The Raven's Warning

by A. E. Rayne

  He remembered his mother’s voice, urging him on as he followed his brother. The brother who had killed his beloved dog, or so Eadmund had always believed. He saw Ivaar’s scheming eyes so full of sadness, then Thorgils’ look of shock as he pushed his sword into his friend’s shoulder, leaving him for dead.

  Was Thorgils dead?

  Eadmund blinked, trying to bring Evaine to his mind, but he saw Jael instead. His scowling wife. His warrior wife. He saw her defeating Jaeger Dragos in Skorro’s charred fort. Smiling. Her sooty teeth. Her green eyes, so alive.

  And he remembered what Draguta had said about a baby. Jael’s baby.

  His baby.

  It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Eadmund couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t understand what was happening, and then he heard Draguta’s voice in his ears and everything went black.

  Biddy had tried to move Edela towards waiting to do the dream walk, reminding her that without all the herbs she needed it would be pointless. Edela had suggested that Biddy simply go and find the herbs she needed, and then they could begin.

  And blood too.

  She needed some of Ayla’s blood.

  It was well into the morning when a tired-looking Biddy returned with the puppies and a basket full of herbs, stones, and blood. Isaura had come along too when she heard what Edela was planning.

  ‘We shall be glad of the company,’ Edela smiled wearily. ‘You may drum for me. That will leave Biddy free to care for Eydis.’

  Eydis looked put out by the idea that she needed to be taken care of.

  Edela glanced at her cross face, then quickly refocused, remembering the urgency in Ayla’s voice. ‘Let us make a start, then. Bring that basket here, Biddy, and I shall set about making my circle. Isaura, you can help me while Biddy works on the fire. We’ll need more flames than that!’

  They had ridden away from the dragur, far away now, and were finally confident enough to stop and rest. The sun was reaching its peak, and the storm had long since retreated. Slipping her bare feet out of the stirrups, Jael slid down Tig, dropping to the ground with a gasp.

  Aleksander was quickly at her side. ‘Come and sit down.’

  Ignoring him, Jael walked to the nearest tree, eager to rest her back against its generous looking trunk. She blinked up at Thorgils who had come to fuss over her too. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, noticing all the patches on his tunic and trousers.

  ‘That’ll be those stitches of mine,’ Thorgils grinned wearily, nodding at Astrid who looked embarrassed to be wearing her nightdress. ‘I’ll be needing a few more, I think.’

  Jael lifted her knees, resting her head on them, her shoulders slumping in a heap. ‘We have to keep them following us. We need them to come back to Andala,’ she mumbled.

  Aleksander gathered the horses’ reins, not wanting them to wander too far away. ‘And hope they’re ready to defend the fort.’

  ‘We’re faster than the dragur, on horse, but they’ll come. Eventually. They want that book. And me.’ Jael lifted her head, watching as Astrid tried to convince Thorgils to let her look at his wounds, but he was in no mood for fixing just yet. ‘We need some water,’ she croaked. ‘The horses too.’

  They hadn’t come across a stream yet.

  Giving up on Thorgils, Astrid tried Jael, kneeling down beside her to feel her head.

  Jael frowned at her, but she didn’t move.

  ‘You’re cool,’ Astrid smiled. ‘Cold even.’

  ‘I know,’ Jael yawned, feeling the rough bark digging into her back. ‘I really miss my cloak.’ She quickly shook away any thoughts of her favourite bear-fur cloak, and her spell-bound husband, which wouldn’t help her focus at all. ‘We shouldn’t stay long. We need to find a stream.’

  Aleksander nodded. ‘We do. We can rest then.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Jael said. ‘Now, help me back to my feet before I fall asleep!’

  Ayla had been trapped in the dream – the nightmare – since she had tried to save Thorgils. She hadn’t known that she was ill at the time. She had, in fact, been starting to think, and hope, that she was pregnant. The odd feelings she had been having – the tiredness and nausea – all made sense now; if only she hadn’t been so blind. Maybe she would have seen it all earlier?

  Seen what the woman was doing...

  Sighing, Ayla dropped her head into her hands, wanting to hide from the layers of bodies scattered everywhere she walked; those who were dead, those who were dying; all of them abandoned to a miserable fate. She could smell the familiar odour of death. She could hear them crying in pain, twisting in agony.

  Gaunt skeletons with big eyes.

  And she was trapped here with them, though she had no idea where here was.

  ‘Ayla!’

  Ayla looked up, hurrying forward as Edela shuffled towards her. ‘You came!’ she sobbed. ‘You came!’ And reaching Edela, she wrapped her arms around the old dreamer, crying in relief.

  ‘Ayla, you poor girl,’ Edela soothed, looking around them. ‘Where are we? What are you seeing here?’

  ‘It’s the sickness,’ Ayla whispered. ‘Her sickness. She made it. She made it to destroy her enemies. And it’s working. These bodies keep piling up, all around me. They’re all sick and dying. As am I. I can feel it, Edela. She is pulling me towards her, and I can’t stop her!’

  Edela gagged at the smell of the place. They were standing in a large field, surrounded on all sides by dark fir trees, tall and coarse, creating an enclosure.

  Keeping the dying in.

  ‘Who is this woman?’ Edela asked. ‘Draguta?’

  ‘No,’ Ayla said, shaking her head. ‘Her name is Briggit. Briggit Halvardar. She is the new Queen of Helsabor.’

  The sun was high in the sky by the time they found a stream.

  Jael bent her face down to the gently running water and drank eagerly, and when she had finished, she walked back to the trees where Astrid and Thorgils were going through his saddlebag, portioning out the vast amount of food he had masterfully crammed into it.

  Jael was pleased to see that Thorgils’ appetite had finally come in useful. There would be plenty to eat on their way back to Andala. Her smile quickly vanished when she caught sight of the basket Astrid had left in front of a tree, well away from the horses who were at the stream, enjoying a much-needed drink.

  Aleksander came up beside Jael, following her gaze.

  ‘I want to make her a pyre,’ she murmured. ‘Here. I don’t want to wait anymore. We don’t know what’s out there. What Draguta will send next. She needs to go now. To be set free.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Aleksander said gently. ‘You go and sit with her. I’ll make a pyre, and we’ll send her to the gods. To Furia.’

  Jael nodded, not even noticing as he slipped away into the trees, looking for branches and twigs. She walked slowly to the basket feeling a heaviness in her body that was nothing to do with her illness, but everything to do with her broken heart. The panic of the dragur attack had receded, and Jael felt displaced, her thoughts drifting like the clouds above her.

  She missed Eadmund.

  More than anything, she missed Eadmund. She wanted him to see his daughter. To hold her in his arms before...

  Reaching into the basket, Jael picked up the tiny bundle, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And sitting down on the grass, her back against the tree, she gently held her baby in her arms. ‘I was lying,’ she cried. ‘I was lying when I said I didn’t want you. I was lying. I wanted you very much. More than you will ever know.’ She wiped her tears from her baby daughter’s face. ‘I’d thought of a name for you, you see. It was Lyra... Lyra Skalleson.’

  And bending forward, Jael sobbed, not wanting to let her baby go.

  II

  THE CURSED

  10

  ‘How is poor Hanna?’ Edela wondered, so pleased to see Entorp again. He looked terrible, though. Tired and pale, dark circles under his eyes. Even his oran
ge hair was limp, in need of a good wash, she could see.

  Entorp inhaled a deep breath of sea air as he walked past the ruined piers with Edela and Biddy, enjoying an escape from the vile odours of the ship sheds. ‘She doesn’t have long,’ he murmured. ‘She’s held on for so much longer than I would have expected while many around her have died, but she has not eaten or drunk in days now. Marcus is preparing himself for the end, though I’m not sure how he’ll cope when it comes. He is bereft.’

  ‘Oh.’ Edela glanced at Biddy who looked just as upset as she did. ‘The poor girl. And poor Marcus. It seems that I misjudged the man. He is not who I thought at all.’

  Entorp wasn’t really listening as he suppressed a yawn. ‘I can’t stay away long, Edela. There is much to do in there.’

  ‘It is the sickness I wanted to speak to you about,’ Edela said. ‘I have seen Ayla. She came into my dreams, and then I went into hers.’ Her body felt weakened by the dream walk, but after what Ayla had told her Edela knew that there was too much to do to stay in bed. ‘Ayla has been dreaming in that shed. Stuck in a world of sickness and death. A world created by a woman.’

  Entorp stopped and turned to her. ‘What do you mean?’ His eyes were suddenly more alert. ‘Are you saying the sickness is a spell? A curse?’

  Edela smiled, nodding. ‘It is. Ayla says it is.’

  ‘Oh, that is wonderful news,’ Entorp sighed. ‘A curse!’ He glanced at Biddy who looked surprised by his joy. ‘And do you know how to break it? Did Ayla know?’

  Edela’s smile faded. ‘No, no, she didn’t. And I don’t know either, not yet, but I wanted to tell you about it, to see if you had any ideas. Perhaps you have heard of the woman? Know about her?’

  Entorp was confused. ‘Is it not Draguta, then?’

  ‘No. It is someone called Briggit. Briggit Halvardar. Ayla says that she’s the Queen of Helsabor now. She disappeared before I could find out more, but I plan to head straight back to bed and see what my dreams reveal. Eydis is going to help me. She is close to Ayla, so hopefully, she will be able to help find her.’

  ‘Briggit Halvardar?’ Entorp frowned as old memories started to shake off their dust; memories of a time he was always reluctant to revisit. ‘I’ve heard of a woman called Briggit. She came to Tuura. A princess, she was then. A very powerful dreamer. I remember meeting her. She was in The Following.’

  Edela glanced at Biddy, a shiver rushing down her spine. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, so if Briggit has risen to the throne of Helsabor now, you can be sure The Following is involved in it somehow,’ Entorp said. ‘And that means we now have two enemies to defeat in the South. Two enemies and no way into Hest.’

  Edela blew out a frustrated breath, knowing that everything had just gotten much harder.

  Evaine was desperate. She had been up to Jaeger’s chamber three times now, and each time she crept up to his door, she could hear someone inside. The same someone. Humming and singing to herself.

  And she was still in there.

  Jaeger would likely return soon, or that ugly girl, and Evaine panicked knowing that she couldn’t leave without the book, but how was she going to steal it if she couldn’t even get into his chamber?

  Sighing loudly, she spun around, coming face to face with Meena.

  Meena eyed her suspiciously.

  Evaine almost spat in her face. ‘What? What do you want, girl?’ she sneered.

  Meena’s first instinct was to tap her head. She ignored that and instead chose to stand her ground and stare at Evaine. ‘I... live here. In there,’ she murmured, pointing to Jaeger’s door. ‘And I want nothing, except to return to my chamber. What do you want? Why are you here?’ She shivered as she spoke, unused to feeling so bold, though part of her still wanted to curl into a ball, watching as Evaine’s face reddened with anger.

  She looked ready to hit her.

  ‘I, I,’ Evaine stumbled in surprise. ‘I was looking for my father,’ she said, at last, avoiding Meena’s eyes.

  ‘He is with Morana. I’ve just left them. Jaeger was there too.’

  Evaine swallowed, glaring at Meena who was not moving. And so, without a word, she spun, turning away into the corridor, heading in the opposite direction to Morana’s chamber.

  That was the last place she wanted to go.

  Meena watched her leave, surprised by the anger coursing through her body; worried that the tattoos had come too late.

  Afraid that the book was already changing her.

  Berard had waited outside the ship sheds, hoping to see Entorp emerge. Or Marcus. He was eager to know how Hanna was. He hadn’t heard anything for days; not since they had been released from their own shed.

  Runa stopped beside him with Isaura. They were carrying trays of food. ‘Have you seen Entorp?’ she wondered. ‘I thought he might like something to eat?’

  Berard shook his head. ‘No one has come out, but a few more have been carried in.’

  Isaura frowned, wishing she knew how Ayla was; certain that Ayla was only sick because she had pushed her so hard to help Thorgils.

  Runa turned as Ivaar approached.

  Ivaar was surprised to see them, and he quickly moved away, not wanting to give the impression that he too had come hoping to hear news about Ayla; not wanting to be near Isaura at all.

  Runa watched him go before turning back to Isaura. ‘Well, let’s take the trays inside the shed. Those women helping Entorp will be grateful for something to eat and drink, I’m sure.’

  Nodding, Isaura followed Runa into the sheds, leaving Berard to sigh and wonder what he was going to do now.

  ‘There you are!’ Karsten called, spying his brother. ‘Bayla’s decided that you’ve fallen ill somewhere. That you’ve got the sickness. I’m surprised you can’t hear her wailing and moaning from here!’

  ‘Why does she think that?’

  Karsten shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s been a hard few weeks. I don’t think she’s sleeping, and she’s definitely not keen to lose any more of us. Who would she have to complain to? Nicolene doesn’t care.’ He inclined his head away from the ship sheds, but Berard’s boots remained firmly stuck in the mud, and he continued to stare at them. ‘There’s nothing you can do for Hanna by standing here.’ Karsten felt odd, remembering the look on Hanna’s face before she’d collapsed to the ground in the storm. He hadn’t been sleeping much himself, but when he did, that face haunted his dreams.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Finally, Berard turned to follow his brother, tired of feeling helpless. His stump was aching, but he’d barely given it much thought until now. ‘What of your plans to go to Hest?’ he muttered, trying to take his mind off the pain.

  ‘Plans? I don’t have any as it stands, but I will,’ Karsten assured him. ‘I have my own men now. And if I can give them reason enough to follow me, then we may have an opportunity to do something. Keep your ears open, Berard. We’re going to find our way to Jaeger soon. One way or another.’

  ‘What is it?’ Jaeger demanded, trying not to gag. The smell of Morana had his eyes watering. ‘What have you seen?’

  Dragmall blinked, uncomfortable with Jaeger’s closeness. He had once been taller than the young king, but now Jaeger towered over him. Threateningly. Demanding answers to things that Dragmall would rather not reveal. ‘I believe it is a curse, my lord. Draguta has cursed her for sure. From my understanding of how things went,’ he muttered, remembering what Else had told him about that night, ‘it sounds as though Draguta was trying to kill you, but what she did to Morana, here? I think she wanted to punish her. It is more torturous to live while a prisoner in your own body, wouldn’t you say?’

  Jaeger turned to the pathetic, hunched creature perched on the chair before them. She had blinked, sniffed, and dribbled, but nothing more. ‘And what can be done about it? This curse. Can you break it? Undo it?’ He frowned. ‘Is that something the Book of Darkness could help with?’

  Dragmall shivered, not wanting to start do
wn that steep path. ‘No, no, my understanding is that the book is about casting spells and throwing curses. Dark rituals. It does not dwell on how to heal or help any of those it may have hurt.’ Bending down, he lifted Morana’s chin and peered into her milky eye. ‘What we are seeing is the outside only. The prison walls. Morana is not changed. I imagine that she is in there, dreaming of a way to get out. And she knows dark magic, curses too, so if someone is to help her, I believe it will be Morana herself.’ Dragmall hoped the seriousness with which he spoke would convince Jaeger to leave well enough alone.

  He was wrong.

  Jaeger snorted, glaring at Morac, who was fascinated by Dragmall and eager to believe what he was saying. ‘And how is she going to do that? She needs help, can’t you see?’

  Dragmall sighed, closing his eyes. He did not want to help Morana Gallas, but it would be useful if the king did not see him as an impediment to her recovery. Opening his eyes, he tried to smile. ‘I propose a bath of spices to stimulate her senses. Cleansing too. Perhaps if we can wake her up enough, Morana may be able to communicate with us? Tell us how to help break the curse? We can cleanse her chamber too. Scrub the floor and walls. Wash it clean of any dark matter.’ Dragmall was reaching, he knew, looking for ways to appease his impatient, moody king without actually having to try and break the curse himself.

  When he had looked into Morana’s eyes, it was as though she was in there, screaming at him. Yelling at him. He could almost hear the violent noise in her head. Though for now, Meena, Else, and Dragmall had all agreed that it was better not to let her out.

  Draguta’s mood had not improved, Eadmund noticed as she stopped at the railings with her servant. He could barely breathe as Rollo ran him around the training ring, cracking his long, wooden staff into Eadmund’s aching muscles, over and over again. There was little time to think, but he felt as though something had happened in the night that he should have remembered.