by A. E. Rayne
Axl’s eyes darted about. They were standing far back from the main street, just before the entrance to the piers and he could see Lothar and Osbert deep in conversation with two of Andala’s helmsmen as they inspected the ships. ‘If I die in this battle, what will become of Brekka? With Jael on Oss, and me gone, what hope would there be with Lothar and Osbert here?’
‘You sound as pessimistic as your mother!’ Gant laughed as he followed Axl’s gaze. ‘Yours will be a prized death to seek, there is no doubt of that. You are Ranuf’s son, and Haaron hated Ranuf. But if you keep your head and don’t go looking for glory, then you’ll live to fight again.’ He stared at the boy, who was finally starting to turn into a man, although there still wasn’t much fluff on his face. Gisila was right; he was not ready. Not as ready as Gant would have liked him to be, but there was no more he could do for Axl, not now. Except to try and get him thinking about the right goal. He lowered his voice. ‘If you truly want to steal that crown back from Lothar’s head, you will need to keep your wits about you and return from this battle in one piece. Imagine what would happen to your mother, or Amma, if you don’t.’
Axl swallowed hard and looked away, catching Amma’s eye as she hurried towards the hall. He could still taste the sweet scent of her skin. His feelings for her had surprised him, but in a short amount of time, they had become inseparable. He would do anything he could to keep her from becoming another pawn in Lothar’s reckless quest for power.
‘Oh, Edela. Dear, old Edela. You thought you were going to save Jael, didn’t you? But who is going to save you? You seem to be in a very bad way. Drifting away... how very sad.’
The voice was cold, hard, menacing. Like the glint of a blade held near a flame, it sparked in the darkness, and Edela felt her heart race, thundering like a galloping horse. It was that voice. The one who came to torment her dreams, to toy with her, to tease and play, to roll back the corners of the shadows just enough, before letting the curtain fall again.
What did it want? What did she want? Whoever she was...
‘It’s your own fault, of course, Edela... so quick to trust the word of a Tuuran, weren’t you? And yet, what truth do those secret keepers ever tell? Really? What do they ever care about but themselves and the sanctity of their precious temple?’
Laughter echoed around the cavernous hollow of the void. ‘And if you die, Edela, what will happen to your beloved Jael? If you’re the only one who can save her, then surely she will die. Just as you will die. And soon.’
Edela tried to swallow. Her throat was so dry, so thick that she could barely breathe. She was trapped, unable to move. Her chest felt tight, constricted, as though there was a heavy weight pressing down upon her. She panicked, desperate to move. She had to move. She had to escape.
She had to save Jael.
3
Jael had quickly bitten her fingernails down to nothing.
‘Here.’ Eadmund handed her a bowl of reheated stew.
She shook her head, her pale lips clamped tightly together. She was cold. Hungry. But she had no appetite for anything.
‘You should eat,’ Biddy scolded gently. ‘Edela doesn’t need you to starve for her.’
Jael blinked, readying an irritable retort but realised that she had no irritation in her at all, just fear for her grandmother, who was much the same as last night, if not worse. Edela had woken early and tried to speak but had been so weak that her eyelids had closed before she had formed any words. Jael sighed and reluctantly turned away from her. ‘Alright,’ she mumbled, taking the bowl.
Eadmund was surprised by that. He started filling another. ‘Would you like one?’ he asked Aleksander, who sat by Edela, looking just as anxious as Jael.
‘Well, I suppose I’d better not say no,’ Aleksander said, sharing a small smile with Biddy, who wrung out a wet cloth and placed it on Edela’s forehead.
‘No, you better had not,’ Biddy grumbled, heading back to the kitchen. ‘I don’t need to be looking after any more of you right now!’
Eadmund handed the bowl to Aleksander and made one for himself. He shooed away Ido whose wet, black nose was approaching, ready for his own breakfast, and walked over to the table. He had no appetite either but sat down and stuck his wooden spoon into the thick, lumpy, chicken stew. ‘Are you going riding this morning?’ he asked between mouthfuls.
Jael barely heard him. ‘What did you say?’
‘Riding? Tig?’
Jael shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ She glanced back towards Edela. ‘Besides, Aleksander’s going to show us his surprise this morning, aren’t you?’
Aleksander tried to smile as he tucked into the stew. ‘Edela’s surprise, you mean,’ he said sadly. ‘I think you’re going to like it.’
There was a knock at the door. Everyone turned towards it except Ido and Vella, who continued to stare intently at the trencher of scraps Biddy held in her hands.
Eadmund got up and opened the door. Eydis stood there, shaking the rain out of her raven-like hair, Entorp hunched over awkwardly beside her. ‘Eydis! Come in. Entorp, you too.’ Eadmund ushered them inside and the large house felt suddenly full.
Jael frowned, surprised by the visitors, especially Entorp, who did not often venture far from his little house. ‘Are you alright, Eydis?’
‘Yes,’ Eydis said quietly as Eadmund removed her wet cloak. ‘We came to try and help Edela. I told Entorp about her illness, and he made a special salve for her. He said that it will cure her.’
Entorp looked as wildly unkempt as ever, his short orange hair standing on end as he shuffled about next to Biddy, who appeared unconvinced by that notion. ‘Has he now?’ she muttered, placing the trencher on the floor for the puppies. They attacked it madly, scattering scraps everywhere. ‘Well, come on then, let me see it.’
Entorp pulled a small jar from beneath his cloak and handed it to Biddy. She uncorked it, and an overwhelmingly vile stink flooded the room.
Jael grimaced. ‘That smells almost as bad as the paste you made for my tattoos!’ she cringed.
Entorp smiled shyly. ‘True, but it healed them quickly, didn’t it?’
‘And you think this can help Edela?’ Jael asked anxiously.
‘Oh yes, it can. It will,’ he insisted. ‘I’m certain of it.’
Aleksander raised an eyebrow at this strange old man with bright orange hair, who muttered as he spoke and looked as though he lived in a forest, with only trees and fairies for company. He hoped he knew what he was doing.
Jael saw the doubt flicker across Aleksander’s face. ‘Entorp is from Tuura,’ she said as a way to give him confidence, but it only made Aleksander scowl.
Entorp dropped his eyes. ‘A long time ago now,’ he almost whispered.
Biddy sniffed the jar. ‘Yarrow, peppermint... ginger...’ She sniffed again. ‘Something else...’
Entorp nodded. ‘A few other things, yes. It’s an old recipe, handed down from my great-grandmother.’
Biddy pursed her lips, realising that he wasn’t about to reveal any more. ‘Well, show me where I should apply it then, and let’s see if it will work.’
Aleksander and Jael moved away to give Entorp and Biddy access to Edela.
‘It will work, Jael,’ Eydis insisted. ‘I dreamed about it. Entorp will save her!’
‘Well, here’s hoping your sister is right,’ Eirik said as he walked along the foreshore with Eadmund, his boots half submerged in the sucking, wet sand. The beach was crowded now with his entire fleet. All 12 ships were propped up on wooden frames as the shipbuilders, and their helpers clambered over deck and under hull, preparing them for battle. ‘I can’t have Lothar thinking that everyone he sends here ends up dead!’
Eadmund smiled. Despite the cold, misty drizzle, it felt good to escape the house for a while. Although, he was finding it hard to stop thinking about what might be happening there without him. ‘Well, if he sends any more pieces of shit over like that Tiras, I’d be happy for them to end up dead. But Ed
ela?’ He shook his head. ‘No, that would be a bad thing. Jael is very close to her. She would be devastated.’
‘Mmmm, true,’ Eirik murmured, watching a flock of seabirds rise up from the black stones that lay before them, circling off into the distance in an angry cacophony. ‘We don’t need Jael in a bad way before we leave for Saala, do we?’
‘Really? That’s all you’re thinking about? Conquering Hest?’ Eadmund frowned. ‘You’re getting as obsessed as Lothar Furyck!’
Eirik laughed, shaking his head. ‘No, but I’ve had a bad feeling about this attack for a while now. And if a dreamer sees that we will fail, what hope do we have? Although, you wouldn’t think that by Lothar’s note. He’s already planning the victory feast!’
Eadmund was thoughtful as he watched the shipbuilders at work, directing the men who were caulking the hulls, ensuring they were watertight. ‘Well, only everyone’s better instincts, and the word of an old dreamer stand between Hest and Lothar. Who’s to say he’s not right?’
‘Ahhh, well, perhaps there’s some hope?’ Eirik smiled wryly. ‘But the Hestians are so good. On land. On sea. They’re like an army of monsters. Unbeatable.’
‘But you thought you could beat them once. You made the alliance with Lothar, agreeing to attack them with him. You must have thought it possible?’
‘It was the only way he’d agree to a marriage between you and Jael,’ Eirik said, stopping to look up at his son’s troubled face. He could see cheekbones now, and only one chin. The past few months had finally seen the return of the Eadmund he remembered; something he’d never thought possible. Because of Jael. But now he had to keep his end of the bargain and attack Hest with Lothar; doom many of his men to their deaths, perhaps even Eadmund and Jael too.
Eadmund smiled sadly as he thought of Jael, forced to come here when being a wife was the last thing she ever wanted. But she’d been happy, hadn’t she, here with him?
‘You’re very quiet today,’ Eirik noted, inhaling the brisk morning air, tasting the remnants of the recent rain on his tongue. ‘Worried about Jael’s visitor, perhaps?’
Eadmund blinked and shook his head dismissively. ‘No, no, just thinking about the battle. It’s an odd thing to go to war with your wife.’
Eirik laughed and slapped his son on the back. ‘True! Especially when she’s going to be in charge of you.’
Eadmund’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean, in charge?’
‘She didn’t tell you?’ Eirik looked surprised as a smile played around his lips. ‘I finally removed Otto and put Jael in command. She will be leading our attack,’ he announced happily. ‘I look forward to seeing Lothar’s face when he finds that out!’
Eadmund scratched at his damp, scrawny beard. He didn’t doubt that Jael was the right person for the job, but why hadn’t she told him?
‘Jael has more experience fighting Haaron and his sons than any of us,’ Eirik insisted, seeing the disturbed look on Eadmund’s face. ‘Besides, you haven’t sniffed a battle in years, Otto is entirely useless, and I’m too old to do much better. She was the best choice.’
Eadmund frowned, glancing back up to the fort. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he murmured distractedly. ‘I only hope this surprise that Lothar sent you is going to make her job a lot easier.’
‘Grrr!’ Jaeger yelled as he slammed the door behind his brother. ‘Skorro? He’s sending us to Skorro?’ He shook his head and stormed over to the table, filling up his large goblet with wine. ‘Skorro?’
Berard blinked. Jaeger in this sort of mood was impossible to placate. It was better to let him cool down on his own. He glanced at the door.
Jaeger spun around and eyed his older brother, who hunched even lower than normal, uncomfortable under his intense scowl. ‘And he’s going to sit in the Tower? Watching us?’
‘You can’t blame him,’ Berard tried, his practical head out-thinking his cautious tongue. ‘He wants us to prove ourselves. On our own.’
‘Why?’ Jaeger spat. ‘Why, when he knows that Haegen is his heir? Why worry about the rest of us? What does he care?’ He drained his goblet and quickly filled it again, careless as wine slopped over its silver rim.
Berard looked apprehensive. ‘Well, something could happen to Haegen. He needs to know who else he can rely upon. Karsten is... impulsive.’
‘So, why isn’t Father sending him to Skorro?’ Jaeger grumbled and slumped down into his fur-covered chair, his eyes darting about in a frenzy. ‘Why send us?’
‘Well,’ Berard said carefully as he perched on a stool. ‘For all that you think Skorro will be a nothing sort of battle, things can happen, can’t they? Go wrong? Their ships will likely outnumber ours this time. We have to send half our forces to defend the pass.’
‘Ha!’ Jaeger sneered. ‘Have you not heard Varna’s dream? She says that we will crush them. That it will be another comfortable victory for us against Lothar.’
Berard was a small man compared to his three large brothers, and Jaeger, especially, towered over him. But he was wiry, often clever, and for all his nerves and discomfort at being a member of such an aggressive brotherhood, he could hold his own in many a fight. He leaned towards the table, his voice calm and quiet. ‘I have heard her say that about the Brekkans who will come through the pass. But what has she said about Skorro and the battle of ships? Nothing. So, no, Brother,’ he said, shaking his light-brown curls, ‘I don’t believe that it will be an easy victory for us. Skorro, in fact, might be the best way for you to test yourself in front of Father.’
Jaeger glanced up, his eyes losing their fire for a moment. He was no longer seeking his father’s approval or affection – that time was lost in the past – but the idea that their victory could overshadow Haegen and Karsten’s set him to thinking. He poured Berard a goblet of wine, pushing it towards his brother. ‘Perhaps,’ he considered with a crooked smile. ‘It would be no bad thing to send Eirik Skalleson’s ships to the bottom of the Adrano for Ran and her sea monsters to pick over. Father would be pleased. For a day at least.’ Jaeger’s mouth quickly lost any hint of a smile, and he scowled again as his eyes caught sight of the book poking out from under a cloth. He sighed. ‘But we are going to need more than one battle victory to change our situation. There must be a way to understand that book. We cannot hope to hold any power in this land until we do.’
Berard’s eyes widened as Jaeger removed the cloth and opened the book, a musty odour lifting from its crackling vellum pages as he turned them. ‘Well, we could try Varna?’ he suggested carefully.
‘Varna’s almost dead!’ Jaeger scoffed. ‘She can barely see, except in her sleep, and even then, who knows how accurate her dreams are these days.’
‘But she is high up in The Following,’ Berard whispered, suddenly conscious of the sound of his voice as it echoed around the quiet chamber. ‘She must know someone who can read it, even if she can’t?’
‘She might, but at what cost?’ Jaeger wondered. ‘She will turn it over to them or keep it for herself.’
‘And if she sees everything, then why hasn’t she seen that you have the book? Why hasn’t she told Father?’
Jaeger leaned forward and grabbed his goblet, his eyes suddenly sparking with hope. He took a long drink, then stared at Berard. ‘No, Brother, Varna Gallas will not give us the help we need. But her granddaughter might...’
‘That’s it?’ Thorgils looked less than impressed as he picked up a medium-sized ceramic jar with a solid wooden lid. It might not have been large, but it was heavy. ‘We’re going to throw jars at them?’ He shook his head. ‘Not quite what I had in mind.’
Jael rolled her eyes as she shivered next to him. ‘Why don’t you stop talking for once and let Aleksander show us how it’s supposed to work!’
Aleksander had come down to the beach with Jael, Thorgils, Fyn, and Torstan, followed by an eager crowd of Osslanders. Rumours had spread around the fort like smoke about what the vast hoard of mysterious jars sitting in the two Brekkan ships was goin
g to be used for.
Otto grumbled next to Jael, still simmering with discontent over his demotion. ‘Yes, well I can’t see what use they’re going to be. We might make a few holes in their ships, but they’ll still be afloat by the time we’re all dead from the arrows they will shower over us from the Tower.’
Aleksander smiled at the grumbling old man. He was looking forward to this.
Jael eyed the catapult that Eirik had ordered wheeled down for Aleksander. What was his plan?
‘You expect us to mount a catapult on each ship?’ Eirik wondered as Aleksander picked up a jar and placed it into the spoon-shaped arm. ‘So we can throw jars at them?’
‘Small ones, yes,’ Aleksander said distractedly, looking around for Jael, who was holding his bow and arrow. ‘You won’t need them on every ship, but you will need them on four or five at least. They won’t take long to construct at that size.’
The look on Otto’s face told everyone just what he thought of that happening in time.
Aleksander nocked an arrow into his bow and walked over to one of the fires the shipbuilders kept burning while they worked on the beach. He’d wrapped a knot of pitch-soaked cloth around the arrowhead, and he dipped it into the flames, watching as it caught alight.
Thorgils’ eyes widened as Aleksander strode back to the catapult.
There was little wind, and the flame stayed strong as he nodded to Thorgils. ‘Release the tension when you’re ready.’
With Thorgils’ help, Aleksander had positioned the catapult near the edge of the shore, nestled deeply into the dense black stones, facing the cliffs on the other side of the harbour. At the foot of those cliffs were flat steps of rock and Aleksander was hoping that the catapult’s range was as accurate as Thorgils had suggested.
Thorgils released the rope and hopped away as the arm snapped through the air with a whistle, firing the jar across the mist-touched water, smashing it to pieces on the edge of the rocky shelf. Its viscous, black liquid contents slid across the rocks, into the watery abyss.
