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

by A. E. Rayne

  Jael shook away all thoughts of Eadmund and didn’t look back as she headed for bed and her dreams of Aleksander.

  Evaine was surprised to see Eadmund so early in the evening but thrilled that he had indeed come, as promised.

  Eadmund had given up having a servant years ago. None could abide his ways – the mess he left, the mess he was – and so, caring for him and his home was something that Evaine had eagerly taken on, without Eadmund ever really being aware of it. He was not in the cottage a lot, but when he was, she tried to make sure it was clean, warm, well-lit, and well-stocked for him. As he rushed to sit by the fire, shivering uncontrollably, Evaine grabbed a fur off the bed and threw it over his shoulders. ‘Eadmund! Where’s your cloak?’ She was horrified. ‘How could you go out in the cold with just this light tunic on?’

  It was her turn to talk to him like a child now, it seemed. The irony was lost on Eadmund, though. He sat shuddering and silent, staring at the flames. Had that just happened? Had he let himself be dragged away from his friends, his drink, his fun? Thrown against a wall in a dark alleyway and ordered about, by her? His wife. And gone along with it all, like a docile dog? Ordered away from their marriage bed too? Not that he wanted to be in that bed with her, but still... His head continued to ring with the sound of her voice. His forehead creased, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. At himself. Again.

  Evaine blinked, worried by Eadmund’s continued silence. ‘Are you alright? Eadmund?’ She came to sit beside him, resting her hand on his leg. She had been lying in bed, almost asleep, hoping he would come and now felt cold, sitting here in just her nightdress. She opened up Eadmund’s fur and nestled under it, next to him, inhaling the rich infusion of smoke, ale, and meat that was so familiar to her. Everyone else might want to change him, but to Evaine he was exactly how she wanted him to be.

  He was hers.

  The fire still burned high enough to warm Eadmund’s chilled bones, which helped focus his mind. ‘Is there any ale left in the jug?’ he wondered, looking urgently towards the kitchen.

  ‘Ale?’ Evaine got up immediately. ‘Of course, I’ll get you some.’

  ‘No!’ He reached out and placed his hand on her arm, shaking his head. ‘No, don’t. I don’t want any.’

  She sat back down again, under the fur, leaning into him, but he didn’t say a word as he continued to stare into the flames.

  Jael thought about Eadmund and didn’t want to. She kept seeing his sad eyes, and they threatened her sleep. He was hopeless, she told herself. There was no point in trying to help him; he couldn’t even help himself. She remembered what Thorgils had told her about Ivaar, about what would happen if Eadmund ruined his last chance. What would Ivaar do if he came? And would she still be here then?

  Jael kicked herself, annoyed that she was wasting her thoughts on Eadmund, instead of dreaming of Aleksander as she had planned. But in truth, it avoided her having to acknowledge how alone she was in this enormous bed; how cold her feet were without his legs to warm them on. She sighed, closing her eyes at last, remembering Aleksander’s hands on her face and the kindness in his eyes when he smiled at her. She scratched at her hand in frustration, so annoyed that she couldn’t be with him, that she wasn’t free anymore. Or at least, free enough to choose her own bed companion.

  She tried to picture every part of their cottage, the smells, the light, the colour of their furs, the feel of his long, straight hair as she stroked it slowly...

  Edela checked inside the basket once more. Yes, she had everything she needed. She ran her eyes over the book, sitting on the floor to her left. It was open on the right page.

  ‘It must be late enough now, Edela?’ Aleksander asked impatiently. ‘We should get started.’

  Edela nodded. He was right, she thought. She had been delaying on many more grounds than the possibility that Jael wasn’t asleep yet. She felt nervous, never having attempted to use her gifts in this way. After all, it was forbidden, and that gave her cause for concern, but knowing that this was the only way they could think of to warn Jael kept her walking down that uncomfortable path. ‘Blow out the lamps,’ she instructed, her voice husky and low. ‘I need to focus on the fire alone.’

  Aleksander was relieved. He got up to blow out all three lamps, then came back to sit on the floor, next to the fire, which she was facing. Edela had insisted on sitting on the floor. She had never done anything like this before and said that she would prefer to be on the ground, but still, she looked very uncomfortable sitting there, her legs crossed awkwardly in front of her, peering at the book in earnest.

  ‘What should I do?’ Aleksander wondered.

  ‘Well, you need to start banging on that drum when I close my eyes. Keep a rhythm going, don’t stop. It will help take me into the trance and keep me there, hopefully.’

  Aleksander picked up the wooden drum that Edela had borrowed from one of Andala’s musicians. He hit the skin firmly with his hand a few times. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Yes, keep going,’ she said, distracted now, removing herself from him and the darkened room. The only light now was the warm, orange glow of the fire, its flames highlighting the sharp lines of concentration on her face.

  Edela reached into the basket and emptied its contents onto the sheet in front of her. There were handfuls of plants and herbs, most of them painstakingly collected by Aleksander, but also five, smooth, grey river stones that Edela had painted symbols onto; Tuuran symbols that made no sense to Aleksander. Bending down to inspect and select each stone carefully, Edela slowly started to place the stones at various points around herself, now and then pausing to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

  After one last, quick glance at the book, she picked up a small, bronze bowl that she had placed nearby, swirling its contents with her fingers. Edela started painting, thick, red lines from stone to stone, creating a circle, enclosing herself within the sacred space. She had sacrificed a young goat for its blood and felt a sharp pang of guilt as she painted. Thankfully, Jael had not taken everything with her, and they had been able to find a few strands of hair on her pillow to mix into the blood.

  Aleksander kept drumming, a slow, steady rhythm as Edela picked up the bundle of herbs and plants and threw it onto the flames. The fire spat and crackled angrily, loudly, the room quickly filling with a heady, thick fug that made Aleksander’s eyes blink and water. The smoke grew so rapidly and intensely that he couldn’t stop coughing, trying to clear his throat. He peered at Edela, worried that he was disturbing her, but her head was back, her eyes closed as she swayed calmly to his rhythm, inhaling deeply, untroubled. The smoke sent Aleksander’s head spinning, and he had to fight a desperate urge to rush outside and take a deep breath of fresh air. They had built the fire up so high, that even on this freezing night, he could feel sweat trickling down his back.

  Edela started chanting, repeating the same unfamiliar phrases, again and again. Her voice sounded smoky and deep, not at all like her. The hairs on Aleksander’s arms rose in fear and uncertainty, but he drummed on.

  Edela rocked back and forth now, her voice growing louder. Over and over, the same sound echoed in Aleksander’s ears, and he found himself swaying along to the rhythm, his head lost in the strange fumes, his mind twisting with peculiar visions.

  Edela stopped suddenly and remained still, her eyes closed. The room was silent, apart from the occasional spit from the fire, and Aleksander’s drumming. He tried to clear his mind, to focus on that steady rhythm she needed from him. She had gone, he realised, gone to try and reach Jael. He closed his eyes and prayed to Eseld that she’d make it there, and back.

  In Jael’s dream, she was watching Eadmund fight Tarak. She was standing so close that she could see every bead of sweat, every drop of blood fly from Eadmund’s face as Tarak hit him, again and again, with his giant-sized, bloody fist.

  Eadmund had his feet planted on the ground as he swayed, taking every fierce blow without flinching, smiling through bloodied teeth, daring Tarak on, goad
ing him into hurting him, over and over. Jael didn’t understand. Why was he doing it? Why didn’t he fight back? She could see how to beat Tarak. She could help Eadmund, show him how to escape alive. But she didn’t move, she didn’t speak.

  Jael looked to her right. Eirik and Thorgils were watching on, and Eydis, Morac, Evaine; all the people she knew on Oss. And not one of them moved; their faces remained blank, watching Tarak destroy this man they all professed to care about. No one moved. Why? Why wouldn’t anyone help him? She turned back to Eadmund. He was going to die soon; Jael was certain of it. As the fight carried on, Tarak’s smile grew wider, his confidence surging, his pleasure in his opponent’s humiliation, palpable.

  Jael turned back to the crowd, demanding someone do something, calling out now, but no one heard her. Then she saw Edela, and her breathing stilled. Edela didn’t look like the rest of them, all dressed in pale colours, as they were. She was wearing her familiar dark-red cloak, her face tight with tension as she hurried towards her granddaughter.

  ‘Jael!’

  ‘Grandmother!’ Jael called. ‘You must do something! You must stop the fight before he is killed!’

  Edela looked around, puzzled. ‘What fight?’

  Jael turned to show her, but it had all gone. They were nowhere now, and she felt confused. What had happened to Eadmund? Had he survived?

  ‘Jael, I must speak with you urgently,’ Edela breathed thickly. ‘There is a dark threat that I have seen, here on Oss. Come and sit, there is much I have to tell you, and I’m not sure how long I will be able to hold on.’

  Edela motioned Jael over to a wide, wooden bench that she hadn’t noticed before. The ground was covered in snow, but Jael didn’t feel cold. She didn’t even have a cloak on. In fact, as she looked down, she noticed that she was wearing her wedding dress. She reached out a hand and saw her ring, too big for her finger, its small twists of gold, glinting under the harsh sun. Everything was white and bright, Jael noticed as she looked around. They were all alone; there was nothing here to see, as far as her eye wandered, nothing but this wooden bench, sitting amongst the snow.

  ‘Are you dead?’ Jael wondered, suddenly concerned. ‘Did you die on the way back to Andala?’

  Edela didn’t have time for much of an explanation. ‘No, I am safe at home with Aleksander. He is with me, helping me. I have travelled into your dreams to warn you.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘A girl with a white cloak and a scorched face.’

  ‘A scorched face?’ Jael stared at Edela, puzzled. ‘There is a girl with a white cloak that I know of, but a scorched face? I don’t understand.’

  ‘She was down on the shore when we left, standing not far behind you and Eadmund. She was young, I thought, perhaps a bit older than Amma. She smiled at me so knowingly, and when I blinked and tried to clear my vision, I saw her face as a scorched mask of darkness. A warning. And I wanted to run back to you then, to tell you, but they pulled me onto the ship, and there was nothing I could do.’

  Jael looked troubled. ‘You don’t think it was just a vision? A waking sort of dream?’

  ‘I cannot tell you what it was,’ Edela sighed, shaking her head. ‘But I do know that you’re in danger. The smile on her face, that was a threat, I know that for certain. It was as though she had you now, that you were trapped here.’

  ‘Do you think this is part of your dream about the Darkness?’

  ‘Yes, it must be,’ Edela said with almost certainty. ‘There was menace in her eyes. Her intentions were evil, I know it.’

  ‘What should I do? Jael wondered. ‘Keep watching her? Kill her?’

  Edela shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what you can do about her, not yet, but no, you can’t kill her without reason. You can keep yourself protected and safe from the threat she poses, though.’

  ‘Well, I have my sword, but I don’t imagine that’s what you’re referring to.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I want you to have these Tuuran symbols tattooed on you.’ She turned her palms over to reveal two small, grey stones, painted with dark-red symbols. ‘Find someone on Oss to tattoo these onto your arms. One on the left, one on the right.’

  Jael took the stones from Edela; they felt hot in her hands.

  ‘Here,’ Edela instructed, reaching up to touch the tops of Jael’s arms, just below her shoulders. ‘Make sure they are done up here. In woad. There will be a ritual needed with the ink, Tuuran words must be spoken. Talk to Eydis, ask her advice. Hopefully, she will know how to ensure the ink is given the blessing of protection. I’m sure she will help.’

  Jael’s head was overflowing with things to remember, but more urgently, with the desire to know what had happened to Eadmund. Had Tarak killed him? Was he dead?

  ‘Jael!’ Edela hissed urgently, sensing her granddaughter’s daze. ‘Do you understand? You must remember these symbols. I’m not sure what that girl is, what evil she might possess. I will dream more, find any information I can, but you must keep yourself safe from her. We cannot reach you until spring, and I do not think I will have the strength to walk your dreams again.’

  ‘I will, I promise,’ Jael insisted, placing the stones onto the bench and reaching out for Edela’s hands. ‘Stay for awhile, Grandmother. Don’t go. Please. Tell me about Aleksander.’

  ‘Jael...’ Edela looked pained. ‘He... he is well. He will be fine, but it will take some time. I must go. I can’t stay. Be safe. Please be safe. And talk to Eydis. About the tattoos. Ask her to help you. Perhaps she might know of something like this. She is wiser and more powerful than she realises.’

  Jael could feel Edela’s bony hands slipping from her grasp. ‘Don’t go yet. Please, Grandmother. Don’t leave...’

  But it was too late. Jael watched as Edela’s red cloak slipped away into the whiteness, and soon she was holding nothing but air.

  Edela’s eyes shot open. Her head jerked forward onto her chest. She started gagging. Aleksander jumped up to grab her before she tipped into the fire.

  Her face was ghostlike, covered in a pale sheen of sweat, her breathing laboured. Aleksander helped her crumpled body onto the bed and hurried to open the door, ushering in a burst of fresh air. Inhaling quickly and deeply, he felt his head start to clear. Taking a piece of kindling, he lit a lamp beside Edela’s bed and came to kneel at her side. ‘Edela?’

  ‘Water,’ she croaked, her voice as imperceptible as dust. ‘Water. Please.’

  Aleksander rushed to the kitchen and brought back a full cup of water. He helped her sit up, but she was so weak that she had to lean against him as she drank it down steadily.

  ‘More. Please.’ Her voice was coming back now.

  Pouring her another cup, Aleksander bit down on all the questions that were fighting to escape his mouth. He was desperate to know whether she had made contact with Jael, but Edela looked ready for sleep.

  ‘Yes, I did speak with her,’ she smiled weakly. ‘I did. I did.’ And relieved, she let her head drop back onto her pillow.

  The room was suddenly cold, and Aleksander covered Edela up with furs, before going to shut the door. He could still taste the residue from the smoke on his tongue, but the night air had cleared most of it out of the cottage, and his head felt almost back to normal. He came to sit on Edela’s bed, smoothing her hair out of her closed eyes. She was breathing comfortably now but didn’t stir. He sat next to her, silently, hoping she was going to be alright.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded quietly, her eyes still closed. ‘Please stay.’

  He was surprised by that, but of course, he thought, she shouldn’t be alone. ‘I will,’ he promised, but she was already asleep, her jaw slack, her breathing hoarse and slow.

  Aleksander looked around the cottage. There was a chair, a few pillows, and a spare blanket that he could use. Carefully stacking a large log onto the dying flames, he blew out the lamp and settled into the thick fur of the chair. There was no sleep in him, though, just an urgent impatience to find out what had happened.
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  16

  Jael woke up from her dream, shaking, her whole body vibrating like an anvil being hammered. She couldn’t catch her breath; her heart was racing. It was a feeling she remembered so clearly. Two years ago she’d woken from a dream in which she’d seen her father about to die. It had felt so intense and vivid that she hadn’t hesitated to act. She’d raced to mount Tig, dragging Aleksander and Ren along. They’d ridden to find Ranuf in Iskavall, the kingdom on Brekka’s left shoulder. It had taken three days, and although Jael had hoped they would make it in time, they were too late; Ranuf was already sick and dying when they arrived, exactly as she had dreamed. He died the very next day, and there was nothing she could do.

  There was Tuuran in her, of course, but she had never acknowledged the possibility that she shared any of Edela’s gifts, no matter how much her grandmother insisted she did.

  It was still dark in the bedchamber, but the puppies were awake now, alert to Jael’s distress. Vella left her spot on the corner of the bed to come and nuzzle her cheek and Ido wrapped himself into a ball on the pillow, right next to her ear. Their presence distracted Jael from the panic rising in her chest, and her breathing gradually slowed.

  She lifted one hand out of the thick mound of furs and realised it was clasped tightly as if holding something. Jael opened her fingers, but there was nothing there, nothing at all. Sighing in frustration, she closed her eyes, desperately searching back into the dream, trying to remember the symbols on the stones; the symbols that Edela had insisted were so vital to her safety. She could almost see them, but they were quite different from each other, and she couldn’t remember exactly how either one looked. She checked her other hand; nothing there either.