by A. E. Rayne
Eadmund couldn’t even raise a smile. ‘Where have they gone, do you think?’
Thorgils was soaked to his soul; even his eyebrows were wet through, but he raised them anyway. ‘Hud’s Point?’
‘Either there or maybe Tervo or Bara?’
Thorgils shook his head. ‘I don’t think Tervo. Torborn wouldn’t have him there. Bara? Well, Frits Hallstein’s always been a stupid shit, so maybe.’ He looked around to check on Isaura, who was walking beside Ayla. ‘If that’s the case though, we’re in for it soon.’
Bram ambled past them, lugging his sea chest as though it was a light basket. ‘Come on, ladies!’ he grinned over his shoulder. ‘I need to get these feet of mine in front of some flames before they fall off!’
Now, Eadmund did smile. ‘Come on!’ he called to the men on the beach. ‘Let’s get inside!’
After soothing Eydis back to sleep, Jael had been restless and too distracted to close her eyes for long. She was growing tired of this night, which seemed longer than any she could remember, but dawn would be here soon. So yawning, she sat up, moving Vella into the warm space she was leaving behind, plonking her next to her brother who lay stretched out against Eydis’ back.
Jael frowned, wanting to be back on Oss, helping Eadmund defend the island. How could Ivaar attack Oss, though? He didn’t have enough men or ships.
Not enough for what he needed to do.
So he must have help. But whose?
Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, and grabbing her swordbelt, she put her finger to her lips as Vella popped her head up, and slipped through the door.
‘Ayla?’ Isaura smiled encouragingly as Ayla’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Bruno?’ Ayla asked quickly, turning her head. Disoriented. She must have passed out because she had no idea how she had ended up on a table by a fire inside Oss’ hall. She closed her eyes again, aware of an urgent throbbing in her leg, and the swaying of her body, rolling from side to side as though she was still on that ship.
But she wasn’t.
Ayla grimaced as Isaura gripped her hand.
‘He’s here,’ Isaura said quietly. ‘In a bedchamber, sleeping. He’s very weak, but when he wakes, we’ll start making him strong again, don’t worry.’
Bram stood behind them, looking at the arrow he had just removed from Ayla’s leg. He turned around to Thorgils, lowering his voice. ‘I have a feeling we owe our lives to that woman.’
‘What do you mean?’ Thorgils asked, puzzled, watching out of the corner of his eye as everyone rushed about finding dry clothes; filling the tables with food and ale for the wet and weary travellers.
He couldn’t believe they were safe. All of them.
Bram shrugged. ‘When she’s better, maybe we’ll know more, but maybe we won’t want to. With dreamers, I’ve always found, it’s better to stay in the dark!’ He sighed, finally ready to sit down and stop moving. Although, from experience, he knew that that was when he was likely to feel even worse. ‘We did it, though!’ Clapping Thorgils on the back, Bram took himself to the nearest table, collapsing gratefully in front of a cup of freshly poured ale. He watched as Runa entered the hall, her eyes searching the room, then meeting his. He saw relief in them, then displeasure as she glimpsed her husband.
‘What can I do?’ Runa asked as she walked towards Morac, trying to avoid staring at Bram. Her eyes rested on the woman lying on the table. She recognised her. ‘What happened?’
Morac looked bored. ‘She had an arrow in her leg. Perhaps you can help care for her?’ He was far more interested in what they were going to do about the ships in Tatti’s Bay. If Ivaar was lurking about, they were in danger of having almost their entire fleet wiped out. He sent Runa on her way and turned towards the table where Eadmund sat with Bram, Thorgils, Torstan, and Sevrin. Sighing with tight-lipped irritation, he walked over to join them.
‘If we bring back the ships,’ Eadmund frowned, ‘there’s nothing to stop him attacking them at sea. Who knows where he is or what his plans are. And we need all the men we have to defend the fort.’
‘Well, Ayla saw three brothers and a dreamer on Alekka. Sounds like the Arnessons to me. And they do have more ships,’ Bram said, taking a long drink of ale, grateful to feel moisture in his throat again. ‘We had three behind us. One was lost. From memory, the Arnesson brothers have two ships each. So, there’s maybe five, plus Ivaar’s two ships.’
‘But where were the others? If three were behind you?’
‘My bet is Bara or Tervo,’ Bram mused. ‘Mother Arnesson is the dreamer. An old, hairy, bitch dreamer from Tingor. The sort of woman who could strip the skin off you with a look.’ He shuddered, having had many encounters with the old crone over the years. He’d known her husband, who’d been a ferrety, one-armed bastard, killed in a dispute over another man’s wife. Unsurprisingly. The Arnessons had a reputation around women, that, as Bram’s mother used to say, would curl your hair. ‘She must have told them about the gold.’
Morac’s head was up. ‘Gold?’
Bram’s jaw clenched, not welcoming the latest arrival to their already full table. He didn’t move over, and Morac had to perch on the end of the bench as he sat down. ‘The Arnesson brothers are gold-hungry bastards. The only thing getting them into their ships, coming here with Ivaar, would have been gold, and plenty of it.’
Eadmund glanced at Thorgils, who, he noticed, was still shaking. ‘Go and sit by the fire. Change your clothes. You’re not going to be much use to anyone if you end up in Odda’s sickbed!’
Thorgils nodded and slunk away, suddenly worried about his mother.
‘But Ivaar doesn’t want gold, does he?’ Sevrin suggested. ‘Not really.’
‘No,’ Eadmund agreed. ‘He wants me. He wants the throne.’
‘But the Ivaar I remember was not a fool,’ Bram added. ‘He won’t come if he thinks he could be humiliated. If he doesn’t think that he can defeat you.’
‘No, he won’t,’ Eadmund murmured. ‘But if he has these brothers on his side, then he likely has more of a chance, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would,’ Bram agreed, finishing his cup and reaching for the jug. ‘So, best we have another talk with that dreamer and see if she had any more dreams while she was asleep!’
The knock on the door was sharp, but not unexpected. It was still dark, but Jaeger had been awake for some time, and he stood, dressed and waiting, Meena yawning by his side.
She could barely look at him and had not spoken a word since he’d woken her. She tapped her head anxiously as a sleepy Egil opened the door to reveal Morana.
Morana pulled back her hood and lifted a sharp eyebrow at her hunched over niece, but one look at Jaeger’s face told her that there was no point in arguing about it. ‘We should go,’ she rasped moodily.
Jaeger nodded and pushed Meena forward, both of them wrapped in hooded cloaks. The storm had passed, but it was a fair walk to the Crown of Stones, so it was better to be prepared, or so Egil had insisted. He’d shoved a water bag and a basket of food at Meena, who did not look pleased as she took them.
Morana scowled as Meena passed her, and Jaeger glared at them both, his finger to his lips. ‘Let us go, and quietly,’ he hissed, leading the way down the corridor, hoping to keep Morana from killing Meena.
At least until they reached the stones.
Jaeger had the book safely tucked beneath his cloak. He could feel it pressing against his chest. There was a sense of comfort in having it so close. He felt calm for the first time in weeks, although it was unsettling to be taking it out of his chamber, to a group of people who would no doubt happily kill him to own it.
But the book was his.
And he would just as happily kill to keep it.
Jael rested her head against Tig’s. He was sleepy and quiet, and they stayed like that for a while. She ran her hands down his face, wishing they were back on Oss, preparing to ride down the island, across the breathtaking landscape they had both come to love.
Jael had tried not to think about it, preferring to keep her mind occupied with thoughts of Edela and Eadmund.
She yawned, reaching for Tig’s bridle. The loss of Eadmund had opened up a hole inside her. She had pushed and pushed against him, and now he wasn’t there.
And she missed him.
Jael stilled. Tig’s ears flicked.
They could both hear footsteps.
Jael stepped back slowly, her hand resting on Toothpick, her skin pricking in anticipation. It had been too long since she had done any training, she grumbled to herself.
Spinning quickly, she came face to face with a sleepy-eyed Fyn.
‘Feel like some company?’ he grinned.
Ayla was sitting up now, a cup of honeyed milk warming her hands. Isaura had gone to try and help her servants soothe the children, who were still confused and in tears, not knowing whether it was day or night.
Bram sat down next to Ayla. They were alone, by the fire.
‘Your leg,’ he started. ‘It will heal quickly, I’m sure. It wasn’t deep.’
She looked up at him. ‘Thank you. Isaura said that you pulled the arrow out.’
‘I did. It’s something I’m especially skilled at after all these years.’
Ayla grimaced at a sudden rush of pain.
‘It’s the least I could do after what you did.’ He felt awkward, hiding his eyes from her.
‘I did?’ Ayla looked awkward herself, her attention quickly back on her cup.
Bram glanced around, but they were still alone. ‘The storm. The way it just vanished.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that. It was you, wasn’t it?’
Ayla blinked at Bram, but her eyes were dark masks, revealing nothing. ‘I think it was luck,’ she whispered carefully. ‘Just luck.’
‘Luck?’
Ayla nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Luck.’
Bram stared at her. ‘Well, if I’m ever in need of some luck again, I think I may pay you a visit,’ he said with a smile.
Ayla smiled back before her lips started to wobble as she remembered the words she had heard in her trance. ‘Heed my warning, dreamer! My storms are a sign! A message! A cry to arms! For the Darkness is coming and we are all in danger, man and god alike!’
IV
The Door
20
Jael and Fyn walked the horses to the gates, eager to escape the oppressive fort.
‘You’re sure Aron won’t mind you taking his horse?’ Jael wondered as she ambled along beside Tig.
‘He said I could use him while I’m here,’ Fyn said sleepily. He was not enjoying Tuura at all, apart from spending time with Jael’s two cousins. They were his age, and, like Axl, were proving to be surprisingly good company.
Still, it would be nice to spend some time with Jael.
He was worried about her.
‘Well, that’s good,’ Jael yawned. ‘It will be a relief to get out of here for a while.’ There was so much to talk about. And nothing she could say. She still had Marcus’ stone in her pouch, but his warning about speaking to anyone else rung in her ears.
Jael waved at the soldiers on the gates, who squinted in the pre-dawn light, but hopped to action as they got closer, lifting up the thick, wooden bar that secured the gates during the night.
Sticking her foot into a stirrup, Jael hoisted herself onto Tig’s back and resettled her cloak. As the gates opened, she took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of last night’s storm, and tapped her boots gently into her beloved horse, letting him fly.
The Crown of Stones was an ancient landmark, as revered as Skoll’s Tree, but not a place that many went. Not anymore. The Following had claimed it centuries before, and their reputation in Hest was terrifying enough to keep everyone else far away.
It was a place of energy and magic, where the Followers believed that Raemus himself had once walked. They came to it each shadow moon, hoping to reach into the Dolma, desperate to feel his dark presence; to connect with him in some small way.
Meena knew it well. It was a place that Varna had brought her many times. Despite her intense dislike of The Following and their intense dislike of her, Varna had been one of their leaders, though she had always disagreed with Yorik Elstad about their one true goal.
Meena remembered Varna and felt sad.
It was not a real feeling, she knew, because Varna had been a cruel grandmother who had mistreated her, not caring for her in any way that she could see or feel. Her shoulders sunk as she thought of Berard. He had wanted to care for her, and she had run away from him, into his brother’s arms, only to discover that he did not care for her at all.
They were all eyeing Jaeger. Not wanting to look at him, but eyeing him nonetheless; wondering about the book, Morana knew. She smiled, every one of her fingers and toes tingling in anticipation. She felt light-headed, not having slept at all as she purified both her mind and body in preparation for the spell-casting. ‘Give me the book,’ she demanded as Yorik approached.
Jaeger frowned at her tone. ‘Now? You don’t appear ready to do anything yet,’ he grumbled, staring at the huddled Followers in the distance. They gathered inside the stone circle, a murmuring flock of black-cloaked men and women; hiding their faces from him beneath shadowy hoods.
Son of the king.
They did not trust him. Not yet.
‘My lord.’ Yorik nodded respectfully, trying to get Jaeger’s attention. ‘We are pleased that you have come. That you have brought us the book.’
‘Brought you the book?’ Jaeger snorted, not noticing the flicker of anger in Yorik’s strange eyes. It was still too dark to see much. They had come without torches, eager not to draw attention to themselves as they trekked away from the castle, and were still attempting to light a fire in the middle of the circle of stones.
‘Well, of course, the book is yours, as you say. We are grateful for the opportunity to show you what power lies within its pages,’ Yorik said, staring intently at Jaeger, almost willing him to hand over the book.
Jaeger reluctantly slipped it out from beneath his cloak. His body twinged as he handed it to Yorik, who tensed in anticipation, gripping his hands around the book’s cool leather cover.
Jaeger did not let go as he stared Yorik down. ‘This book belongs to me. It revealed itself to me alone, and you will do well to remember that. I am a Dragos. It was meant for me.’ His voice was low, edged with menace, and he was pleased to see Yorik take note of that.
‘Of course, my lord,’ Yorik said calmly, feeling the weight of the book as Jaeger finally released his grip. He sighed. Oh, the years he had imagined such pure joy. The Book of Darkness! At last –
‘We must begin!’ Morana snapped, frowning at Yorik’s dithering, her attention focused by a clap of thunder in the distance. ‘Another storm will be upon us before long.’
Yorik watched as tall flames finally sparked from the fire, snaking into the pre-dawn sky. ‘Yes, I fear you’re right. It is a sign you know,’ he smiled. ‘The gods are worried. It is a very promising sign indeed.’
Jaeger glanced at Meena, who was looking through the stones as though planning her escape.
‘You will join the circle,’ Morana said reluctantly. There was no other way to show him the spell, although she had her doubts as to whether he would see anything at all. He was no dreamer. No elder. No Follower.
He was nothing.
Except a Dragos.
The one who would raise her.
And they all needed him now.
Eadmund had not come back to bed, and so Evaine had come to find him, irritated that he had abandoned her. She found him hunched over a table with Thorgils and his equally huge uncle; all three of them drinking.
Evaine scowled disapprovingly as she approached.
Thorgils gulped, recognising the look on her face; still surprised that she was here and Jael was not.
Bram appeared just as disturbed by the
chill in Evaine’s eyes. ‘Well, perhaps you and I should go and see how your mother fares?’ he suggested quickly, groaning in agony as he stood. The storm had knocked him about so much that he was certain he’d look black and blue when he removed his clothes.
Thorgils scrambled to his feet, nodding eagerly.
Eadmund barely noticed that his companions had hurried away. His attention was instantly consumed by Evaine, who softened her expression when she saw the warmth in his eyes.
‘Why don’t you come back to bed?’ she grumbled softly. ‘Surely the worst is over? There is no attack. You should get more rest, ready for if it does come.’ Reaching out, she grabbed his hand, trying to pull him towards her.
Eadmund had not slept all night and was tempted by the idea of Evaine and bed, but his mind was not on sleep. He shook his head, trying to focus. ‘An attack may come at any time. And I can’t be in bed when it does. We won’t survive Ivaar if we’re not prepared. And I need to be the most prepared of all.’ He resisted Evaine’s efforts to change his mind, taking another drink of ale.
‘But what can you possibly do if you can’t even see him?’ Evaine insisted. ‘He is not in the harbour, and you have men on the ramparts. Why not sleep before dawn comes?’
Eadmund smiled, looking towards the doors. ‘I think you’ll find that dawn is almost here. Besides, if I get anywhere near that bed with you, I won’t be able to sleep at all.’
Evaine’s face glowed with pleasure, and she relented, coming to sit beside him instead, leaning her head against his arm, not caring who saw. Eadmund was hers now, and soon everyone on Oss would have to accept it.
