallop in the snow. Jael bent low over his neck, clinging on with a smile that grew in the bitter wind that raked her face. She left all thoughts of Eadmund, Aleksander, Brekka, and Oss behind as she raced to catch up
with Thorgils, almost happy for the first time in weeks.
13
Aleksander walked down the back streets of Andala, his head bent against a mean wind, trying to avoid concerned eyes. He had a purpose now, and it felt better, he felt better, but still, he had no desire to entertain the pitying looks that followed him around.
Edela had sent him on a mission to collect as many items as possible for her attempt at dream walking. Dream walking? It sounded a fanciful wish, more than a possibility, but they were both desperate enough to try anything to contact Jael. Edela had dug into the dark corners of a locked, iron box she kept buried under the floor of her cottage. It contained a book, passed down through her family, filled with secrets, magic, even some dark magic that the Tuuran Council had outlawed centuries ago. It was a book Edela had never even opened. Her grandmother had given it to her, insisting that she only call on its secrets in her direst moment.
So far his mission had been challenging. Many of the items he needed were plants; fresh, not frozen. Most didn’t take well to being submerged in snow, but he had managed to rescue a few hardy leaves last night and throughout the morning. Now he was on his way back to his cottage, looking for anything Jael might have worn and left behind, something that might have her hair on it. He wasn’t feeling confident.
‘Aleksander?’
It was Amma, Lothar’s youngest daughter. She spoke quietly enough, so as not to attract much attention, bar his. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard her but she was the king’s daughter, and it wouldn’t do him any good to fall into trouble today. He reluctantly walked over to where Amma was waiting, by the side of an abandoned shed, wondering what she could possibly want with him.
‘How are you, Aleksander?’ she asked innocently enough, her shy, brown eyes full of concern. ‘Without Jael?’
He sighed; this was what he had been dreading. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ He wanted to leave, but she remained, staring at him with an earnest look.
‘I know Jael was worried about leaving you behind, about how you would cope without her,’ she went on. ‘But I assured her that all your friends and family here would not abandon you. We’ll make sure you don’t feel alone.’
Aleksander was too distracted to make much sense of Amma’s words until she reached out and placed her mittened hand on his arm.
And left it there.
‘If there is anything you need, you only have to ask me. I have my father’s ear, you know,’ she whispered to him. ‘He wants to see me happy, whatever that means. And so... if I can help you with anything, it would make me very happy indeed.’
Aleksander’s face froze in an expression of unexpected awkwardness. He wanted to shake her hand away before anyone came along and saw it, but at the same time, he knew it would be unwise to insult the girl. So, he found a smile from somewhere deep within and instead placed his hand on top of hers. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ he said as generously as he could manage. ‘I think I just need some time to adjust to things. But I won’t forget your offer, I promise.’ He nodded and stepped slowly backwards, still smiling, hoping to have carried off his escape with as little insult as possible.
Amma held her breath as she watched him walk away. He looked so terribly sad and thin. There had to be something she could do to help him?
Thorgils’ face was flushed as he came alongside Jael. ‘So you can ride a bit then?’ They had let their horses chase each other through the pass, enjoying their first burst of freedom in days.
Jael smiled at him, her face just as red as his. She couldn’t feel a thing but had the sense that her nose was dripping, so she wiped it quickly on the back of her glove. Patting Tig’s neck affectionately, she noticed a thin trail of smoke snaking its way out of a row of trees in the distance. ‘Does someone live out here?’ she wondered, nodding towards the smoke. The trees formed a windbreak in front of a path that led down to an outlying neck of land.
‘Live?’ Thorgils mused. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’
They followed the steep path down to a clearing. The smoke was in their nostrils now, the smell of food stirring their cold, empty bellies, and the sounds of grunting and banging filling their ears.
Jael saw a boy hitting what looked like a wooden man, with a wooden sword, in an area that had been cleared since the snowfall. He appeared to have no ability with the sword at all. He hit his target with little direction or skill, or any understanding of what he was doing at all.
Jael looked sideways at Thorgils.
‘Fyn,’ he smiled in answer to her puzzled face. ‘Morac’s son.’
‘Morac?’
‘Eirik’s man,’ he tried, but Jael looked at him blankly. ‘Thin, long, pointy face, looks like he’s sucking on a mouthful of piss.’
She laughed and nodded, recognising the man from the hall who she’d taken an instant dislike to. But why would the son of the king’s man be living out here all alone?
Fyn saw them then and dropped his sword in surprise. Jael tried not to laugh; had no one ever taught this boy how to handle a weapon? He was lucky it was made of wood, or he might have just lost a toe.
‘Fyn!’ Thorgils raised his arm, grinning warmly as they dismounted.
The boy relaxed, rushing eagerly towards his visitors then.
‘Thorgils! I didn’t recognise you. I thought you were raiders!’ He peered inquisitively at Jael through long, reddish-brown hair which hung limply over his eyes. He brushed it away nervously. His face was kind, with a boyish innocence that reminded her of Axl.
‘Nothing that bad, I promise,’ Thorgils smiled, clapping Fyn on the shoulder. ‘Although, I think we would like to relieve you of something hot to eat!’ Jael pulled back the hood of her cloak, then, and Thorgils watched in amusement as Fyn’s eyes bulged. ‘This is Jael, Eadmund’s new wife.’
Fyn’s eyes popped out even more then. ‘Oh,’ he bowed, awkwardly. ‘My lady.’
‘Hello,’ she shivered. ‘This is a rather remote place to live all alone. Do you not like your family?’
Thorgils rolled his eyes at Jael’s lack of subtlety.
Fyn’s face darkened, taking on an older, sadder look. ‘I... I don’t choose to be so far away, my lady.’ He paused, staring at his feet. ‘The king, he... banished me. From Oss.’
‘Banished you? But you’re still here?’ Jael found it hard to hide her growing curiosity; it seemed a strange situation. And why had he not been taught how to use a sword?
Thorgils disappeared inside the tiny hut. It was almost invisible, built into the side of the hill. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t see it at all; only its smoke hole had given it away today. There were no windows, only a small wooden door that looked more like part of a tree trunk than an entrance to a home.
‘I, I stay to protect my mother,’ Fyn stuttered in the face of Jael’s interrogation. ‘Well, not protect her, but to be here for her... if she needs me. I couldn’t just leave her. But my father, he doesn’t know.’ He blinked rapidly, his large, blue eyes filled with fear.
‘But your mother does? She comes to visit you?’ Jael wondered.
‘There’s hot food!’ Thorgils grinned wildly, poking his head outside, his frame filling the minuscule doorway. He watched Fyn’s face fall. ‘If you would be so kind as to spare just a morsel or two, my young friend?’
‘Of course, of course. You must be so cold,’ Fyn smiled. He wanted to be an accommodating host, and his mother would send her servant soon with another bundle of food, he reminded himself.
Jael secured the horses, and, bending her head carefully, followed Fyn inside. The hut was almost warm, which was a welcome respite from the bone-aching bitterness outside. Warm, but so dim; it was almost like stepping into the night. And smelly. Like a rat-infested cave. Damp too. Not a nice place for anyone to call home.
Fyn had a thick stew cooking in a small, misshapen cauldron that hung over a very modest fire.
Thorgils licked his frozen lips, desperate for a taste. ‘Do you have any
more bowls?’ he asked, scouring Fyn’s mostly empty shelf, his stomach growling impatiently.
‘We can’t eat Fyn’s food, Thorgils. I’m sure he needs to make it last longer than just this meal!’ Jael warned, glancing at Fyn’s anxious face.
‘No, no, of course we won’t. But just a mouthful or two will warm us up enough to get us back to the fort,’ Thorgils smiled reassuringly towards the boy, giving him no choice in the matter.
Fyn hunted about in a corner of the hut, where he had stacked a pile of broken rubbish he intended to get rid of one day. He retrieved two small bowls, both cracked; they would have to do.
They sat huddled around the fire on barely-worked tree stumps, knee to knee, numb hands thawing dangerously close to the flames. Thorgils took the bowls and started ladling in the steaming stew.
‘How old are you, Fyn?’ Jael wondered as she adjusted her position on the stool, trying to avoid the sharp splinter threatening her behind.
‘18,’ Fyn replied distractedly as he watched Thorgils’ generous portioning. ‘19 soon.’
Jael frowned. ‘And you’ve never been shown what to do with a sword? Your father didn’t train you?’
Fyn’s face fell. ‘No, he didn’t think there was much point. He said I was too clumsy, that there was no chance of me becoming a warrior, so he wouldn’t bother.’ He blushed as he took the bowl Thorgils handed to him and passed it on to Jael. ‘You saw me out there. I’m sure you know he was right.’
Jael frowned as she took the bowl. ‘Well, of course, if you’re trying to learn on your own, with only a wooden man to advise you, what else could you expect?’ Jael caught Thorgils’ attention, glaring at him sternly, so he spooned a small amount of stew back into the cauldron. ‘You need to be trained by a warrior, someone who can actually help you. Someone who knows how to use a sword better than your wooden friend!’ She smiled at Fyn, who bent his freckled face away from her gaze. He was so shy; it was hard not to warm to that.
