The Burning Sea (The Furyck Saga: Book Two)

by A. E. Rayne

  Bayla glanced at him, panic in her eyes.

  Haaron turned to the nearest slave. ‘Find Varna for me,’ he ordered. ‘Quickly! I will see if she has any insight. And in the meantime, Karsten, you will see to our prisoners. They need to be housed somewhere. Clear out the ship sheds. They can sleep in there. We certainly won’t be needing them for some time. Bring the Furycks into the castle, though. We will put them in a chamber. They are our prizes now, and we need to ensure that they remain in good order. And you,’ he grumbled at Haegen. ‘You will go and make your wife stop that awful noise!’

  Fyn wondered if he was still in shock as he sat there, guarding Berard. He kept seeing the battle for Skorro and the men he had killed. Two of them. The sounds they had made were painful and high-pitched; pleading, whimpering, dying sounds. He felt guilty when he heard them; confused too, as he felt a small sense of pride that he had not just turned and run. He’d stood there and fought and killed, alongside Jael and Thorgils.

  He watched his father and Otto, heads together, muttering away as they stood by the fire, occasionally glancing in his direction. It made him uncomfortable. Morac’s eyes were always following him, silently judging him. Despite all that he might have become away from his father, being around him had awoken old memories and insults. It was hard to keep his mind here, in the present, where his fingernails still had blood underneath them. And not his, either.

  Berard coughed. ‘Water,’ he croaked. ‘Please.’

  Fyn nodded and picked up the cup that sat at his feet. He was relieved to be away from Jaeger, who had already headbutted Thorgils and bitten Torstan.

  Berard drank gratefully from the cup held to his lips, his eyes constantly darting to his brother, watching as Jael Furyck walked up to him again. He sighed. Anxious.

  Fyn followed his prisoner’s gaze as he sat back down with the cup. ‘Jael won’t hurt your brother,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s not that sort of person.’

  Berard blinked, looking down at his filthy tunic. Everything in the fort, everything, was covered in stinking, black soot and ash. He was desperate to bathe. To stretch. To be back in Hest. ‘Her family had a reputation for fairness. Once,’ he said almost wistfully, ‘before her uncle claimed power.’

  ‘But Jael has not changed,’ Fyn insisted. ‘She is not like him.’

  ‘No, but she hates him, doesn’t she?’ Berard murmured, watching as Jaeger growled and spat at the new Queen of Oss again. ‘Perhaps she will see no point in keeping us prisoner soon?’

  Fyn shrugged his shoulders. He did not dislike or fear Berard in the same way he did his brother, but he did not want to offer false hope. Jael was fair, he knew that, but she was also not afraid to make hard decisions.

  Varna had been preparing herself all morning.

  Her dreams had revealed how it stood: the Bear and the Idiot imprisoned, Skorro captured, and the Furycks held hostage. It was not unexpected, for her at least, but her reaction to it would catch Haaron by surprise, she knew. So, as she crept towards them, as they all stood in anticipation, gathered around Haaron’s throne like hungry birds, she steadied herself and set her lips in a thin line, her grey eyebrows sharp, her eyes unrelenting.

  Haaron wrinkled his nose as the old woman approached; damp weather tended to worsen her stink, he found. ‘Well, you saw there would be trouble on Skorro, and you were not wrong, Varna,’ he growled, enjoying the sweet coolness of his favourite wine as he sipped from his goblet. ‘But now you must tell me what you see next. We have the Furycks. They have Berard and Jaeger, and of course, my island. A decision must be made.’

  He could feel Bayla glowering beside him, biting down on her indignation that anything should be up for debate. She wanted her sons. In her opinion, there was nothing more to discuss.

  ‘Yes,’ Varna rasped, her crooked frame tipping towards him. ‘A decision must be made. The one best for all of Hest, not just for two sons or one mother.’

  Bayla rose up on her toes, glaring at the old dreamer.

  ‘And?’ Haaron edged forward. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘I had many dreams last night!’ Varna announced dramatically. ‘I saw Hest growing powerful, increasing in both size and strength. More land, more people, more wealth! Richer than you have ever dreamed!’

  Haegen and Karsten stared at one another.

  Haaron looked suitably intrigued.

  ‘And to achieve that, you will need Lothar Furyck,’ Varna breathed. ‘And you will need Jaeger and Berard, too.’

  Haaron frowned, confused. Bayla sighed, relieved.

  ‘You want me to trade the Furycks for Skorro?’ Haaron asked coldly.

  ‘And your sons,’ Varna insisted. ‘But you will get much more from this arrangement than Lothar Furyck ever will, do not fear. If you make an alliance with him, you can take Helsabor and then all of Osterland will be open to you. Once you knock down Wulf Halvardar’s walls, what is to stop you from taking everything?’

  Haaron swallowed, rolling his hands over the ridged dragon’s feet at the end of his armrests. For years Varna had warned him that Jaeger was a threat to his reign, and now? Now he should save him? Was that just for Bayla’s sake? ‘Haegen, Karsten, take your mother. See to your wives,’ he ordered, dismissing them with an urgent wave of his hand. ‘I wish to speak to Varna alone.’

  Varna’s back ached as she stooped there, waiting for them to leave.

  As soon as Bayla had been reluctantly led away, Haaron dragged himself out of his throne and strode towards Varna, his face close to hers, not wanting to be heard by anyone. ‘And the Bear?’ he whispered, trying not to inhale. ‘What of him?’

  ‘He will be of use to you,’ Varna murmured, smiling. ‘I have seen it.

  Entorp frowned, inhaling the stink of fresh horse dung as he scraped at the stable door. Ido and Vella stood nearby, watching him work, occasionally nuzzling his legs. He had quickly become their favourite visitor; there were so many interesting things to smell on him.

  ‘This is a very good idea,’ Biddy smiled as she hung a small linen bag filled with rosemary over the lintel. ‘I can’t believe that we didn’t think of doing this sooner. And next, the house?’

  ‘Of course,’ Entorp mumbled. ‘Now, don’t worry about me, you go inside. I will not be much longer, then I’ll get to work in there.’

  ‘Alright, but you must stay for some supper,’ Biddy insisted as she clambered down from the stool. ‘I have smoked fish, flatbreads, and a nettle soup bubbling away inside. Plenty enough for you. I’ve even made some honey cake!’

  Entorp’s eyes bulged at the thought of such a meal. ‘Well,’ he blushed, ‘I would like that very much.’ He ducked his head and went back to work, carving an ancient Tuuran symbol onto the back of the stable door with a chisel and mallet. It looked like the intertwined petals of a flower, but sharper, more angular, and would hopefully keep the horses safe from anything Evaine might have a mind to do; that and the rosemary, which was known to ward off evil spirits.

  Biddy smiled, patting her leg for the puppies to follow her. ‘Come on, you two!’ she scolded. ‘Leave poor Entorp alone. He has important work to do.’

  Ido and Vella, deciding that it must soon be time for their supper, hurried after her.

  ‘You must eat,’ Gisila insisted as Eydis pushed her bowl away.

  Eydis sighed, her stomach lurching at just the smell of the roast pigeon, which both Gisila and Amma seemed to be enjoying. They had nearly finished their meals while Eydis had not even started hers.

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow your appetite will return?’ Amma suggested kindly, frowning as Eydis turned away from her. She had been acting oddly all afternoon. Amma wondered if something had happened to Axl, and not for the first time.

  ‘I think I just need sleep,’ Eydis whispered. ‘My eyes hurt.’

  ‘Well, that’s an even better idea, I think,’ Gisila smiled. ‘And perhaps tomorrow there will be some news.’

  Amma glanced at Gisila, whose eyes reflected the unsaid fear in
her own. Why hadn’t they heard anything yet? Something was wrong.

  Something must have gone wrong.

  Haaron’s castle was like nothing Lothar had seen before. It was no dark, wooden hall. This was an impressive stone palace, with ceilings too high to clean, and walls decorated with thick glass windows, draped with dark-red curtains. It was cold, but it was grand, and his confidence in his own superiority deflated with each heavy step towards his host. Lothar forced himself to look straight ahead, focusing on Haaron’s throne. It was not easy, though. He could barely contain his envy as he walked, Osbert and Axl on one side of him, Gant and Aleksander on the other.

  They had been ordered inside the castle to begin negotiations. That was something, Lothar thought to himself. He was weak from lack of food, from the arduous walk, the constant discomfort. He looked at Haaron, resting comfortably on his ridiculous dragon throne and felt furious. But, he reminded himself, biting his dry lips, not all victories were quickly won. Some would take longer to achieve. And if he could secure Haaron’s help to defeat Wulf Halvardar, then it would be the beginning of Brekka’s quest to claim all of Osterland, kingdom by kingdom.

  Karsten glared at the Furycks from one side of his father’s throne. It was not in his nature to negotiate. He could barely contain his rage at what his father was about to do.

  ‘My sons are being held hostage on Skorro,’ Haaron began. ‘I will send Haegen with one of your men, to take my terms for releasing you all.’

  Lothar almost fell down in relief. But it was Jael who would have the final say on his freedom, so he checked himself quickly.

  ‘If your niece and her husband agree to release my sons and leave Skorro, then you and your men will also be free to return to Brekka.’

  Osbert was incredulous as he stood there, leaning on his stick. But Jael? His shoulders tightened. Would Axl be enough to tempt her to give up all that she had fought so hard to claim?

  Lothar looked to his left. ‘Aleksander will go with your son,’ he announced. ‘He knows Jael better than anyone. I’m certain that he will be able to convince her of your terms.’ He eyed Aleksander with a fierceness that implied there was no choice in the matter.

  ‘Good,’ Haaron sighed. ‘And once Jaeger and Berard are back, we can move forward with the wedding preparations.’

  Everyone looked surprised at that, apart from Haaron and Lothar.

  Lothar raised a weary eyebrow, resisting the urge to smile gleefully. ‘You have come around to that idea, then, my lord?’

  ‘Come around to it?’ Haaron muttered irritably. ‘Yes, I suppose I have. As much as it pains me to say so, I think you are right, Lothar Furyck. Our two kingdoms, plus the Islanders, united against Helsabor, will make us powerful allies indeed.’

  ‘Agreed!’

  ‘And why not both become rich in peace, rather than warring, losing men and ships, deprived of land and opportunity which could belong to us all?’ Haaron said loudly, weaving his words so that his sons would begin to understand his logic. ‘We will both prosper when the Halvardar’s fall.’

  Axl turned to his uncle, confused. ‘Wedding?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lothar smiled happily. ‘I decided to take Osbert’s advice. I have found your cousin the perfect husband.’

  Axl’s mouth fell open in horror.

  30

  Edela inhaled the salve.

  It was more than just a pleasant scent; it was soothing, warming her chest, unwinding her mind as she lay there, listening to Biddy murmuring to the puppies, who could not decide where they wanted to sleep now that their bedtime companions had gone.

  Edela felt at peace as she curled her body into a familiar position, relieved that Entorp had carved all the symbols around the house and the stables; hopeful that his salve would unravel the secrets hidden in the depths of her memory.

  She needed to see that book again.

  Yawning, she closed her eyes, ignoring her cold toes, enjoying instead, the heat on her chest; her weary body sinking deeply into the mattress, the furs pulled up to her nose as she drifted peacefully off to sleep.

  Eydis lay there unable to sleep.

  Perhaps it was partly because, as much as she was desperate to discover clues that would lead to her father’s killer, she was just as fearful of seeing his death in her dreams. She didn’t want to watch him die before her eyes again.

  Her dreams were the only place she saw anything. But she was not even 14-years-old and wasn’t sure that she was ready to face what she knew was waiting for her in the shadows.

  Talking to Isaura had been pleasant, Ayla decided as she lay there, watching the embers glow from the banked fire. It was a welcome change not to feel so utterly alone. She had grown weary being enemies with the one woman who could understand how she truly felt. But what they could do with their newfound allegiance, Ayla wasn’t sure.

  For when she closed her eyes, she saw Ivaar coming.

  Jael crept over to Eadmund. She knew he wasn’t asleep.

  The two beds that hugged the dank walls in the small chamber weren’t wide, but they were wide enough. She nudged him over and slipped in beside him, pulling the fur over them both. The bed creaked in protest but held.

  Eadmund looked both surprised and annoyed, but Jael didn’t care. Evaine may have taken his heart or his mind, but he was still her husband, and she was cold and lonely. She reached up and stroked his face, leaning over him, kissing his lips.

  Eadmund flinched, pulling his head away.

  ‘You’re in there, somewhere,’ Jael whispered sadly and lay her head on his chest.

  Eadmund frowned, uncomfortable with her closeness, as much as he wasn’t. He was confused, his mind and body at odds with one another. He reached up a hand, almost reluctantly, and placed it on her arm, running it down the length of her sleeve. She was cold. He smiled, memories stirring inside his heart.

  She was always cold.

  Jael twisted her frozen feet around his, entwining them with hers, seeking his warmth and he let her. ‘I will bring you back to me,’ she whispered, her hand over his heart. ‘We are meant to be, you and me. That is what the gods say.’

  Eadmund shuddered, at once desperate to kiss her, to taste her lips, to feel her on top of him, and then, just as desperate to push her away. Because of her. The woman he was certain he truly loved. Her face, her body...

  Evaine.

  Evaine’s head hurt as she lay there, struggling to sleep. She felt unsettled. Sigmund had wailed all day long, and her nerves were frayed. She thought of her father, and of Eadmund, hoping they were both safe, confident that they were. But still, Eadmund was with that woman. Every day, every night.

  Evaine had seen the way he had started to turn towards her before he left but now he was so far away. Would Morana’s spell still work? She wrung her hands together, glancing at Tanja who had Sigmund tucked in beside her, both of them snoring lightly in her little cot.

  Lifting the flickering lamp from her bedside table, Evaine hopped out of bed, tiptoeing quickly to her chest. Placing the lamp on the floor, she eased open the lid. She had rubbed fish oil over its rusted hinges that afternoon, desperate to ease its heart-stopping creak, and was pleased to hear only a faint creak as she reached into the chest and pulled out a small package.

  Laying it on the ground, Evaine unwrapped the cloth and removed her beeswax candle. She dipped it into the lamp and set it alight, pushing it into an iron stand, its base carved with symbols. Glancing around again, Evaine took a deep breath, feeling calmer. She picked up her five, smooth stones and placed them around herself at even points, ensuring that the symbol painted onto each one was facing up.

  Evaine closed her eyes, reminding herself that Eadmund was hers. He was always going to be hers.

  She leaned forward, inhaling the sweet scent of the candle.

  He was hers...

  Eydis crept towards the door. It was slightly ajar, and the flickering light from a fire fell out into the night, making her feel less afraid as she bent, s
hivering in the darkness, trying not to make any noise.

  Where was she?

  Who was in there?

  The voices were low and muffled, but she could definitely hear a woman.

  ‘Once you kill Eirik, everything will change. Your power will be limitless. You will rule as you always wanted to, as you have always deserved to.’ The woman spoke so quietly that Eydis found herself edging closer and closer to the door. ‘You will have the crown you crave, I see it so clearly. But first, you must take his life and quickly.’

  Eydis gasped, stumbling, frightened, backing away into the starless night. She turned, running, too scared to stop; not waiting for the information she needed, her breath rushing in terrified bursts from her mouth, her nightdress flailing behind her.

  Into the darkness.

  Edela stood inside the flames. Great towers of fire rose up on either side of her, but she felt no heat as she watched the buildings burn and the people flee.

  Tuurans. She was certain they were Tuurans.

  The screams echoed around her, vibrating straight through her as she watched Tuura burn. Thatch was catching quickly, horses whinnying, desperate to escape their stalls. She heard the cries of frantic mothers searching for their missing children.

  It was not night, but day, she could tell, yet thick, dark clouds swarmed above her, so ominous and low, sucking all light from the sky.

  And then she saw Jael, running towards the gates, a child in her arms, Aleksander next to her, as they hurried to escape. Branwyn was there behind her, Kormac too; their sons, Aedan and Aron pulling horses; Aedan’s wife Kayla holding onto two children, tears streaming down her red cheeks.