Night of the Shadow Moon

by A. E. Rayne

Neither felt right.

  The truth lay somewhere in between, and Jael knew that she was better to leave it all alone for now.

  ‘I hope she will recover,’ Eadmund tried. He looked away, awkward and embarrassed. ‘And that you find the answers you seek.’

  Jael watched him trying so desperately to avoid her eyes. ‘I’m still queen here,’ she said hoarsely. She could see the Osslanders on the beach, some way behind them, and up on the hill. ‘No matter what you think of me, you and I are bound by your father’s wishes. He chose us both, not just you, not just me. And I promised him that I would keep Oss safe. So, you can expect my return, Eadmund, because this is my home now.’ She turned away, hurrying across the foreshore to Sea Bear, ignoring the urge to look behind herself one last time.

  Eadmund didn’t know what to think as feelings rose and fought against each other inside his heart. He frowned, watching her clamber on board. It had only been days since she had rested her head on his chest, and he had held her in his arms, but she was a stranger now.

  And he didn’t want her anymore.

  9

  The signal came from the fort quickly enough, and Osbert was pleased for it. He was sweltering, desperate to escape the flies.

  Eager to rest in comfort and plot his next move.

  He would have to face Jael eventually, but he would choose the time and place for that battle. He thought of his sister, enjoying the fleeting image of dragging her back to her husband one day soon.

  The disloyal bitch.

  ‘Rexon!’ Osbert dismounted, wanting to fall into a sweaty heap, but remembering his new position as King of Brekka, he remained erect and strode towards Rexon Boas, Lord of Saala.

  His man now.

  ‘My lord,’ Rexon said, his face troubled. ‘I have heard the news from Oleg. I’m very sorry about your father.’ He bowed his head, attempting to show respect, although he didn’t feel any. Nor any sorrow. Lothar had been the worst king in Brekka’s history, he was sure.

  ‘You heard it from Oleg, did you?’ Osbert scowled. ‘Did you, Rexon? Or did you, in fact, hear it from Jael on her way back to Oss?’

  ‘Jael?’ Rexon looked confused.

  Osbert waved his hand near Rexon’s face, not wanting to continue their conversation in the scorching heat. ‘I need something to drink.’ He turned to Oleg. ‘See to my horse, and the men as well. When you’ve done that, come to me in the hall. There is much we have to discuss, wouldn’t you say, Rexon Boas?’

  Thorgils felt terrible. Biddy, Edela, and Entorp had left, and his mother had promptly taken a turn for the worst. In his desperation, he had turned to Runa who had found someone to help: a mousey, young woman called Elona. She was not known for any great skill with herbs, but there was little choice now.

  They had shooed him out while they discussed what could be done for Odda, and Thorgils had headed straight to the hall, horrified to find Evaine prancing about, making herself at home.

  Barely a murmur escaped the few occupied tables of equally horrified Osslanders. The hall had emptied quickly when it became apparent that Evaine had come to stay.

  They had seen her tied to the Wailing Post.

  They knew what it meant.

  She was a witch, they whispered to each other. And a murderous one at that.

  Thorgils frowned, his eyes meeting Torstan’s. He sipped his ale slowly. ‘I imagine we’ll be the last ones left in here soon.’

  They both peered around.

  There was Gurin, now Eadmund’s steward, who was preparing the high table for the evening meal. Sevrin was there, talking to Eadmund as he sat on his throne, listening to all the things they still needed to do to prepare the fort for Ivaar’s expected attack. And Morac, running about behind Evaine as she made suggestions for improving the hall, which had, up until this point, suited them all just fine.

  Torstan finished his cup and plonked it down on the table. ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ he muttered, ‘but I’d rather be standing out in the rain than sitting in here watching this. Jael’s barely left.’ He shook his head and stood. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  Thorgils couldn’t help but agree. He felt old and weary, weighed down by the load of caring for his mother and his best friend, both of whom looked in dire straits.

  One of the hall doors burst open, ushering in a gust of wind and with it a gaggle of strangers. Thorgils squinted: not strangers.

  He smiled so widely you could see his gums.

  ‘Thorgils! Torstan!’ Bram strode towards the two men, his arms out wide. ‘How big you have grown! Yet still punier than me!’ He wrapped his arms around them both, happy to see these men who were like sons to him.

  ‘Uncle!’ Thorgils was overcome with pleasure.

  His father’s youngest brother, Bram Svanter, had grown up with itchy feet, and a giant-sized thirst for women and adventure. A man too big for Oss, he had left to pursue both at a young age. He would come back every few years with tales to tell of the far-flung places he had reached and the strange people he had encountered; showing off his ever-increasing collection of scars and tattoos; enthralling them with tales of how he had acquired his newest arm rings and his shipload of booty. And they would all be enamoured. Eadmund, Thorgils, Torstan, and their friends had looked at Bram as though he was a walking god. A man so mighty that they all wanted to be just like him when they grew up.

  But eventually, at a very late age, he had fallen in love and turned into a man mostly content with a plot of land in Moll – a small village in Alekka – and a house filled with squawking children. He had continued to trade and travel but only in the pursuit of supporting his family.

  They had scarcely seen him since.

  ‘Bram!’ Eadmund and Sevrin hurried forward, embracing the long-seen stranger with smiling faces.

  Morac lurked in the shadows. He had never liked Bram Svanter.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about Eirik,’ Bram said soberly as they led him to a table by the fire. ‘I wanted to come and pay my respects to you, Eadmund. He was the finest king. A good man.’

  Eadmund felt the depth of feeling in those words. Eirik had loved Bram, always trying to convince him to return to Oss to fight for him. But for Bram, the call of the sea had always been louder than that of his king.

  Bram looked barely older than the last time he’d visited. His red hair had long since become a salt-and-peppery mix of wiry waves, and his bushy, grey beard was growing whiter with every year. He appeared strong and powerful still, with a broad, barrel-like chest. He was big and cheerful, like Thorgils, but something about him was different.

  There was no light in his crisp, blue eyes anymore.

  ‘He was,’ Eadmund said sadly as he sat down. ‘He would’ve liked to see you again. To hear where you’ve been. What you’ve seen. What treasure you have to tempt him with. It’s been too long.’

  ‘It has. We’ve had a hard few years,’ he admitted, nodding at Gurin, who handed around cups of ale. ‘A hard few years indeed.’ He inhaled deeply, his body rocking from side to side.

  No one spoke. There was an unfamiliar sadness about Bram that troubled them.

  ‘And your family?’ Thorgils asked hesitantly. ‘How are my little cousins?’

  ‘Dead.’ It was hard to say, and Bram quickly dropped his eyes to the table, studying his cup.

  ‘Dead?’ Thorgils was shocked. ‘All of them?’ From memory, Bram had two daughters around Eydis’ age and twin boys a few years younger.

  Bram supped deeply, wanting to avoid any more questions, though he knew he could not. ‘An illness swept through Moll over a year ago. Never seen anything like it. Our healer was the first to die. I went to the next village for help, but their healer was dead too, and the next.’

  Eadmund looked puzzled. ‘Just the healers?’

  Bram shook his head. ‘No, more besides, but it’s a strange thing when a healer dies. Doesn’t give you much faith that you’re going to survive, does it?’

  The fire popp
ed, and Thorgils jumped. ‘So, this sickness, it killed your children?’

  Bram nodded, clearing his throat, trying not to bring the haunting pictures to mind. ‘And then my wife. That was the most heartbreaking thing of all. I tried to get her to hold on, but once the children were gone, she lost the will.’

  ‘But you didn’t get sick?’ Torstan wondered.

  ‘No,’ Bram sighed. ‘Which makes the whole thing even harder. It seemed to strike the women and children. Suddenly we were a village of men, mostly alone.’

  Thorgils didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine that the gods could be so cruel.

  ‘But enough about me,’ Bram smiled, eager to escape the dark shadows clouding his heart. ‘Enough about me! You must tell me how it is for all of you. My boys, so big now! Grown up and causing trouble still, I’m sure!’ He tried to sound jovial but the pain was still in his eyes, and their sympathy for him was still on their faces. Bram finished his cup, looking quickly around for another. ‘So, tell me, how are things on Oss?’

  ‘As I said, it would make no sense to attack them immediately, my lord,’ Rexon said wearily, having talked around in circles for hours, trying to lead Osbert away from the idea of heading straight for the islands to take his revenge upon his cousins. ‘Besides, Edela Saeveld knows how to make that sea-fire, doesn’t she?’

  Osbert, after four cups of ale and three goblets of wine, was less inclined to feel as fearful of the sea-fire as he knew he should. ‘Perhaps. But she is not in Andala. It will not be so easy to find what she needs on Oss, I’m sure.’

  Rexon glanced at Oleg, who he knew well. They had both been in Ranuf Furyck’s household once. Oleg looked as bored with the conversation as he was. ‘It may not, but surely, lord, we must take our time to think this through –’

  ‘What we must do,’ Osbert growled, interrupting him, ‘is listen to me, wouldn’t you say, Rexon? Me being the man who cares if you are here or not. And if I don’t...’ Osbert snapped his fingers and shrunk back into the comforting furs of Rexon’s chair. It was cooler in the hall. A breeze blew welcomingly towards him, and his stomach rumbled. ‘I require food.’

  Rexon swallowed, irritated by Osbert’s manner, which was even coarser than his headless father’s, and stood. ‘I shall see to it, my lord,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Osbert frowned. ‘And be quick about it!’ He turned to Oleg, lowering his voice. ‘Do you trust him?’ he asked quietly, motioning towards Rexon, who was talking to a servant.

  Oleg looked surprised. ‘Rexon? I don’t see why we wouldn’t. He has always been loyal to Brekka. Ranuf taught him to put the kingdom above everything. If that had changed, it would be a surprise to me.’

  Osbert was not convinced. ‘Go with him,’ he ordered. ‘Watch him. The last king who stayed here ended up dead, and I don’t intend to follow in his footsteps.’ He leaned forward, reaching for his goblet, which he noted, was nearly empty. Feeling a surge of nausea, he belched.

  Sleep deprived, uncomfortable, injured... and suddenly a king.

  It was all he had ever dreamed of, yet he’d never felt more unsettled in his life. He needed to destroy his enemies, to exact revenge for the murder of his father. There was no time to delay. He would have to conquer the islands fast.

  He could not allow Jael to live.

  Jael watched Edela as she lay in her narrow bed, swaying gently with each roll of the ship. She couldn’t stop thinking about the cave, seeing her grandmother trapped on that raft. Did Edela know where she was, or what was happening to her? Did she have the strength to escape?

  Not without help, perhaps...

  Momentarily assured by her grandmother’s steady breathing, Jael closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall of the house. Filled with holes, it was breezy but better than nothing.

  She was a dreamer, she reminded herself, yawning. It didn’t feel right, but she could no longer deny it. She was a dreamer.

  And she had to find some answers.

  ‘I can stay in the hall,’ Bram insisted for the third time as they walked across the muddy square. Tired and weary after so many stories and too many cups of ale, he stumbled along beside his nephew with barely one eye open.

  Thorgils batted away his offer for the third time. ‘There’s room at Odda’s now that Fyn’s gone. And besides, if you can stand it, I’d be glad of the company. After today, I was starting to feel a little lonely.’

  ‘So I hear,’ Bram yawned, looking up at his nephew. They had once been the same height, but Bram, despite his towering frame, had shrunk a bit over the years. ‘But maybe not for long.’ He pulled the crumpled scroll from his pouch and handed it to Thorgils. ‘Maybe not for long,’ he smiled.

  Thorgils felt his heartbeat thundering like an angry horse in his chest. It was as though everything else had blurred around him except that scroll.

  He gulped, staring down at it.

  Bram squeezed Thorgils’ arm. ‘We’re not far from the house. I can find my way from here, so you take your time.’

  ‘You saw her?’ Thorgils asked throatily.

  ‘I did,’ Bram grinned. ‘And she was well. Blooming. Surprising for a woman with so many children! Read your note, Nephew.’ And he turned away into the night.

  Thorgils looked at the scroll again, then hurried to find a patch of moonlight before unravelling it. Isaura’s hand, he was sure. It was not so long since he had seen it. Not in his mind at least.

  He held his breath as he read:

  Ivaar has gone. He left 5 days after he returned from Skorro, taking both ships. A garrison of 25 men guards the fort. He promised to come back for us when it was time. Come now, please. We will be waiting.

  Thorgils couldn’t breathe.

  He rolled up the scroll, placed it gently into his pouch, and ran for home.

  There was blood everywhere. Screams of horror and shock echoed around the hall.

  Jael jerked awake, shaking, her body vibrating with the vivid intensity of the fading dream. She wanted to vomit.

  ‘Jael?’ Aleksander was at her side, holding her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’

  She tried to blink him into focus. Her head hurt. She could hear the whistling wail of the wind through the holes in the walls, the rush of waves as they jerked the ship about. And she remembered where she was. ‘I had a dream,’ Jael murmured, feeling oddly uncomfortable with that statement. It was Edela who was supposed to say that. Not her.

  It was dark now, and she could only see shadows on Aleksander’s face.

  ‘About what?’

  But Jael wasn’t listening. She was reliving the dream, seeing the blood as it splattered across the flagstones, seeping into the grouting, dying everything a dark, ominous red.

  Berard Dragos’ blood.

  10

  ‘Runa?’ Bram blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the dull orange firelight as he stood in the doorway of Odda’s cottage.

  Runa spilled her tea over her knees. It was hot, and she jumped up, yelping in discomfort, stumbling near the flames.

  Bram sprinted into the room and lunged for her, steadying her arm, removing the cup. ‘Here, you look as though you’re all at sea!’ he laughed, and it was throaty and hoarse. He stared into her eyes.

  She looked sad, he thought.

  Older. Much like him.

  Runa turned away, shaking in surprise. It had been years since Bram Svanter had last been seen on Oss, but he appeared much the same: huge and smiling, too much hair, leathery face.

  But older. Greyer.

  They both were.

  ‘You look well. Unlike poor Odda over there.’ He’d seen Odda tucked into her bed, eyes closed, fur up to her nose. ‘Is she sleeping?’ he asked gently.

  Runa forced herself to focus. ‘She is... sleeping deeply. I had Elona Nelberg here checking on her for Thorgils, but I don’t put much faith in anything she said. She didn’t appear to know what she was talking about.’

  Bram frowned. He had never liked his sister-in-
law who had driven his brother into an early grave, but she was family and Thorgils’ mother. And she had most certainly raised a good son. ‘Elona? When did she become a healer?’

  ‘When her mother died,’ Runa sighed. ‘But I’m afraid that she has no gift for it at all.’ She turned to the door. ‘Where is Thorgils? I must be going. Morac will be wondering where I am.’

  Bram shook off his furry cloak, following her gaze. He smiled. ‘I imagine that’s him now.’

  Runa looked confused as she didn’t see or hear anyone but the very next moment, the door burst open and in rushed Thorgils, face flushed, eyes wide, hair standing up all over the place. He looked from Runa to Bram and back again. ‘I, I...’ Then he saw his mother and his face dropped. She did not look any better at all. He shook his head.

  ‘Your mother will be fine,’ Bram said firmly, his eyes twinkling. ‘And if she isn’t, then that was meant to be. You know that. You can’t keep someone from the gods when it’s their time.’

  Runa looked confused.

  ‘Isaura,’ Thorgils started, then stopped, feeling as though he shouldn’t even consider the idea with so many other things to worry about. ‘Ivaar has left Kalfa. She wants me to come for her. But...’ He almost cried, because, after eight lonely years of being without her, it didn’t feel real.

  Could it really happen? As easily as that?

  He shook his head, dropping his shoulders.

  ‘I’ll help you, Nephew,’ Bram said encouragingly. ‘I have a ship. We only need another two to take that fort and hold it, I’d say. I had a good look around, just in case. It can be done.’

  ‘And I can stay with Odda while you’re gone,’ Runa added. ‘I would be happy to.’

  They turned to her. She seemed so eager to help.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Thorgils asked.

  ‘Your husband won’t mind?’ Bram wondered, remembering what a miserable man she had married.