by A. E. Rayne
Hest’s monstrous castle, built out of the stones it sat nestled amongst, shimmered in the morning sun. The vast cobblestoned square that joined the castle steps to Haaron’s six long piers was empty, apart from a handful of armed guards, who shuffled around yawning, waiting to be relieved from their night shift.
Varna hurried Meena across the square, ignoring the guards, who dared not make eye contact with her. She shooed away a few chickens who were pecking around hopefully between the stones, in no mood to be delayed.
Meena carried a spade underneath her worn, grey cloak, which made walking difficult. Not that her grandmother noticed, gripping her hand tightly and almost dragging her along in her desperation to get onto the path that led away from the square, before the kingdom came to life.
They could have gone through the castle, winding their way around the maze of corridors, down into the kitchen and scullery, and through a side door, but that would have aroused far more attention than simply slipping straight through the front gates. And Varna was in no mood to run into Bayla Dragos again. Though, she supposed, Bayla was hardly likely to have dragged her ageing bones out of bed this early in the day.
Varna frowned suddenly and came to a halt. They were on the path now, heading past the large sheds where Haaron stored his ships. Varna turned her head back towards the piers as Meena stared at her in confusion.
Someone was coming.
‘Grandmother?’ Meena whispered anxiously, wanting to rip her hand out of Varna’s, desperate to tap her head with it. ‘What is it?’
But Varna didn’t reply as she watched the figure approach, hooded, just as she was. She sighed as the figure shuffled urgently towards them.
Meena squinted, her heart thudding. ‘Who is it?’
Varna didn’t smile. ‘That, I believe, is your aunt.’
Eydis stood between Jael and Eadmund, shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes ached from near-constant crying, as did her head, which was confused and sleep deprived. She had slept, she knew, at times, but there had been pain, even in her dreams.
She had seen Ayla again.
It was not the same as before, though. She had watched Ayla and Isaura desperately trying to help Eirik. And she had seen her father, but that was not a dream, it was a nightmare, repeated over and over; watching as he died, whispering her name. She imagined how it must have been for him; the shock, so sudden, after all this time of waiting.
Eadmund tugged her gently forward. She had a doll in her hand, one that her father had carved for her when she was small, made with her own hair; black, just like her mother’s. And now she had lost them both. Sobs rose up into her chest as she approached the pyre. Eadmund lifted her up, and she leaned towards their father’s body, feeling around, tucking the doll into the side of his arm so that part of her would go with him, to keep him safe on his journey.
Eadmund placed her back on the sand, bending down to wipe away the tears that ran so freely down her young face. She reached up and did the same to him, then fell into his arms, desperate to escape the terror that was consuming her.
They were waiting, all of them, for Eadmund to say something, because he was their king now; because his father lay dead on the pyre. But Eadmund didn’t even know where to begin. He wanted to sit, alone, and sob until it felt real. That, or charge at his brother and rip his throat out with his bare hands. How did he have the nerve to just stand there, attempting to look as upset as the rest of them, when he was the one who had done this to their father?
Eadmund could feel himself shaking in fury, his ears ringing, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as Jael stepped up and stood beside him, holding his hand. She stared at him intently, and he sighed.
There was no time for anything other than this.
‘My father was a self-made king,’ Eadmund began, his voice weak at first, straining as he sought to raise it above the seabirds searching noisily for their breakfast. ‘And he often saw that as a black mark against his kingdom. Because he didn’t have a royal line going back centuries. Because his ancestors were slaves, not gods.’
Lothar tried hard not to nod in agreement with that point.
‘But what he did do was change the lives of all of us who would have been born and raised as slaves, prisoners of wealthy, cruel men. He made us free. He set us free, to live as we chose.’ Eadmund stumbled, his voice faltering. He looked to Jael, and she smiled encouragingly at him. ‘And you all chose to follow him. For over 40 years, you followed him as he built our kingdom up from nothing, kept us safe, made sure we thrived and survived every winter, through every sickness, and every loss. And before he died, he chose Jael and me to carry on after him, as his heirs.’ Eadmund frowned at the raised eyebrows and whispers that were exchanged between a few of the lords. ‘And I know there have been questions and doubts about that. About me, and who I let myself become, or my wife, who you don’t know well enough to respect as he did and I do. But I am your king now, and Jael is your queen. And we are here to lead you to victory over Haaron and his ships. We will take Skorro in the name of Eirik Skalleson and his islands. Our islands. This victory today, our victory will be for my father!’ Eadmund swallowed. He had said enough, and now he wanted it done before he changed his mind and simply threw himself onto his father’s body instead.
Most of the men and women gathered cheered in return.
‘Wait!’ Eydis cried as she stepped forward. ‘Wait! Please, Eadmund!’
‘Eydis?’ Jael frowned, reaching out to grab her but Eydis shook her off. ‘I want you to know that I will come for you in my dreams!’ she called in a shaking, but determined voice as her head spun around, blindly searching the crowd. ‘I will find you! The one who did this to my father! I will find you in my dreams because my name is Eydis Skalleson and I am a dreamer!’
Gasps and shocked faces followed that announcement.
‘I saw that my father would die,’ she continued. ‘But I did not see who would kill him, so I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save him!’ Her voice broke as grief overwhelmed her. Eadmund pulled her to him and she sniffed back tears, her whole body shuddering with barely controlled fury. ‘But I will find you. I will find who did this, and Eadmund will cut your heart out for me!’ Her body collapsed then, and she buried herself into Eadmund’s chest.
Eadmund kissed the top of his sister’s head, inhaling the cool morning air, nodding at Morac. A breeze was building, and the flame fought the wind as Morac came forward to pass the torch to Eadmund. He took it in one hand and grabbed Eydis’ cold hand in the other, and together they stood next to their father as Eadmund bent to light the pyre.
Jael walked up and stood beside them as the wood started to catch. Eadmund tried to blink away his tears as he turned towards the lifting smoke.
Jael thought of her own father’s pyre nearly three years before; a heartbreak she had still not recovered from. Eydis, as she cried, remembered saying goodbye to her mother when she was barely five-years-old. And Eadmund felt the sudden loss of his own mother, so long ago now, but the pain of her death was refreshed by this one.
As the smoke billowed and the flames grew, Eadmund squeezed Eydis’ hand tighter and pulled her back, away from the flames, back to where Morac stood with Thorgils and Torstan. He knew that Ivaar was there, lurking further behind them with the lords, but it was not something he needed to acknowledge. Not now, when his father was leaving to be with the gods.
Leaving him.
As King of Oss.
20
‘Hello, Mother,’ Morana smiled, her dark eyes hooded and hostile as they glared at the old woman who waited for her.
‘Morana,’ Varna growled, cringing at the sound of that name after so many years. ‘It has been a long time.’
‘Long?’ Morana laughed, a cackling snigger, as she shuffled forward. ‘Long?’ She pulled back her hood and shook out her long, black and white hair, staring at the girl. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Morten’s daughter,’ Varna said shortly.
‘Morten?’ Morana looked surprised. ‘He lives?’
Meena dropped her eyes, not wanting to be inspected by this peculiar woman, whose black eyes were roaming all over her.
‘No,’ Varna said quickly. ‘He died years ago. Him and his wife, both. I have raised the girl.’
Morana barely blinked. She was frozen, worn through. Her sea journey around Osterland from Rikka had taken many more days than she had wished, but she had not wanted to stumble across the Brekkan army as it marched towards Saala. She had taken a ship instead and suffered on the sea for far longer than was comfortable. ‘I need food,’ she said irritably. ‘Then we must talk.’
Varna thought on that, digging a frown deep into her crumbling forehead. ‘Why have you come? Why now?’
‘You know as well as I do, Mother,’ Morana snarled. She glanced around as the square started to fill up, as merchants and their slaves hurried to prepare their market stalls for another day. ‘And that is not something we should discuss out here. Not if you wish to keep me your little secret.’
Varna sighed. Morana had not come all this way for nothing. There was no point in trying to hide anything from her. Not anymore. ‘Well, you may as well come with us, then. There is no food, but you look well fed. I’m sure you will survive until we return.’
Morana frowned at her mother, then caught a glimpse of the spade poking out of Meena’s cloak. One eyebrow rose, as did one corner of her thin, blue lips.
She smiled greedily.
Lothar wasn’t pleased by the sudden shift of power.
‘Hostages?’ he grumbled.
‘It makes sense,’ Jael insisted, glaring at Osbert, hoping to get through to one of them at least. ‘It’s a bargaining tool. And you might need one.’
Lothar snorted. ‘I think all that crying has addled your brain. Or you’ve been listening to that grandmother of yours again.’
‘And when has that ever been a bad idea?’ Jael retorted. ‘When did you stop listening to dreamers?’
Gant stood quietly to Lothar’s left, making no move to cool Jael down. She was a queen now, he thought to himself; let her say what she liked. With Jael leading the Islanders, Lothar would stand no chance if he stood in her way.
He tried not to smile.
Lothar looked far less pleased. ‘When they got too old to make any sense!’ he sneered, glancing at his son for support.
Osbert did not provide any.
‘If one of us succeeds, the other will need to be in a good position, or we will both end up compromised,’ Jael tried again, her lips barely moving. ‘So, if you can, Uncle, take hostages.’ She turned to Gant. ‘Signal us when you get to the rise. We will set off then.’
Gant nodded.
‘Good luck,’ Jael smiled quickly, then turned to Lothar. ‘We are in this together,’ she said firmly. ‘As an alliance against Haaron. And an alliance will not win anything if its members are on opposite sides. We must be united in our purpose.’
Lothar shot her a look of bored disdain. ‘Naturally.’ He lifted up his cloak, resettling it over his shoulders, trying to appear more regal as he stood there under the glare of his tall niece. ‘I wish you Islanders luck. We will see you in Hest.’
Jael swallowed, hearing Edela’s warnings, loud in her head. It would not go well, Edela cried over and over again. ‘We shall see you in Hest,’ Jael said, with a confidence she did not feel. With one last glance at Gant, she left to find Axl and Aleksander.
‘Your cousin has eased herself into her new role rather quickly,’ Lothar spat as he turned to Osbert. ‘Eirik’s bones are still burning on the beach, and there she is, running about, issuing orders as if her husband didn’t even exist.’
Osbert didn’t know what to think. Jael in power was dangerous for his father, he knew that. But he also knew that they needed her if they were to conquer Haaron. But, he mused, squirming in his thick mail shirt, once that was achieved, they would surely have to remove her before she became a problem.
‘Hopefully, you’ll have the decency to wait until my ashes are at sea before you start smiling!’ Lothar grumbled and stalked away, his mind already turning towards Gisila. He’d wanted a better goodbye than a broken night and an early start, none of which had included her naked body beneath him.
Gisila couldn’t stop crying. As much as she knew it wasn’t helping, she couldn’t hold back the tears that had been streaming down her sunken cheeks since Eirik’s funeral. The night had been so disturbing, with the king’s death and trying to comfort poor Eydis, that she was simply beside herself at the thought of losing Axl, Jael, and Aleksander, all at once.
‘Mother,’ Axl said gently. ‘I must go.’
Aleksander reached in to help extract him from her desperate arms. ‘We must go, Gisila,’ he insisted. ‘We need to be at the front of our column, leading our men.’
They were fully dressed for battle now, helmets on, weapons secured, and Axl looked ready to vomit. Aleksander needed to get him with the men and away from Gisila before she eroded the rest of his rapidly waning confidence.
‘Mother, Aleksander’s right,’ Axl murmured gently, pulling himself away at last. ‘We need to leave.’
‘Not yet, you don’t,’ Jael said, smiling sympathetically at the sight of her brother’s ashen face. He looked petrified. She remembered how that felt. ‘Not until you say goodbye to me.’
Axl leaned forward to hug her. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Father would be proud of you.’
That unsettled Jael entirely. She stepped back and frowned at him. He looked ready, she supposed. As terrified as his eyes hiding beneath the rim of his helmet appeared, his body was strong and well balanced; not such a dangling mess of disjointed parts anymore. There was weight to him. Strength. Now he just needed belief. ‘And you,’ she smiled. ‘You look like a Furyck. And you know what they say about Furycks...’
‘That they have never been killed in battle?’ he sighed, brushing away the reminder. ‘I wonder if the gods are laughing right now, thinking about changing their minds?’
Gisila looked horrified as Axl kissed her quickly on the cheek.
Aleksander smiled and grabbed Jael before she could argue. He held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go. It was the single nicest feeling he could remember since he’d last held her. She was rigid, as she often was, but suddenly sunk into him, almost hugging him back. ‘I will look after your brother,’ he promised.
‘And yourself?’ she wondered.
‘Of course,’ he said quickly. ‘One cannot happen without the other.’
Jael slipped out of his arms, her eyes not leaving his. How familiar he smelled.
‘Jael?’ It was Thorgils. ‘The men are waiting.’
She sighed and turned around, catching a glimpse of his perturbed face.
‘You go,’ Aleksander said, suddenly worried that this might be the last time he saw her. ‘And take care of yourself. I won’t be there to save you when you get in trouble.’
‘I suppose we shall both have to save ourselves, then,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll see you in Hest, Aleksander Lehr.’ Jael stared deeply into his eyes, before turning away.
‘I’ll see you in Hest, Jael Furyck!’ he called after her.
Jael’s smile quickly turned to a frown as she walked up to a scowling Thorgils. ‘Don’t say a thing,’ she huffed, stalking straight past him.
Runa waited for some time after the door had closed before calling Tanja, the wet nurse, over. She had fed Sigmund and was burping him gently over her shoulder as she walked around the kitchen.
Tanja looked nervous as she came to sit by the fire.
Runa put her arms out for Sigmund, who she had quickly formed an attachment to. He was a lovely, placid boy. He reminded her of Fyn. She rested the baby over her own shoulder and leaned towards the young girl. ‘I was wondering what you think of Evaine?’ she began nervously.
Tanja’s eyes bulged. She was barely 18-years-old, timid and small, and had recently lost her own son wit
hin the first month of his life. It was both torturous and healing to have another baby to care for, to feed and nurture, but she had felt on edge since moving into the Gallas’ home. Evaine had never said a kind word to her, and she lived in constant fear of displeasing her.
Runa smiled, lowering her voice. ‘Perhaps you think I am going to be cross or tell Evaine what you say?’ she wondered gently. ‘But I can assure you, that is not why I ask.’ Sigmund gave a loud burp, and both women couldn’t help but smile. It relaxed Tanja slightly, and Runa hurried on. ‘I am worried, you see, about what Evaine might be doing. Why she has come back here.’
Tanja looked puzzled, unsure how she could help. She didn’t say a word, though, desperately avoiding Runa’s searching eyes.
‘I hear her every morning, opening that chest,’ Runa said as she continued to rub Sigmund’s back. ‘Rustling around up there, the floor creaking, mumbling to herself. She is doing something, and I need to know what it is.’
Tanja stared at her chapped hands, wringing them together, her mouth opening and closing. ‘But, if I were to tell you...’
Runa edged forward eagerly. ‘I would keep you safe from her, I promise. And I will pay you, of course. Double what you are earning now.’
They both heard a noise outside and glanced nervously at the door.
‘It’s very important, Tanja,’ Runa went on as she brought Sigmund down to her arms. ‘I need to make sure the baby is safe, and that Evaine is not doing anything that might cause him harm.’
Tanja blinked, staring longingly at the little boy who she had fallen desperately in love with. She shrugged her shoulders, resigned to her fate. ‘There is something... something strange in that chest.’
They had time before Gant would signal them on the march to Valder’s Pass. On his signal, the Islanders would take to their ships, light now by a handful of men who were sick, or had already died of the sickness that was sweeping through the camp. Jael hoped they would not come to regret those missing hands during the battle, when they needed more power in their ships, or arms to wield swords. She shook her head; there was nothing she could do about that now. They could only prepare themselves to try and come together; to fight as a united force. But by the looks on the faces of the men before her, a mix of shock, confusion, and deep-rooted scepticism, was already plaguing this mission.
