by A. E. Rayne
Weakening her. Killing her.
But, Draguta smiled, not for long.
‘My lady?’
Turning, she glared at her red-faced servant, Brill, who had climbed the narrow, stone staircase to the top of the old tower. ‘What?’
‘Your...’ Brill sucked in a cold breath, panting, her throat burning, ‘...supper is ready.’
Draguta turned back to the view, noticing how much darker everything suddenly appeared. She shuddered but did not retreat, surprised to discover that the darkness was no longer her enemy. ‘Well, come along, then, you miserable creature. And after we eat the turgid slop you’ve prepared, you shall show me what you’ve collected today, for we have work to do, you and I...’
Isaura could barely speak. Edela had tried to be reassuring – so had Eydis and Biddy – but she remained imprisoned by tall walls of terror and guilt.
It was a warm evening, and they were eating outside in the square. The children had wanted to. They had made friends since arriving in Andala, and their friends were eating outside with their parents, who had been working hard dismembering the dragon all day. Isaura couldn’t remember their names, and when they smiled at her, looking as though they wanted to start a conversation, she blinked and turned away from their table.
Towards the harbour entrance.
She could see it so clearly.
It was dark now, but torches and braziers were burning around the square, leading towards the open gates where the last bits of the dragon were being carried. Carried in carts and in arms; dragged by the horses and oxen that had finally been cajoled into going near the corner of the fort where the dragon had fallen. Carried to the harbour where it would join the serpent in its watery grave; past the ship sheds where the men and women dying of the sickness were being housed. More and more were being taken into the sheds each day.
And now those sheds were smelling of death.
And pyres were being built.
Biddy sneezed, and Isaura turned to her. ‘Have you seen anything of Entorp today? Or Bruno?’ she wondered.
Biddy shook her head, digging up her sleeve for a handkerchief. ‘I’ve seen no sign of Entorp today,’ she sniffed. ‘Poor man. I hope he’s taking care of himself in there.’ She was worried, wanting to go and help him but Edela had insisted that she remain far away from the sheds, which unsettled her further.
Runa sat down beside them with a yawn, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.
Isaura smiled at her. ‘How’s Bram?’
Runa looked awkward. ‘He is better,’ she mumbled, pouring herself a cup of ale and offering to top up Biddy’s. ‘I think he’ll be out of bed tomorrow. Derwa agrees. She wants rid of him. Says she’s enough people to be looking after.’
Biddy laughed. ‘Sounds about right.’ Lifting the cup to her lips, she took a quick drink of the bitter ale, allowing her mind to drift far away from her worries for a moment. But when she looked at Isaura’s face, they were quickly back.
There was so much uncertainty at the moment that it was hard to breathe.
‘Perhaps Thorgils will return soon?’ Runa suggested, seeing how distressed Isaura appeared. ‘With Jael? Edela is sure she found him, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. She saw him with Jael in her dreams. But in what state she couldn’t be sure.’
‘But he was with Jael, and that’s the right place for him to be,’ Runa said. ‘It sounds to me as though you’ve nothing to worry about. They’ll be home soon.’
Isaura nodded mutely, listening to the chatter around her as the night darkened further and weary bodies started relaxing for the first time since the sun’s rise. There was laughter, interlaced with the whining of tired children who were past ready for bed; the crack of the braziers; the smell of smoke and meat and ale, and dead dragon most of all.
More than anything, Isaura hoped that Runa was right.
She wanted Thorgils home, here, beside her. In her cottage. In her bed. In her arms. With her and the children. Together.
And when he was finally home, she would never let him go again.
‘You’re sure you should be eating that?’ Jael frowned, glancing at Astrid, Harstad’s lone healer, who had been caring for Thorgils since they’d arrived in the village three days earlier.
Astrid laughed, reaching for her basket as Thorgils gnawed his way through the pork chop Aleksander had brought back from the hall. ‘I think it’s just what he needs. A man as big as Thorgils requires a lot of feeding to regain his strength.’
Thorgils’ eyes widened, brighter than they had been in days. ‘Exactly! I’ve been saying that for years, and now, finally, a woman who agrees with me. If only my heart didn’t belong to another.’ He winked at Astrid before biting another chunk out of the pork chop.
Jael was sure that Astrid was blushing as she headed to the cottage door.
The healer was a quiet, middle-aged woman with light-brown hair which she wore tucked into a pale-blue scarf. It matched her pale-blue dress, which was plain and practical, much like Astrid herself. ‘I’ll return in the morning to check those stitches,’ she said, turning back to Thorgils. ‘But do take it easy when you get up tomorrow. Use the crutch, and don’t go too far at first. Your body is still weak.’
Thorgils was nodding enthusiastically, but Jael could tell that he wasn’t listening. She was though. ‘I’ll make sure he does. We need him in one piece for the ride home. We have to get back to Andala as soon as possible.’ She glanced at Aleksander who was walking Astrid to the door.
‘We do,’ Aleksander agreed. ‘And thanks to you we’ll be able to take the hungry giant with us.’
Jael could definitely see Astrid blushing now, and she smiled.
It was nice to have something to smile about.
‘Thank you for everything,’ Jael added, following them through the door and onto the tiny porch. ‘Hopefully, we won’t need to bother you too much before we leave.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind, my lady,’ Astrid said. ‘It’s not often we have a queen visit us here. Not one requiring my help, at least.’ And she headed into the darkness, disappearing down the path that led towards the newly built hall.
Jael’s shoulders slumped, and her face fell, all good humour suddenly gone. They were in Harstad. A long way from Andala. Days of riding with an injured Thorgils lay ahead of them.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired.
‘You look as though you could fall down,’ Biddy smiled, opening the gate and ushering Edela through it before turning back to grab Eydis’ hand.
‘I could,’ Edela agreed, trekking up the path to the front door. ‘And I don’t think I’m alone. I can’t remember a moment when everything felt as though it was calm. Especially inside my head. It’s a jumble of demanding weeds in there, and I stopped being a useful gardener a long time ago!’ She dug inside her purse, searching for the key.
Biddy frowned, holding the flaming torch over Edela’s purse. ‘I wondered why you’d been so quiet. I thought it might be something to do with Jael.’
Edela scooped out the big, iron key and felt around for the lock. ‘Oh yes, it’s Jael. And Eadmund. Thorgils and Ayla. All of them. Draguta too. A lot of demanding weeds, and I’m not sure which one I need to pull out first!’ And opening the door, she stood aside to let Biddy and Eydis pass.
The cottage felt cold, and it was so dark that Edela didn’t dare move until Biddy had lit the lamps. Eventually, the room started glowing, and Biddy threw the torch into the charred fire pit, shrugging off her cloak. ‘I’ll get the fire going, and we can have some nice, hot milk before bed. What do you think, Eydis?’
Eydis didn’t answer as she fumbled with her cloak pin.
Biddy bent down to help her. ‘Here, that’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? I’ll get some oil on that tomorrow. Loosen it up for you.’ Eydis nodded but didn’t say a word as Biddy led her towards her little bed. ‘You sit down there. Your nightdress is under the pillow. I’ll get that fire going.’ Eydis was worried about
Eadmund, she knew. And Ayla.
They all were.
There hadn’t been any word about Ayla since Ivaar had carried her into the sheds. No one had seen Bruno. Nor Entorp. It was a constant, niggling worry.
The sickness was spreading quickly.
Biddy turned in surprise to see Edela with her cloak still on, opening the door. ‘Where are you going?’ she wondered. ‘Edela?’
Edela turned around. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to talk to the moon a while. I need answers, and it may have some for me. It often does. Don’t worry...’ And she disappeared down the path, leaving a very worried looking Biddy to close the door.
Eadmund had fallen asleep early. With no one to talk to but his horses, and with nothing to see but the flames of his fire and the shadows hiding creatures he didn’t want to imagine, he’d made himself a bed with the almost-big-enough fur and immediately closed his eyes.
And the dreams came.
Vivid, intense dreams, but so different than before.
This time he didn’t see Evaine. He didn’t hear her voice.
Someone else was there now, calling to him, promising him things.
Holding out an elegant, alabaster hand.
Edela walked away from the cottage, following the pale rays of moonlight on the ground, knowing they would lead her to where she needed to go. There were so many answers to find, and her dreams were not big enough for all of her questions.
She had always had a connection to Hymani, the Tuuran Goddess of the Moon; fascinated by the silvery orb in the night sky since she was a child; soothed by its luminous glow. Whenever she couldn’t sleep, whenever she had a knot of a problem she couldn’t untangle, she would go and talk to the moon, listening as it whispered back to her.
Edela stopped when she came to the path that led up a rise to a small bench which sat beneath a spreading ash tree. She smiled wistfully, almost seeing Ranuf ordering the carpenter around as he built it for her. A moon-watching bench he had called it, insisting that the back was carved to look like a moon surrounded by stars. He had chosen the perfect spot for it, away from the bustle of the square and the clamour of those who sought her advice.
A place where Edela could sit and contemplate.
A place to find help, he’d said. And surrounded by ambitious and unstable neighbours, Ranuf Furyck had been a king always in need of her help.
The rise was steeper than Edela’s weary legs felt ready for, but that bench was already calling to her, so hitching up her cloak, she panted her way up to its peak, thankful the gods had helped blow the falling dragon far away from both her cottage and her bench.
Sitting down with a loud puff of exhaustion, Edela slumped back, feeling the smooth wood against her spine. Not comfortable but comforting.
Lifting her head she looked up at the moon, a chill settling over her skin.
She knew then that she hadn’t imagined it.
Something was definitely wrong.
The cottage was pokey. Unpleasant. Rats scampered in and out through holes in the walls; the wind chasing after them. And though there was a healthy fire in the long pit running down its middle, Draguta still felt cold.
She sat at a wobbling table on a roughly hewn chair, her eyes closed, murmuring to herself, running her finger around the seeing circle she had just painted in her own blood. Inhaling sharply, she opened her ice-cold, blue eyes and smiled. ‘Ahhh, there you are. It has not been long, I know, but oh, how I’ve missed you.’ And frowning, she leaned closer to the circle. ‘Dear, oh dear, but you appear to be in quite a bad way. How very sad... for you.’
And Draguta closed her eyes again, her red-lipped smile growing wider and wider.
2
‘Help! Please! Astrid! Somebody get Astrid! Now!’
‘Jael? Jael! Jael, what’s happening? Jael?’
Aleksander turned back into the cottage, blinking at Thorgils who looked as terrified as he felt. ‘I’m going to take you to her!’ he panicked, hurrying to the bed. ‘I have to take you to Astrid!’
‘No.’
She was so quiet. He barely heard her.
Neither Thorgils nor Aleksander knew what was happening.
‘No. Astrid will come. I don’t want to move.’
The pain in Jael’s body was overwhelming, but the pain in her heart was greater still.
‘What’s happening?’ Thorgils had finally struggled out of bed. It was early. Still dark. He was half asleep, and his injured body was stiff. He blinked at Jael, lying on the bed. She had pulled the furs back, trying to get up. Even in the dim glow of the lamp by the bed, he could see the blood.
Aleksander gripped her hand. ‘What is it?’ His chest was tight, his heart thudding loudly.
‘It’s my baby,’ Jael whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, gasping as another wave of pain hit, twisting her body, arching her back.
The door swung open, and Astrid hurried inside. Quickly taking in the scene, she inhaled sharply, placing her basket on the nearest table, and shooing Thorgils back to bed. ‘You stay where you are! That won’t help matters any, you pulling out your stitches. And you,’ she said, pointing at Aleksander. ‘Light the rest of the lamps, and stoke up that fire. I need to see what’s going on.’
Jael wasn’t listening. She was watching the fear in Aleksander’s eyes. She could feel the blood on the mattress, wet against her skin, soaking her tunic. It was everywhere.
Red, like fire. Anger. Love.
Death.
‘Go on, get those lamps burning now,’ Astrid said to Aleksander who had not moved. She nudged him away from the bed and bent over Jael with a reassuring smile, placing one hand on Jael’s belly. ‘I had a feeling, of course, by the look of you, but you weren’t saying anything.’
Jael didn’t want to say anything.
Thorgils sat back on the edge of his bed, gripping his shoulder, holding his breath. Aleksander was flustered, trying to light the lamps, burning his fingers.
‘I’m going to lift up your tunic,’ Astrid murmured, seeing that Jael wasn’t responding as she writhed around. ‘Oh.’
‘What? What is it?’ Aleksander was quickly at her side, holding a burning lamp. He leaned over and gasped. Jael’s stomach was covered in large, blue marks. Bruises.
Dragur blue.
‘She did this,’ Jael said mutely, her eyes closed as Astrid placed her cold hands on her hot belly, feeling around. ‘She made them do it. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop them.’
‘The dragur?’ Aleksander was confused.
‘Draguta. She knew about the baby when she sent the dragur. I couldn’t stop them hitting me. I couldn’t protect the baby,’ she cried. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault!’
‘Ssshhh,’ Astrid soothed, watching Jael panic. ‘We need to keep you calm. This baby has to come out. It cannot stay in you, or it will kill you. You must try and let the pain wash over you like water. Focus your mind on staying calm now.’
Aleksander swallowed. ‘What should I do?’
‘I need more light. Blankets and towels. I’ll go to my cottage, get what I need and return. Perhaps you could come with me?’
Aleksander nodded, squeezing Jael’s hand. ‘We won’t be long.’
‘No, we won’t,’ Astrid promised quickly before turning to Thorgils. ‘Watch your queen. But try not to move too much. I don’t need to be looking after both of you!’
Jael closed her eyes as Astrid and Aleksander hurried out of the cottage, listening as the door banged after them, neither one bothering to shut it properly.
Thorgils took a deep breath and stood. Grunting at the sharp pain in his stitched thigh, he grabbed his crutch and hobbled across the room to Jael.
‘Don’t,’ she tried.
‘Ahhh, well, you seem unable to stop me, lying there as you are,’ he said, trying to smile. But he couldn’t. And groaning, he collapsed on the edge of Jael’s bed, watching her face contort in pain. Reaching for her hand, he held it tightl
y. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
There was silence.
Neither of them knew what to say.
‘Edela?’ Biddy hurried to open the door, the puppies milling around her legs. ‘Where have you been? What have you seen?’
Edela glanced at Biddy as she came into the cottage, fiddling with her cloak pin, her eyes full of tears. She shook her head, not understanding anything.
Not understanding anything at all.
‘It’s Jael,’ she breathed, her voice catching. ‘I’ve seen Jael.’
Astrid was back quickly, leaving Aleksander to unpack the contents of her basket onto the table while she hurried to the bed. She had taken most of the lamps from her own cottage, and Aleksander quickly set about lighting them.
Jael was moaning, trying not to give in to the pain and grief that were working to consume her in the darkness. She felt like vomiting or weeping, but she just lay still, gritting her teeth, panting.
Astrid frowned. ‘I’ll need those towels,’ she said to Aleksander. She didn’t want to worry him, or Jael, but there was a lot of blood.
‘What can I do?’ Thorgils wondered. Jael had barely spoken, and he hadn’t known what to say, but he wanted to do something to help.
He had to do something.
Astrid stared at him blankly. ‘Hold her hand. Stay out of the way. Up there. Hold her hand.’
Thorgils nodded, reaching out to grip Jael’s hand again.
She squeezed it suddenly, the pain exploding like a poker stirring a blazing fire. ‘Aarrghh!’ It was impossible to keep it in.
‘So, I was thinking,’ Thorgils said, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, ‘about how I’m going to make Eadmund suffer when we get that spell of his broken. What do you think?’
Jael swallowed, trying to catch her breath, happy to listen to Thorgils’ voice as he nattered in her ear. ‘Eadmund,’ she breathed. ‘Talk to me about Eadmund.’
