by A. E. Rayne
Jael laughed. ‘No, not the worst. And there’s always Axl, too.’
‘I will keep Axl close if I can.’
‘Good,’ she said quickly. ‘He will need you. Remember our first battle? The sound and the smell and the horror of it all?’ Jael shook her head, the memories surging back. ‘It was a shock, no matter what had come before, no matter how hard we had trained. It was so fast and loud and terrifying.’
Aleksander was there, with her, back then, nearly 10 years ago. ‘But we were together. With Ranuf. And Gant.’
‘And Rexon,’ she said nostalgically. ‘Back then.’
Aleksander shrugged. ‘We have done well to have survived this long, wouldn’t you say? All of us.’
‘I would say so. But I would like to survive a bit longer, I think,’ Jael mused. ‘I have a prophecy to fulfil.’
‘Apparently.’
They laughed.
‘If anything happens to me...’ Aleksander’s voice drifted away.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I want to say some things.’
‘Why? You don’t need to,’ Jael insisted awkwardly, looking away.
Aleksander reached for her hand, his eyes on Eadmund in the distance. ‘I’m not mad at you,’ he said quietly. ‘In case you think that. I’m not.’
Jael’s shoulders heaved. ‘But...’
‘No, Jael,’ Aleksander insisted, ‘I’m not. I wish it were different, of course, but I don’t blame you for anything. I know you would never try to hurt me.’
Jael couldn’t meet his eyes. It was all a mess. She didn’t even want to begin to make sense of it. She changed the subject. ‘There is no glory in dying for Lothar, you know.’
‘You think I would throw myself in front of that piece of shit?’ Aleksander laughed, shaking his head. ‘Take an arrow for him? No, I promise you this... if Lothar is determined to kill himself, he can take his wet-handshake of a son with him. I’ll grab Axl and retreat.’
Jael grinned. ‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I think Gisila would thank me!’
‘I agree. She looks terrible.’
‘Well, not everyone falls in love with the husband they’re forced to marry.’
Jael rolled her eyes, but it was hard to keep the sadness out of them.
‘You can talk to me if you like,’ Aleksander suggested, nodding towards Eadmund. ‘About what’s happened.’
‘No.’ Jael shook her head. ‘Never.’ She took a deep breath and turned away from the beach. Eadmund had left the ship and was making his way towards them. ‘We should go. There’s a lot to do. I need to meet with the lords again. I have to get through to them somehow. They are a such a difficult bunch of bastards.’ She hurried off without looking back.
Aleksander watched her go, then sighed and trudged after her.
‘This was certainly a good idea, don’t you think?’ Lothar panted as he rolled off Gisila, sweaty and happily undone.
Gisila grimaced as she eased over to her side of the bed, gasping for air. His great, lumping body was getting bigger by the day, just as hers was shrinking. Soon, she was certain, he would snap her bones. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said mutely, pulling the furs up to her chin, desperate for some warmth. Saala was a milder place, but as soon as the clouds covered the sun, it was like being back in Andala.
‘Just what I need to set me right again,’ he sighed as he stretched out sleepily, rolling to one side.
‘Do you not need to go back to the hall though, my love?’ Gisila asked gently. ‘Is there not a ritual tonight?’
‘No, no, that’s tomorrow’ he yawned. ‘It appears that Rexon’s people are as superstitious as Ranuf was. He wants to sacrifice something in the hope that it will bring us luck.’
‘But that cannot be a bad thing, can it?’ Gisila murmured, thinking of her family. ‘Whether you believe in it or not, having the gods on our side was always helpful to Ranuf.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Lothar said quietly, his eyes heavy. He had eaten two full meals, and his recent effort with Gisila had taken him over the edge. ‘But enough talk, for now, my sweet. I shall just close my eyes for a moment.’
He was snoring within seconds, much to Gisila’s relief. She lay there, next to her husband, desperate to be anywhere else, praying to Furia to kill him in the battle.
She had no wish for him to return.
Rexon reached up to kiss his wife goodbye, his hands on either side of her soft, rounded face. Demaeya Boas was pregnant; heavily so. He had thought to keep her with him as they had lost their first child, but now, with the sickness, Rexon knew that he had to get her out of Saala fast.
‘Have your aunt send word,’ he insisted, his breath warm on her cheek. ‘As soon as the child is born.’
‘Child?’ Demaeya laughed, wrinkling her freckled nose. ‘The size I am, I’m certain there is more than one in there!’
Rexon did not think that sounded such a bad idea.
Demaeya frowned. ‘Please, whatever you do,’ she whispered, glancing around from her position high atop the wagon. ‘Please don’t let that man destroy you or our people. Or our home. Not again. Please.’
‘I promise,’ Rexon smiled with as much certainty as he could imagine when thinking of Lothar. ‘You will return and not even notice that we have been in a battle.’
His wife did not look convinced. ‘I hope that is so.’
‘And you will return with our new children!’ he laughed. ‘All three of them boys!’
Demaeya smiled as the driver impatiently clicked the reins. ‘Be safe, my love.’
‘And you.’ Rexon held up his hand and watched as the small wagon wobbled away, his eyes never leaving her face as she disappeared slowly into the dusk-covered distance. He felt an unsettling emptiness, suddenly deprived of what he loved and valued most in the world. He could not allow Lothar to endanger that; to destroy his future and the future of his people with his reckless ambition.
‘There is news,’ Gant announced as he wandered into the stables. ‘About the sickness.’
Rexon’s eyes were still on the wagon. ‘And?’
‘A man has died. Two more about to follow. Seven more gripping their bellies.’
Rexon ran a hand over his lips, remembering the sweet taste of Demaeya’s cheek. ‘I will have my men build the pyres.’
‘It is a bad sign.’
‘It is, my friend.’
‘No good will come from Lothar’s push into Hest,’ Gant murmured, his eyes everywhere. ‘That is what Edela warned.’
‘Did she?’ Rexon was surprised, then troubled. ‘Lothar failed to mention that part.’
Gant said nothing, conscious of their very public location.
‘It is time Brekka had a new king,’ Rexon whispered, narrowing his eyes as he turned to his friend. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
Gant’s entire body stilled. He stared at Rexon, his wary eyes communicating as much as he dared.
17
Jael felt sick to her stomach as she watched Eadmund.
His eyes never drifted towards her; they had not drifted towards her once since their arrival in Saala. He had not spoken to her and had quickly disappeared whenever she approached him.
‘It must be Evaine,’ Thorgils murmured as he came up behind her. ‘She’s done something to him, wouldn’t you say? Her or Morana?’
Jael swallowed. ‘Yes, I think so.’ She shook her head. ‘But we have no time to find a solution now, do we?’
Thorgils frowned, his eyes boring into Eadmund as he sat drinking with Torstan and Torborn. ‘No, no time at all, for Haaron’s ships will be in the water soon, and you, my friend, have many problems.’
It was Jael’s turn to frown. ‘What do you mean?’ she wondered, sipping slowly on a cup of Rexon’s very good wine.
Thorgils inclined his head towards the doors. ‘Let’s go for a walk, and I will tell you about my day.’
Jael put her cup down on the nearest table, and with one last, worried look at Eadmund
, followed Thorgils outside.
Ayla had felt lighter since Ivaar’s departure. Freer. She could wander wherever she chose, sleep fully clothed, in peace, undisturbed. As deeply unhappy as she was in her heart, the absence of Ivaar had brought a welcome sense of relief. And she was determined to make the most of it before his return.
He would return. She had seen it.
Every night she went to bed with a collection of things now. She had one of Ivaar’s arm rings that he had left behind to help her dream for him. There was Thorgils’ hair from Isaura, and Eydis’ brooch, which she had taken before she left Oss, determined to keep one eye on her, to make sure she stayed safe. Ayla smiled sadly to herself. It was a weight to carry, but also an opportunity to peer into the future; to find hope, even though she was certain that none truly existed.
Dusk was slowly turning to night as she made her way back to her cottage with a basket of food from the hall kitchen. She did not want to eat with anyone, despite Isaura’s kinder approach to her now. Ayla just wanted to be alone with her thoughts, her sadness, and her pain; free to grieve for all that she had lost; free to pray to the gods for all that she wished to reclaim. She had that in her basket too: herbs and plants, root mushrooms, stones, bones, even a jar of fresh blood. All the things she would need to reach out to Lydea, the Tuuran Goddess of Dreams.
She was desperate for some help.
Strict rules applied to what Ayla could do with her gifts, but her aunt had not believed that the temple was the only source of wisdom in Tuura. She had taught Ayla that her gifts as a dreamer could open doors that the elders kept locked; doors into dreams that weren’t even hers; doors to the gods, the Old Gods, the Tuuran Gods.
And Ayla needed their help.
They walked along the sand, which made a nice change from Oss’ slippery stones. The noise from the hall and the village followed them at first, but as they walked, they left more and more of it behind.
‘Ivaar is sowing seeds,’ Thorgils said quietly. It was dark now, thick clouds hiding the moon and stars, and there was little way of telling who was lurking around the ships they passed.
‘Of course he is,’ Jael murmured. ‘He would be foolish not to if it’s the crown he still wants.’
‘Which, of course, it is.’
‘But he needs support to win it back,’ Jael suggested with a frown. ‘So, how many of the lords are with him, then?’
Thorgils stopped and turned to her. ‘All of them.’
‘What?’ Jael was stunned. ‘All of them?’
‘Yes, I spoke to half the lords today,’ he said. ‘Eadmund talked to the others. Viktor and Ador both suggested that Ivaar had the support of all the islands.’
‘And they just said this to you? Not caring if you told Eirik or Eadmund? They don’t care if their king knows that they are not loyal to him? They would say that so openly?’ Jael shook her head.
‘It’s a bad sign,’ Thorgils agreed. ‘They could join together to defeat Eirik, or Eadmund, after Eirik’s death. I didn’t get the feeling that any of them had the stomach to remove their king now, though. They all owe him their positions.’
The wind was rising. It was cold in the darkness and Jael shivered. ‘And they feel no loyalty at all towards Eadmund? None of them?’
‘Well,’ Thorgils sighed. ‘They like Eadmund, sure, but in Ivaar they see the next Eirik. They don’t see that in Eadmund. Or perhaps they forgot who he was after all those years of him being a useless drunk. They look at Ivaar and see a ruthless and hungry man, just as Eirik was once, when he called himself Eirik the Bloody. And...’
‘And?’
‘They don’t like you. You’re a Brekkan. A Furyck. Their sworn enemy.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, you can imagine they don’t like that Eirik chose to make you their commander.’
Jael clenched her jaw. ‘For what we need to do, everyone must follow my orders. We cannot be a fleet in disarray. It would be catastrophic.’
‘Then we have some more talking to do, it seems, Eadmund and I.’ He grabbed his cloak, as it flapped away from him, pulling it around his giant frame. ‘We have one more day to turn it around.’
‘Well, if anyone can sweet talk a bunch of grizzled old men into following me, you can, I’m sure,’ Jael grinned, trying to cheer them both up; ignoring the loud voice clanging in her ears that told her he was wasting his breath.
‘You needn’t worry about your brother, Eydis,’ Eirik whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. ‘Ivaar will not get near Oss, I promise. I will not let it happen. Jael and Eadmund will not let it happen.’
But Eydis’ frown did not relax. The heady din of Rexon’s hall was overpowering her senses, drowning her in confusion.
‘You have made a friend, I hear,’ Eirik said, trying to make her smile with a new subject that didn’t involve her eldest brother. ‘Jael’s cousin?’
‘Amma,’ Eydis nodded. ‘Yes, she is nice.’
‘You will have company, then, when we leave?’
‘And Gisila,’ Eydis mumbled. ‘She will look after me, too.’
‘I’m glad,’ Eirik said, distracted, watching Otto and Morac with their heads together; two old problems he needed to attend to, amongst so many others. He sighed, his eyes drifting towards Eadmund, who was laughing with Torstan. More problems than he could keep track of. But at least Eydis was in good hands. ‘I have to go and speak to some of my men,’ Eirik murmured. ‘I shall take you to Amma. She is yawning, like you, so perhaps you will both need your beds before long?’
Eydis wanted to protest. She was not a child, she wanted to insist, but another yawn crept out of her mouth, and she realised that her father was right.
Eirik led her towards Amma, past Eadmund, who nodded briefly at him over the top of Torstan’s head, a cup in his hand. Eirik frowned, not wanting to give thought to the very real possibility that everything was about to fall to pieces.
Eadmund ignored his father’s disapproving frown and laughed, slapping Torstan on the back as they stood, whispering to each other by the fire. ‘Ha! But what if Gunter finds out?’
Torstan squirmed. ‘And why would he find out?’ he wondered quietly, glancing around. ‘She would never say a word.’
‘You did tell Thorgils, though,’ Eadmund reminded him as he emptied another cup.
‘He promised not to say anything,’ Torstan mumbled, suddenly anxious.
‘Well, here’s hoping that Thorgils doesn’t get too many ales in him tonight,’ Eadmund smiled. ‘Because you and Gunter will be sharing a ship soon and there’d be nothing to stop him tipping you into the Adrano. In the midst of battle, no one would notice a thing!’
The look on Torstan’s face had Eadmund laughing again.
‘You are enjoying yourself tonight, Brother,’ Ivaar murmured as he and two of the lords joined their conversation.
Eadmund nodded at them, ignoring Ivaar. ‘Hassi, Viktor.’
Both men returned tight smiles. They were similar in age: Eirik’s age. Loose-skinned, leathery sailors of long ago. Hard men, who had never lost the look of hunger and starvation they had endured as children on Oss. Eirik had freed them, as he had all of his people, and they had been loyal to him. He had made them lords. And they owed him a great debt. But they also owed their people a future that would last long after the death of Eirik Skalleson.
‘Hassi and Viktor were talking about how well you looked,’ Ivaar smirked. ‘So different than when they last saw you. There’s so much less of you to see now.’
Torstan blinked rapidly, desperate to leave and have a word with Thorgils, but the look on Ivaar’s face made him keep his boots where they were: right next to Eadmund’s.
Eadmund had no interest in games. There would be time for him to speak to Ivaar, he knew, and he would prefer to do it with a sword in his hand, rather than an empty cup of ale. ‘Indeed.’ His lips were tight. ‘I am myself again.’
‘It is good to see, Eadmund,’ Viktor of Mor said gruffly. ‘Oss will nee
d a strong leader when Vidar comes for your father.’
Eadmund didn’t like the smile on Ivaar’s face, nor the doubts in the old lords’ bloodshot eyes. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know that there will be two, for Eirik has named Jael as his heir as well, to ensure the strength of Oss.’ He frowned; it felt odd to say her name.
Hassi of Rikka snorted.
Eadmund glared at him. ‘You disapprove of his decision?’
Hassi pulled on his long white moustache which reached down to his chest. ‘You think we Islanders should be happy to have a Brekkan lead us?’ He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘That we should embrace such a decision? And not just any Brekkan, but one who killed many of our men alongside her father. One who was not worthy of the Brekkan throne, but somehow is good enough for Oss?’
Torstan swallowed and turned to Eadmund, who didn’t even blink at the insult. ‘It’s a good thing that my father cannot hear you, Hassi,’ he scowled, lowering his voice. ‘Because, just as enemies can become friends and family, family and friends can quickly become enemies, isn’t that right, Ivaar?’ He smiled evenly at his brother. ‘Especially ones who stir up trouble on the eve of the biggest battle we have ever faced.’
Hassi blanched, looking to Viktor.
‘One led by your wife,’ Viktor grumbled, his red face glowing hotly in the flames of the fire they stood around. ‘How are we to have confidence in her as our leader, when, as Hassi says, her own father did not?’
‘You can choose not to have confidence in Jael,’ Eadmund said firmly. ‘That is your right. But your confidence in my father’s decision to decide the commander of our fleet should not waver. Eirik is not a man who is easily fooled. Nor is he a man prepared to put up with failure. And Otto was a failure.’ He looked over to see his father approaching their small group. ‘But here he comes, so why not ask him yourself?’
Hassi and Viktor glanced urgently at each other, then scurried away, disappearing into the crowd; neither one prepared to face their king with the truth of their feelings. Not without a few more cups of ale in them.
