The Burning Sea (The Furyck Saga: Book Two)

by A. E. Rayne

  Biddy opened the door, her eyes rounding in surprise. ‘Runa?’

  Runa was out of breath, blinking rapidly. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Biddy said, ushering her inside. She peered behind her, smiling at Askel, who was shooing the puppies away from a pile of horse dung he was making, before closing the door.

  Edela was pulling on her gloves as Runa walked into the main room. She smiled politely, then frowned. Something was wrong.

  ‘This is Runa Gallas,’ Biddy smiled, gently pushing Runa towards Edela. ‘Fyn’s mother. Evaine’s... mother.’

  They both stared at Runa, who swallowed nervously.

  ‘What has happened?’ Edela asked, sensing Runa’s distress. ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell us.’

  ‘No, no,’ Runa mumbled, noting that both women were wearing their cloaks. ‘You are going somewhere. I should leave, come again another time.’

  ‘Is it about Evaine?’ Edela wondered softly.

  Runa’s eyes widened in fear. She looked at the women, desperate for some help. ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Yes, she is doing something. Every morning. She is doing something... magical.’

  Edela’s blue eyes sharpened as she glanced at Biddy. ‘Perhaps we need some tea?’

  ‘Who is that?’ Irenna wondered with a frown as she braided her eldest daughter’s hair on the balcony. The spring warmth had encouraged the Dragos women to take themselves outside to sit and drink tea while the children played. ‘That woman, with Varna?’

  Bayla was immediately alert, hurrying over to the edge of the first-floor balcony. She didn’t recognise the figure whose wild black and white striped hair flapped behind her as she hurried across the square next to Varna and that stupid girl. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Looks like one of The Following to me,’ Nicolene sneered as she helped herself to another piece of apple cake. ‘With that strange hair? They all look filthy and unhinged.’

  ‘Nicolene!’ Irenna chided, glancing around. ‘They’re hardly the people to be insulting, are they? With the knowledge they have? Who knows what they could do to you or your children?’

  Bayla laughed as she came to take her own, fur-lined seat. ‘Irenna,’ she smirked. ‘You really think we have any reason to be worried? We are the royal family, and they are...’

  ‘A secret society of powerful dreamers?’ Irenna suggested with a wry smile, turning her daughter, Lucina, around so everyone could admire her.

  ‘Ha! If they are so powerful, then why always creep about in the shadows, pretending they don’t even exist?’ Bayla sipped on her lukewarm dandelion tea, wishing it was wine. ‘Why keep their supposed magic to themselves?’

  Nicolene’s eyes were alert. She was fascinated by The Following, especially Varna Gallas, who crawled around the castle with constant threat in her eyes. She looked like a decrepit crone, but Karsten had warned her that, although Varna was old, she would never be weak.

  ‘Probably because they like it,’ Irenna suggested, handing Lucina a piece of cake. ‘They like the mystery and secrecy of it all. It keeps us watchful.’

  Bayla thought about Varna, wondering what she had really been doing in Jaeger’s chamber with that ugly girl. She was up to something.

  Bayla was certain of it.

  Runa told them everything she knew, from the beginning. All about Morana and Morac and Evaine, all the suspicions and fears she had harboured over the years. She was relieved to let it out; to have someone to talk to at last.

  ‘And now?’ Edela wondered carefully. ‘You say that you are worried, but why? What is she doing now to make you feel so?’

  Runa had been wringing her hands together but suddenly stopped and looked up. ‘She is different.’ She swallowed, trying to find the right words. ‘Before, Evaine was desperate, childish. She would get wild and furious because she couldn’t be with Eadmund. She was so impatient, but now...’

  ‘Now?’ Biddy wondered anxiously, perching on the edge of her stool.

  ‘Now, she is confident,’ Runa shuddered. ‘So confident. Smiling. Calm. And that is not the Evaine I know at all.’ She reached her hands out to the flames, suddenly cold. ‘She is doing something every morning before the sun is up.’

  Edela’s eyebrows rose at that. She took a sip of elderflower tea and creaked forward.

  ‘She has things in her chest,’ Runa went on. ‘I have spoken to her wet nurse, and she tells me that every morning Evaine lights a candle and mumbles words, the same ones, over and over again, then blows it out and puts it away.’

  ‘Oh,’ Edela said breathlessly. ‘I see.’

  ‘So, I asked Tanja to look in the chest before Evaine returned,’ Runa said nervously. ‘And she found stones in a bag, five of them. Each one with a painted symbol on it. And the candle, it had symbols scratched into the wax. She didn’t recognise them.’

  Edela peered at Runa with concern. ‘Well then, I think it best that you come along with us. We can talk more at Entorp’s house.’

  ‘Entorp?’ Runa looked surprised as Biddy and Edela stood.

  Edela smiled. ‘Yes. We are going to get Biddy tattooed. And I think it’s best if he works on you as well. It sounds as though that girl is trying to cause a lot of trouble, and we will have no hope of stopping her if we don’t protect ourselves, will we?’

  ‘The look on your face tells me you don’t agree, Brother?’ Haegen grumbled, his irritation with Karsten ready to burst like a bloody boil. Karsten had been niggling away at him since they’d left Hest; picking at him, criticising his plans, and he’d had enough. He was in charge of their men, not his younger, loose-lipped, revenge-obsessed brother.

  ‘Well,’ Karsten mused as he walked his horse alongside Haegen’s, gnawing on a piece of salt pork. ‘It’s a predictable attack. They will expect it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Haegen asked coolly.

  ‘Not all Brekkans are as stupid as their king,’ Karsten insisted.

  ‘But they will expect to find us still in the pass, thinking they can trap us in that narrow space between the cliffs,’ Haegen pointed out as he tugged his reins to the right, steering his horse around a boulder. ‘They will not be prepared for us to come upon them so quickly, before they reach the pass.’

  ‘True,’ Karsten agreed. ‘And we will kill a great many of them because of it, I’m sure, but... imagine how many more we could kill if we did things my way?’ He turned to look at his brother. Haegen was almost as tall as Jaeger, but despite his best efforts, never as menacing. ‘Surely you want to deliver the best outcome possible to Father? A victory so bloody and final that the Brekkans will never trouble us again! We will have fewer men than them, less chance of that happening unless we do it my way.’

  Haegen, who was not inclined to listen to anything Karsten had to say, suddenly hesitated. Haaron had never been impressed by anything they had done. Ever. And this was their first time going into battle on their own, leading the men of Hest against Brekka, without their father. His judgement was bound to be harsh.

  Haegen peered at Karsten, ignoring Irenna’s voice as it warned him to stop. ‘Tell me again,’ he said slowly. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  Morana ran her black eyes over Varna’s bedchamber. It was larger than her entire cottage, but there was little warmth or comfort in its cold stone walls or its cold stone floor. It had one tiny window, one fire pit in the middle of the room, sitting underneath one smoke hole; two chairs, two beds, and now... three of them to share it all.

  Meena wanted to disappear as she stood with her back wedged into a corner of the room, hoping to go unnoticed. Her neck ached where Morana had gripped it, and she was so overcome with anxiety that she could barely breathe. She tapped the side of her head repeatedly, wriggling her toes inside her boots, unable to stand still.

  ‘Does she ever stop?’ Morana wondered irritably, glaring at the shaking woman.

  ‘No,’ Varna said plainly. ‘And you will leave her alone, for she is the one who will help us get the book.�
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  ‘Why? Why her?’ Morana sneered as she sat down on the edge of her mother’s small bed, her stomach growling angrily.

  ‘Meena has seen the book,’ Varna murmured as she lowered herself into her old chair. It was as wobbly on its feet as she was. ‘She has seen the texts written in Raemus’ own hand. And he can’t read it, not without my help.’

  ‘You think you’re the only one who can read the symbols of the Old Gods?’ Morana spat.

  Varna stared at her. Her daughter. It had been 18 years since she had last seen this wild, bitter woman. She had not missed her. ‘Perhaps there are others,’ Varna conceded wearily. ‘But none of those will have the book, will they? Only I will, once Meena brings it to me.’

  Meena, shuffling her feet, gulped.

  Morana didn’t look pleased.

  ‘We have always known what we needed to do, Daughter,’ Varna reminded her. ‘Always known our part in the prophecy. We must stop Jael Furyck, which is what I thought I had instructed you to do.’

  Morana clenched her jaw, wishing there were some flames in the dead fire pit to warm her. ‘And I am,’ she snapped. ‘Evaine is hard at work. We have nothing to worry about there.’

  ‘And yet, here you are, sticking your nose into my business. My business, which is the book!’ Varna hissed, suddenly noticing the lack of flames herself. ‘Go and get some wood, girl!’ she called to Meena, who looked relieved and scurried out of the room as quickly as she could.

  ‘And how many years did you search for that book?’ Morana scowled. ‘I thought that perhaps you had lost your abilities, Mother. That you would be grateful for my assistance.’

  Varna inhaled a raspy breath, eyeing her daughter whose face was all but hidden behind the cascading nest of hair that fell down to her waist, swamping her small frame. ‘It will not hurt, I suppose, to put our two heads together. I had not expected the Bear to find it before I did.’

  ‘And The Following?’ Morana wondered. ‘What will you tell them?’

  Varna’s head jerked up, her lips curling with distaste. ‘The Following? They will be ready when we are. But until we have that book, there is nothing anyone can do. We must find it.’

  Axl couldn’t stop sweating. The long morning hike into the mountains wearing his mail had been exhausting. The terrain was challenging, and they had left their horses behind in Saala; all but Lothar that is, who rode near the back of the first column, protected by two heavily armed bodyguards.

  Hest was a barren, warm place; a land of stone and red dirt, dry and inhospitable. The path had grown increasingly dusty and sharp-edged the higher they climbed. Axl found himself slipping on gravel as they shrunk into narrower and narrower columns. Walls of angular, angry rocks peered down at them, closing in around the Brekkans as they struggled along under the heat of the midday sun.

  Axl had tried not to drink his water too quickly. He knew there was plenty more of their journey left and no one was waiting for those who hopped out of line to piss in the dust.

  ‘Are you alright there?’ Gant wondered, looking as cool and calm as when they’d left Saala.

  ‘Fine,’ Axl panted, his red face dripping with perspiration. ‘Nothing a dip in the Adrano wouldn’t cure.’

  ‘Well, don’t wander too far off the path, or you might find yourself swimming about in there by mistake!’ Gant smiled, covering up the fact that he was just as ready to lie down as Axl. The weight of his mail and the length of the march was not new to him – Lothar had driven them up a similar path last year – but he had barely slept since they’d arrived in Saala, and if he were honest, he had barely slept since Lothar had forced Gisila to marry him. Guilt and memories of his promise to Ranuf kept him awake most nights. He was happy that at least Gisila would have some respite from her odious husband while they were away.

  ‘Having fun?’ Aleksander puffed as he fell in line with them. He had grown fed up of walking with Osbert at the head of the first column. Osbert had started complaining as soon as they lost sight of Rexon’s village, and Aleksander was desperate for someone else to listen to. He looked almost as red as Axl but much more cheerful.

  ‘Why do you look so happy?’ Axl grumbled. His belly was griping; with hunger or discomfort, he couldn’t tell. His eyes rushed about anxiously, scanning the cliffs on either side of them, waiting for an ambush.

  ‘We have scouts, you know,’ Aleksander smiled, noting the path of Axl’s eyes. ‘They’re up there, and ahead of us. Behind us too. Watching all sides. We’ll know when they’re close.’

  Axl sighed, embarrassed at being such a novice. He expected he wouldn’t feel like that much longer though.

  ‘The main thing to remember,’ Gant said in a low voice, ‘is to hold your sword and your head at the same time. And aim to kill with every strike. It will be loud and fast and not at all like any training we’ve ever done. Nothing can replicate the shock you will feel at first.’

  ‘Gant’s right,’ Aleksander agreed. ‘The noise will disorient you quickly. And you won’t be facing one man but three or five, all from different directions, all at once. So, kill quickly. And if you can’t kill with your first blow, get them down to the ground in a hurry. Then finish them off. And move on.’

  Axl swallowed nervously, thinking about his promise to Amma; his desire to prove himself worthy of his Furyck name. It all felt so childish now. He would quite happily turn around and go home. Or would he?

  ‘It will be both better and worse than you’re imagining,’ Gant assured him, watching Axl frown. ‘And when it’s done, you’ll know more about yourself and what you’re capable of. It’s what you need.’

  ‘If I live,’ Axl murmured, almost to himself, his eyes fixed firmly ahead on the mail-clad back of the man in front of him. He didn’t know his name.

  ‘Well, best you offer up a prayer to Furia while you’re marching,’ Aleksander suggested, jiggling his spear in his right hand. ‘Remind her that you’re a Furyck, that you need her protection.’

  Axl gulped, staring up at the steep red-dirt ridge they were about to climb, thinking that sounded like a good idea.

  He could feel it now.

  They were getting closer.

  Haaron had not slept. Excitement surged through his veins as he peered through the window down to the Adrano, watching as his fleet sailed slowly into place. There had been little wind throughout the morning, but he was relieved to see that it was picking up now as his ships moved forward with more urgency.

  Haaron turned around, checking on his archers who were clustered in groups before each of the windows around the cavernous stone hall of the Tower. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, fingering their bows, eager for the arrival of the enemy. Great buckets of iron-tipped and pitch-soaked arrows waited behind each group, with blazing braziers nearby.

  The Tower.

  Valder Dragos had built the formidable, three-storeyed defensive structure into the side of an overhanging cliff. In the centuries since his death, it had slowly become part of its rocky home, half hidden and half protruding over the Adrano Sea. It was the perfect place to attack any ship who would dare come through the Widow’s Peak and threaten his kingdom.

  From here, Haaron would watch as his youngest sons battled against Eirik Skalleson’s Islanders. If last time was any indication, it would not be a good day for the Islanders. But then, Varna had seen trouble for Jaeger; that things would not prove as straightforward as they might expect. Haaron had no desire to lose ships or men, but the thought of losing his youngest son kept his eyes alert and his mood eager.

  Haaron smiled, enjoying the cooling breeze as it wafted through the window. He was ready. He only hoped the same could be said of his sons.

  IV

  The Burning Sea

  22

  ‘There they are!’ Jael cried, her eyes snapping to the fleet of Hestian warships strung across the Adrano.

  The Islanders were still navigating the narrow passes between the colossal stones of the Widow’s Peak, b
ut they could all see what was waiting for them when they emerged.

  A blockade.

  Smaller than Jael had imagined – she quickly counted 15 ships – but exactly where she’d hoped. She turned to Fyn, who was pale and wide-eyed beside her. ‘Ready?’

  He tried to look confident, but his shoulders were up around his ears, and he was barely breathing. ‘Yes,’ he croaked, wondering when he’d last had a drink; his mouth was painfully dry.

  Jael squinted, staring far into the distance. Once through the stones, they would be in open water, underneath Haaron’s Tower.

  And then the arrows would come.

  There was a scream.

  All eyes went up, hands clutching hilts, sweaty fingers curling around shield grips, heartbeats racing, heads swivelling.

  Gant surged to the front of the second column with Aleksander, his eyes scanning the ridge to their right, Axl stumbling in their wake. They were in a shallow ravine, surrounded on both sides, boxed in by the rocky terrain.

  More screams. Horses too, this time.

  Then the scouts were racing towards them, scrambling over the ridge. Four of them; bleeding, tripping, falling, not getting up.

  No horses.

  ‘Shield! Wall!’ Rexon yelled from the rear column, sensing, rather than seeing the rumbling of Hestian warriors he knew were coming.

  ‘Shield! Wall!’ Gant turned and cried to his men in the middle column. ‘Four sides! Spears in behind!’

  Aleksander caught the sudden panic in Axl’s eyes as their men slapped their shields together, hurrying into formation. ‘Do not break the walls until I come back!’ he growled. Dropping his spear, he hefted his shield up to his shoulder and pushed himself through the wall. He ran to the nearest fallen scout, grabbing him by the mail, dragging him across the dirt, back towards the column.

  Gant rushed out after him and grabbed another. The others, they could both see, were clearly dead.