by A. E. Rayne
‘Come on!’ Bram yelled to the Osslanders as they hurried towards him.
The stones were slippery, wet from the gusting rain, so they were careful, tip-toeing along, squinting as the sliver of moon slid in and out of the rain clouds.
Thorgils was at the front, leading his men, not even sure that he was breathing.
And then Isaura was there, standing before the open gates with a handful of women and children.
Isaura was there!
Thorgils ran, losing his balance, slipping and stumbling but not caring in the slightest.
He raced towards her, pulling her into his arms, holding her close, touching her damp hair, inhaling her sweetness. ‘What’s happening?’ he called over Isaura’s shoulder as he hung onto her, fighting back the tears he had kept inside for eight long years.
‘Ivaar’s men are mostly asleep! We’ve locked them in the hall!’ Bram cried over the howling wind.
‘Asleep?’ Thorgils looked confused, glancing back to Klaufi, who was ready to assume lordship of the tiny island. He looked just as puzzled as Thorgils.
‘That was Ayla,’ Isaura said, blinking the rain out of her eyes as she looked up at him, relieved to be in his big arms again. She had missed the feeling of safety they provided. ‘We picked some herbs and made a tonic to add to the mead bucket.’
‘It will not last for long, though,’ Ayla warned. ‘We must leave now!’
Thorgils turned to Klaufi, his arms still around Isaura, not wanting to let her go. ‘I’ll take everyone to Ice Breaker, and then let’s secure the fort, although I don’t see why they would want to fight us. Not when they can have a much better lord than Ivaar!’
Klaufi smiled, imagining his wife’s face when she arrived to take her seat as Lady of Kalfa, but it faded quickly when he realised that Ivaar would likely come to try and take back the island. How could he not?
Thorgils looked down at Isaura. ‘You’re sure then? You want to come home?’ His voice broke. They were the words he had been saying to himself for what felt like a lifetime. It felt strange to finally utter them out loud. To her. ‘Home with me?’
Tears were running down Isaura’s face now as she gripped his hand. ‘Yes. Please. Yes.’ She looked at her children who were half asleep and wide-eyed with confusion as they stood around in the darkness. ‘Please. Before Ivaar comes.’
‘You think he will come?’ Thorgils wondered, staring at her worried face.
‘I think with Ivaar, you can never be sure what he’s planning or when,’ Isaura said anxiously, desperate to be gone. She ran her eyes over the men who were gathered around Thorgils. She recognised some and their presence was reassuring.
She hoped there were enough of them to keep Ivaar at bay.
Jael stepped out into the street, leaving the stables behind.
There was not much to see of the moon, and she felt almost hidden because of it. Lost. Set adrift from everything and everyone.
Alone.
It was as though every part of her was being pulled in different directions.
Pulled apart.
She wanted to drop to her knees in the street; the muck-filled, stinking street. All the things Marcus had said. All that he hadn’t... it was like a crushing weight, and she couldn’t breathe.
Yet, somehow, it still felt as though she knew nothing.
Jael fingered Toothpick’s moonstone and felt some certainty, but it was fleeting as her mind wandered quickly to Eadmund and Evaine. Evaine was surely in Eadmund’s bed now; in his heart, his head, winding herself around him as though she was his wife.
But she wasn’t.
And the prophecy said that Jael needed Eadmund.
And the prophecy said that they all needed Jael.
So, somehow, Jael had to get back to Oss and save Eadmund.
‘A hot pool!’ Evaine was beside herself with glee as she hurried to remove her dress, inclining her head for Eadmund to join her.
But Eadmund hesitated.
He frowned, watching as Evaine threw her clothes to the ground as she rushed towards the inviting, warm water, her lithe body disappearing quickly into the pool.
‘Eadmund,’ Evaine purred. ‘Come... it’s so warm!’
But Eadmund didn’t move. He felt as though he was somewhere else entirely. He could almost feel his hand reaching back to grab Jael’s, leading her towards the pool.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
Her lips as he skirted them. As they pursed and protested.
As he fought his way towards her, never giving up.
As she relented.
Jael.
His wife.
‘Eadmund!’ Evaine called, smiling. ‘Come!’
And he blinked and Jael was gone; just a memory that drifted quickly away, and he was removing his clothes and hurrying into the water to join Evaine; all thoughts of his wife vanishing into the night air as though she had never been there at all.
‘He can’t walk on his own!’ Ayla called. ‘You need to carry him! He does not have the strength!’
She waited while Thorgils’ men broke down the doors, releasing Ivaar’s prisoners.
Releasing Bruno.
Ayla could barely breathe as they carried him out.
‘Bruno!’ she cried desperately, reaching for his hand as he tried to blink away the rain that fell in his eyes. ‘I’m here! I’m coming with you! You’re coming with me!’
Ayla followed the men as they carried him slowly through the fort, across the beach, down to the ship.
The ship that would take them to their new home.
Thorgils watched as they worked to get Bruno on board Bram’s ship. He turned to his uncle. ‘What do you think?’
Bram yawned, suddenly ready for his bed. He thought of his dead wife and then was not so enamoured with the idea of bed at all. He shrugged. ‘I think we go now. No reason not to. Let’s get Isaura and the children away from here quickly. That’s all that matters. Leave Klaufi to sort out the fort. He’s got enough men to deal with those sleeping babies when they wake up!’
‘You think he can convince them to follow him instead of Ivaar?’
‘I think he has gold and Ivaar doesn’t, so I hope so. At least until Ivaar returns!’
Thorgils felt a chill seep into his bones.
No one knew where Ivaar was, but Ivaar would not let this stand.
His wife and children taken?
Ivaar would not let this stand.
‘Get to your ship!’ Bram insisted, watching Thorgils dither. ‘I’ll follow!’ He clapped his nephew on the back and turned away into the rain, which had started teeming down now, icy and sharp against their faces.
Thorgils stood for a moment, watching his uncle gather his men together, then turned away towards the headland where Ice Breaker waited with his new family on board.
III
The Storm
15
She opened her eyes.
Still in the cave.
But her eyes were open, and she’d had a dream.
She sighed, but her chest was so tight that it barely rose or fell. But she’d had a dream, and her eyes were open.
Derwa could heal her, she knew.
But she had led them all to Tuura.
And now they were trapped.
And danger was coming.
She felt so weak, so weary.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she drifted away again.
Ayla covered Bruno’s cold hands with her own as she knelt beside him. His lips were cracked and bleeding. It hurt for him to say much.
But he tried.
And she tried to stop him. ‘Sleep,’ she kept saying. ‘Just close your eyes, my love. We will be safe soon.’ And, eventually, he did fall asleep, tucked into the side of the ship, covered in a mound of furs. There was barely any meat on his bones at all, and despite the layers of warmth, he shivered uncontrollably.
‘How is he?’ Bram asked as Ayla walked to the stern, eager to stretch her legs a
fter crouching over Bruno for the past few hours.
Ayla frowned. As relieved as she was to be away from Kalfa and to have Bruno back, she could barely hear a thing over the building storm of fears in her head. ‘He is... he needs to be cared for. Fed. Healed. He is half dead.’ She bit her lip, not wanting to cry here, in front of these strangers. She didn’t know them. She could only hope that they were better men than Ivaar and his Kalfans.
They were. She could feel it.
This big, old man was kind. He looked at her with sympathy and respect. Even in the faint beams of moonlight, she could see what sort of man he was: strong but gentle, like Isaura’s Thorgils.
‘Well, soon he will have that, don’t you worry. In this sort of weather, we’ll be blown back to Oss in no time!’ Bram cried as the ship rose up on a curling, white-capped wave and slammed down with a thump onto the angry sea. Bram reached out and caught Ayla before she lost her footing. ‘Best you grab hold over here!’ he said, pushing her further into the stern, where ropes flapped about in the wind, tied around the smaller dragon prow. ‘Sit down on my chest and hold on tight!’
Ayla was ready to protest, but she could see that Bruno was as secure as he could be. There were men hunkering down all around him. And she was suddenly so tired. She nodded gratefully and took a seat on Bram’s wooden sea chest which carried the contents of his entire life now. Ayla could feel the sadness emanating from it as she slid around, trying to blink it all away, not wanting to intrude on his pain.
She reached back and gripped hold of a rope as the ship rose up again, watching as Bram steadied himself, before going to check on Bruno. He turned back to her, satisfied that he was alright, and gave her a wink.
Ayla smiled, trying to ignore the sudden urge to vomit, then closed her eyes at last. She needed a moment to think.
‘You must go! Go! Leave! You are all in danger! You must leave for Tuura, now! Jael needs you! Do not delay!’
Aleksander rolled over, unsettled by the urgent voice. The ground of the cave was so uncomfortable, and his mind was so troubled that he had taken a long time to fall asleep. And now, as turbulent as his dreams were, he wouldn’t allow himself to wake. He didn’t want to even think about moving.
Aleksander listened and ignored the voice in equal measure; mumbling, protesting against it, tossing and turning, but never waking, never letting the dream grab hold of him.
It was only a nightmare, he told himself.
Just a nightmare.
Branwyn and Kormac’s house was large and comfortable but not big enough for their influx of visitors, so Fyn and Entorp had been sent to stay with Aedan, his wife, Kayla, and his brother, Aron.
Gisila and Biddy had managed to find a bed each. Jael and Eydis were sharing another bed opposite Edela. Eydis had finally drifted off to sleep, but Jael was wide awake, still thinking about her conversation with Marcus.
A prophecy had been written about her. Hundreds of years ago. A prophecy about Furia’s daughter.
Furia was the Goddess of War.
And she was a warrior.
A warrior who had lost her way in a mire of dreamers and danger and dark magic. But she was a warrior. The gods had spoken to her when she was a child, she remembered that now. A warrior dreamer, they had said. The one who would save them all.
Save them all?
Jael couldn’t move. The bed was narrow, and Eydis had curled into her, and she didn’t want to wake her.
Save them all?
She pushed her head back onto the pillow, desperately trying to remember Eadmund. Trying not to think of Evaine.
She saw a vision of Berard and remembered the dream she’d had of Hest.
Save them all?
All of Osterland?
Jael sighed. Not a dreamer at all, she thought, closing her eyes.
Not a dreamer at all...
Fianna Lehr put down her quill and picked up the scroll, shaking it distractedly, trying to dry the ink before reading:
We will be in Tuura in 10 days time. Jael will be there. We will stay for 5 days only. You must not delay.
‘Mother!’ Aleksander raced into the house, making her jump. ‘Mother! Mother, come! The fight is about to start! You must come!’
Fianna looked at her son as though he was a stranger. She rolled the scroll and slipped it into the small leather purse that hung from her belt, then eased herself up from the stool. ‘Why your father thinks he can beat Gant Olborn, I’ll never know,’ she smiled, although there was nothing about her face that looked happy. Her eyes were completely blank as she rubbed one hand over her rounded belly, certain that she’d felt a leg moving about in there. ‘After what Gant did to him last time? And the time before that, and that...’
Aleksander was already racing ahead of her, though, disappearing to find Jael, she knew. Fianna grabbed her cloak and turned to her servant. ‘Find Rollo for me. I need him to deliver a message. Tell him it’s urgent.’ She left her nodding servant and walked out through the house after Aleksander, towards the training ground.
‘Fianna! Fianna!’ came the excited cry from the dark-haired little girl. Not so little anymore, Fianna realised as Jael grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the ring. She was getting so tall, just like her father. ‘The fight is about to start! Come on!’
Aleksander gripped her other hand, and Fianna allowed herself to be dragged to the railings, watching as her husband, Harald, and Gant stalked each other, swords resting on top of shields, unblinking eyes peering over iron rims.
Aleksander and Jael clambered onto the rails, Jael turning back to smile at her. Fianna stared into those green eyes and shivered all over.
She remembered those eyes.
And for a moment her head cleared.
She remembered that little girl.
Jael turned back around to watch the fight and Fianna shook her head.
‘My lady?’ It was her man, Rollo.
Fianna ushered him away from the crowd. She pulled the scroll from her purse. ‘Take this to Tuura, to Gerod in the temple,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Make sure that no one sees you, whatever you do. Tell no one about this. Don’t allow yourself to be followed. And quickly. You must go quickly.’
Rollo nodded and left immediately as Fianna heard a cheer go up.
‘Mother! Mother! It’s Father! Gant is down!’
But Fianna was barely listening as she watched Rollo hurry away to the stables.
Ivaar’s children were not happy.
Pulled from their beds in the middle of the night; carried to a strange ship; sailing away to a strange place, with a strange man, and his strange crew.
They were not happy at all.
Mads had thankfully wailed himself to sleep, and Leya, who was not much older than her little brother, had curled up next to him, closing her eyes, but the two eldest girls, Selene and Annet, clung to their mother, utterly bereft and confused, unwilling to let her go or allow themselves to fall asleep.
Isaura hadn’t wanted to warn them of what might happen because she hadn’t been certain that Thorgils would even come. But now, the shock was simply too much for them. They wanted their father and being around Thorgils was only making things worse.
As much as Isaura wanted him near her, never leaving her side again, she frowned, shooing him away whenever he tried to approach her. The seas were rough, and Isaura and her two servants had sheltered inside the wooden house with the children, wrapping themselves in furs that, despite the rain sprinkling in through the holes in the walls, were keeping them dry.
But it was bitterly cold.
Thorgils watched Isaura murmuring to her girls and thought of Ivaar. He felt oddly conflicted. These children loved their father. What was he thinking, imagining that they would want to be his?
Selene and Annet glared at him as though he was about to run at them with a knife and murder them all.
He didn’t know where to look.
Isaura smiled sympathetically at Thorgils, and stroked her hand do
wn Annet’s long, golden braids, trying to soothe her to sleep.
If they could just get to Oss.
Everything would be alright if they could just get to Oss.
Jael hopped out of bed to check on Edela and was relieved to see that her chest was still rising and falling. Yawning, she padded back across the room. She hadn’t been able to get back to sleep since her dream about Fianna. It was still the middle of the night, she was sure, and the house was filled with snorting, snoring, breathing noises. All of them too loud.
It didn’t feel familiar at all.
Heading back to her bed, she reached around in the darkness for Ido and Vella, who, she discovered, had quickly claimed her spot next to Eydis. Smiling wearily, she sat down on the floor instead, leaning her back against the bed frame. It was not comfortable, but it was, at least, a warm house; the house of a successful blacksmith, with a lucky wife. Although, when she thought of Evva, Branwyn’s daughter, who had been murdered that fateful night, 18 years ago, she realised that, like many mothers, Branwyn was not lucky at all. Just like her own mother, who had lost two of her sons before they had become men. Nothing could erase the pain of losing a child, she supposed. Gisila had certainly never been the same. Every loss had dulled her eyes, breaking off another piece of her heart.
Jael thought back to her dream. She had been shocked by Aleksander’s revelation that Fianna had killed herself; in front of him too. She sighed sadly, not understanding it at all.
The moment she had decided to let the dreams come, they had come like a frantic blizzard, and now she couldn’t stop them. But as much as she wanted to be free of them, Jael knew that there were clues in each one; as unpleasant as those clues might be. But Fianna? She simply couldn’t imagine what had led her to do such a thing. To write that note? Send those men to kill her?
That was not the Fianna she had known.
