The Burning Sea

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Your sister is not going to tell anyone,’ Amma insisted quietly, glancing around as she gripped his hand. ‘Is she?’

  Axl shook his head, on edge. ‘No, of course not.’ They were standing in the shadows, behind a large tree, not far from Saala’s gates. It was not dark enough for his liking, though. There were too many people milling about. Many were up late, making last minute preparations for their unexpected departure in the morning. He could hear rustling in tents, mumbled voices, weapons clanking, humping.

  Too many people.

  Amma could sense his tension. ‘I won’t stay long.’

  Axl pulled her into his arms. ‘Just long enough for me to remember everything about you,’ he smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘Every smell and taste. Every sound.’

  Amma laughed quietly into his warm chest. ‘Sound?’ she wondered.

  ‘You don’t think you make sounds?’

  Amma frowned. ‘Not memorable ones, I hope!’

  Axl squeezed her tightly. ‘How little you know.’ He bent down and kissed her quickly.

  They didn’t have long.

  Osbert watched them from near the gates. He had spied Amma escaping the house she was sharing with the women; scurrying away into the night. As drunk as he was, the surprise of that had cleared his head, and he had eagerly followed her.

  To Axl.

  It had not been such a surprise, he supposed, as he stood there, his bladder bursting, knowing that he had to leave quickly before he pissed himself. But it was simply impossible not to watch how happy they were.

  Oh, what a trap Amma had placed herself into. Her and that idiot boy.

  His father would be furious.

  Eirik turned towards the bed.

  He felt a familiar mix of excitement and anxiety tingling in his limbs. Battle joy was stirring. His last one, he supposed; there seemed to be little doubt about that. But he felt more at peace than he had in a while. The idea of a battle death was more than he could have hoped for.

  If it were to be so.

  The bed was not a comfortable one, nor was it particularly warm, but the fire was, so Eirik turned towards it instead, grabbing a goblet from the bedside table. He sniffed it. Rexon’s wine. He smiled. That was a much better choice than a hard, prickly, lonely bed.

  Yawning, Eirik made his way to the fire, adding another log from the small stack nearby. He settled down into a low chair draped with thick furs, and made himself comfortable, enjoying the silence, and the sweet, fruity scent of the wine as it called to him.

  Eydis woke up crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Jael!’ she yelled into the silence. ‘Jael!’

  Jael jerked awake, upright, her eyes closed, knife in hand. ‘Eydis?’ She spun around, her heart racing, immediately on edge, hearing the panic in Eydis’ voice. ‘Eydis?’ She hurried towards the small bed in the corner of the room.

  ‘My father! Quick, Jael! Quick! You must hurry! Go! Save him! Please!’

  Jael didn’t wait. Without stopping for her cloak, she ran into the main room, fumbling with the unfamiliar handle of the door, then, pulling it open, at last, she disappeared into the night.

  The house wasn’t far from the hall, but it was far enough for Osbert to stumble into her path. Somehow, despite her speed and his dulled senses, he managed to grab the sleeve of her nightshirt as she flew past.

  Jael spun, furious with him. She swapped her knife into her left hand and punched Osbert as hard as she could with her right. He staggered backwards, toppling to the ground. Jael didn’t wait. Ignoring the pain in her hand, she swapped her knife back, and ran into the hall, her bare feet numb beneath her.

  ‘Eirik!’ Jael screamed, running through the hall, pushing the drunken, sleepy men out of her way. Rexon was busy with Gant, trying to usher their men to bed. Their heads went up, and they gripped their swords, rushing to follow Jael as she ran for the bedchambers, screaming. ‘Eirik!’

  Eadmund was after her in a flash, his heart stopping, his entire body clenching in fear, Thorgils close behind him.

  Ayla jerked forward, sucking smoke into her lungs, coughing, her eyes blinking open. Isaura dropped the drum and rushed to get her some water.

  Ayla turned to her, still kneeling on the floor. She took the cup, tears filling her eyes; whether from the putrid smoke or something terrible, Isaura, with her foggy head, couldn’t tell.

  ‘Oh, my,’ Varna smiled through a series of rib-rattling coughs. ‘He does keep his secrets buried deep, that one.’ She cried out in agony as Meena helped her to her feet.

  ‘You have seen it, then?’ Meena wondered anxiously. She wasn’t sure which answer she would feel more comfortable with. Probably none.

  ‘Seen it?’ Varna smiled. ‘Oh yes, I have. And tomorrow you will need to find a spade, my girl, for we are going digging.’

  Jael flung open the door to Eirik’s bedchamber.

  He was there, sitting in a chair, his face twisted in surprise at her sudden arrival. Then his hand shook, and the goblet he had been holding fell to the floor, red wine running out of his mouth, through his long, white beard like blood. His eyes opened wider as he felt it: the burning in his belly, the loss of breath, the sharp grip around his throat, the sudden, thunderous stutter of his heart.

  ‘Eirik!’ Jael cried as he slumped forward.

  ‘Father!’ Eadmund was behind her now. He froze. He had been here before. Memories of Melaena’s death lurched out of the shadows. ‘No!’ he bellowed, rushing towards his father.

  Jael was at Eirik’s side, her arm around his shoulders, trying to hold him up. His eyes were closing, his breath strangulated, pain contorting his face. ‘Get Avilda! Get Pria!’ she turned and yelled at Thorgils, Rexon, anyone. ‘Quick!’

  ‘Eyd –,’ Eirik rasped so quietly, so slowly, his mouth hanging open, a gasping, gagging plea as he lost his breath, his eyes widening in terror, then slowly glazing over, retreating.

  Lifeless.

  ‘Father!’ Eadmund cried, gathering Eirik’s body into his arms, kneeling beside him as he sat, slumped in the chair.

  The room was suddenly full. The lords were there, with Morac, and then, Eydis, holding onto Boelle’s hand. ‘Father!’ she screamed frantically, terrified, desperate to reach him.

  Boelle, her face pale with horror, guided her quickly towards the chair.

  ‘Jael? Eadmund?’ Eydis sobbed. ‘Please, no! Father!’

  Jael wrapped her arms tightly around Eydis. ‘I’m so sorry. I was too late, Eydis. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No!’ Eydis screamed, pounding her fists on Jael’s chest. ‘No!’ she cried, her heart shattering into pieces. ‘Please, no! Jael, you have to save him! Please!’

  Eadmund was motionless beside her, clinging to his father’s body as everyone looked on. He stared helplessly at Thorgils.

  Thorgils looked helplessly at Jael, tears in his eyes.

  Jael’s mouth was open. She couldn’t think.

  Eirik was dead. She couldn’t think.

  She turned to the doorway and saw Ivaar standing there. He looked shocked. She felt Eadmund still beside her. He had seen Ivaar too.

  ‘You!’ Eadmund screamed at his brother. ‘You did this!’ He made to get up, but Jael grabbed him quickly and nodded to Eydis who was sobbing next to her; to his father, whose dead body he was supporting.

  Thorgils went for Ivaar. ‘It’s better that you left, I think,’ he growled, his hands on Ivaar’s chest, butting him towards the door.

  ‘He’s my father too!’ Ivaar insisted furiously, but Thorgils’ towering frame and tear-stained face had him backing away. ‘I didn’t kill him,’ Ivaar insisted, blinking rapidly. ‘Whatever Eadmund is thinking, or you, or anyone... I didn’t kill him!’

  Rexon had rushed to find the two old Andalan healers, Avilda and Pria, who had been tending to the sick men outside the village. The sisters were there quickly, breathless but eager to see what they could do. Rexon ushered them through the crowded room.

  Jael moved aside, clin
ging to Eydis, who was sobbing in her arms, her small body heaving in waves of despair. ‘Let the sisters look at your father now,’ Jael said gently. ‘Let them see what has happened.’

  ‘We need to give them some room!’ Rexon called over the noise, nodding at Jael who looked utterly bereft. ‘Everybody back to the hall!’

  Jael shook her head, still in shock, feeling tears coming now. Why hadn’t she been quicker? Why had Osbert been there? Why?

  ‘What is going on here?’ Lothar bellowed as he bustled into the chamber with Gisila; Osbert next to him, a hand over his swollen eye. All three faces registered complete horror at the scene before them.

  ‘It is poison,’ Avilda said, standing up with a frown. ‘Pinweed. Hard to smell, but the residue is there. I can see it. Smell it too... if you know what you’re looking for,’ she muttered, holding the goblet out to her sister. ‘The king would not have known when he drank it. The wine’s scent is far too overpowering.’

  Eydis screamed in despair and Eadmund reached for her, tears burning his eyes. His mouth opened and closed but his head stayed empty. He couldn’t make sense of anything. Except to think of Ivaar. ‘Eydis, you stay with Jael,’ he said quietly, his teeth clamped tight. ‘I need to go and find Ivaar.’

  ‘And why should Ivaar not be allowed in there?’ Frits growled, annoyed at Thorgils’ continued attempts to keep Ivaar out of the chamber where their king lay dead. ‘He is Eirik’s son! How can you think to stop him?’

  Aleksander was there now, next to Thorgils, lining up with him against Frits and Ivaar and the other lords, none of whom looked pleased with the situation. Rexon and Gant joined them. And Fyn.

  It was almost an even contest.

  ‘Perhaps Ivaar, here, could put his sister first, and let her grieve for a moment before he decides to cause a war with his brother,’ Thorgils said coldly, eyeing Ivaar, his chest puffed out, his lips set in a hard line. His whole body was shaking, and he wanted to weep, but Ivaar didn’t need to know that. ‘Besides, who’s to say that Ivaar wasn’t the one who did this? It makes sense, him having experience with such matters before.’

  The lords grumbled, frowning at one another as memories of Melaena’s poisoning swirled around their heads.

  ‘I would never!’ Ivaar insisted loudly, turning to them. ‘Never!’

  ‘Ha!’ Thorgils laughed as he stepped forward. ‘This all sounds very familiar, Ivaar.’ He could feel his blood boiling, then the firm hand of Aleksander on his arm, steadying him. Thorgils glared at him, but Aleksander’s face was so still and measured that he hesitated and took a moment to breathe.

  Eydis.

  ‘You may see your father,’ Thorgils said evenly, stepping back into line with the others. ‘Of course. But give your brother and sister a chance to be with Eirik first, they being his favourite children. The ones he actually loved.’ He couldn’t help it, sneering as he stood there, watching as Viktor grabbed Ivaar’s arm and pulled him away.

  Jael listened to the commotion outside. She was relieved to hear Thorgils’ voice loudest of all. In the midst of her grief and panic, her mind started to wake up. ‘No!’ she called to Eadmund, realising that he was heading for the door. ‘You can’t go after Ivaar!’

  Eadmund stopped and turned, reluctantly. He caught a glimpse of his father’s body again and sobbed. ‘Why? He did this! You know he did this!’

  ‘Sssshhh!’ Jael hurried to him and grabbed his hand, leaving Gisila to wrap Eydis up in her arms. ‘Eadmund, wait, you can’t do this now. Not when we have to leave tomorrow. Not when we need all of those lords out there to follow us.’

  ‘What?’ Eadmund stared at her, incredulous. ‘You think we can still go? In the morning? A few hours from now?’ He shook her hand away.

  ‘Your wife is right,’ Lothar muttered as he came towards them, pulling his cloak around his commodious nightshirt. ‘We must not delay. And I cannot imagine your father would have wished us to, either. You are the king now, Eadmund. And your wife is queen. But I promise you, Haaron and his sons won’t give a fuck who they’re fighting. Their ships will be in the water, and their men will be in the pass, and if we don’t act, they will be at Rexon’s gates ready to slaughter us all!’

  Gisila frowned at her indiscreet husband, covering Eydis’ ears.

  Jael couldn’t believe her own ears; Lothar was agreeing with her. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘Those lords out there are one step away from siding with Ivaar. He has wormed his way into their trust. None of them are really going to believe he killed Eirik, are they? And if they do, they’re unlikely to break their own alliance. And if they unite behind Ivaar, they could defeat us,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘They have the men and the ships.’

  Eadmund couldn’t breathe. His ears were ringing. It was all too much to take in. He couldn’t think. His father... he put his hands to his head, feeling the sobs rising up in his chest. ‘He killed him!’

  ‘What proof do you have?’ Jael asked, looking around. Avilda and Pria shrugged their shoulders. ‘There is no proof. Not now. There is no time to find it either. All you have are accusations. Unfounded. And you cannot kill a man on those, not if you’re to rule as a fair king, as your father wanted.’

  Eadmund turned to his little sister, his thoughts crystallising. He had to keep her safe. His shoulders sagged. ‘Alright,’ he muttered, walking back to Eydis whose plaintive cries were rising. ‘We leave after we burn his body.’

  Jael nodded, still in shock. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that she had been so close to stopping it from happening. But had Ivaar done it? She watched as Eadmund and Eydis clung to one another, united in grief.

  ‘So, now you are a queen,’ Lothar whispered in her ear. ‘Queen Jael of Oss.’

  Jael cringed at his sudden closeness.

  ‘Not such a bad result for you?’ he smiled.

  ‘Well, it helps you, doesn’t it, Uncle? A Furyck on the throne of Oss?’

  Lothar narrowed his eyes. ‘It does indeed. A good idea my alliance with Eirik turned out to be. For both of us.’

  ‘But it may not last for long if you don’t have a word with those Islanders out there,’ Jael said quietly, not wanting Eadmund to hear. ‘For if they think there’s a reason to stand behind Ivaar and support his claim to the throne, then there will be no alliance, and we will all be slaughtered come tomorrow.’

  Osbert edged his way into the conversation, looking crossly at his cousin.

  ‘What happened to your eye?’ Lothar asked, suddenly noticing the bruised, swollen lump where his son’s right eye used to be.

  Osbert glared at Jael. ‘She punched me.’

  Lothar tried not to laugh, as even he could see that it wasn’t the place.

  Jael wanted to grab Osbert by the throat and do more than that. It was his fault, his fault that she had not been able to save Eirik. ‘Why did you try and stop me?’ she growled, baring her teeth at him.

  ‘I didn’t know what you were doing,’ Osbert insisted. ‘How did you know he was about to die?’

  ‘Eydis had a dream.’ She looked towards Eirik’s body. It was as though he was sleeping in his chair. She shuddered. ‘But I was too late.’

  ‘So, Ivaar will become king now?’ Isaura wondered slowly, swallowing the bitter taste of smoke, still thick in her throat.

  They were sitting on Ayla’s bed, the door of her cottage wedged open, despite the cold night lurking outside. It was a relief to feel some fresh air as it rushed inside, clearing out the fetid stink.

  Ayla shook her head sadly. ‘I have seen Ivaar as king, many times. But not tonight. I do not know when it will happen, but Eadmund is king for now.’ She felt weak, light-headed, only half of her present.

  Isaura had no love for Eirik Skalleson. He had sent her off to marry Ivaar, to be exiled with him on Kalfa. He had been responsible for ruining her life, for taking her away from Thorgils. But at that moment, as she reflected on his death, she thought of her children, who had lost their last grandparent, and Ea
dmund and Eydis, who had lost their father. And she remembered her time on Oss, over the winter, when she had organised Vesta with Eirik, and found a way to become almost friends. Tears filled her eyes then.

  Ayla looked away from Isaura, staring into the flames, wishing she could see more. If Ivaar did not become king, her life would never be hers again. But if he did, she feared what that would mean for everyone else.

  19

  Eadmund felt numb as he walked along the beach. He was without his cloak, which he’d taken off to sleep, but his woollen tunic wasn’t warm enough, and he had started shaking.

  He didn’t notice.

  Jael curled her hands into balls, trying to warm her frozen fingers as she walked alongside him.

  They had been desperate to escape the hall, the people, and their pity. Eydis had finally cried herself to sleep on Eirik’s bed, with Amma and Gisila watching her. Gisila was happy for a reason to avoid Lothar for the rest of the night, much to his annoyance. But she had promised Jael that she would stay with Eydis while she slept, and there was little Lothar could do about that.

  Eadmund realised that it was nearly dawn. Soon they would burn his father’s body. He shook his head, again resisting the urge to take his knife to Ivaar’s throat; Ivaar, who had taken so much from him in his life.

  And now this.

  Jael gripped his arm. ‘We should get some sleep,’ she murmured, trying not to yawn. ‘We need to be able to think when the sun rises. There will be so much to do.’

  Eadmund blinked, suddenly realising that she was there. He sighed and nodded, allowing her to lead him back to the village. Jael was right, his eyes stung; he could barely keep them open. But now he was king, and she was queen, and somehow, between the two of them, they had to take their people to war.

  Jaeger couldn’t sleep.

  He’d forgotten how much Berard snored, and once woken, he found himself just staring into the darkness. It had been that way since Elissa’s death. He had loved her; the smell of her, the plump softness of her pale, freckled skin. Her warmth. It had been unexpected to find happiness and love with her when all he’d imagined marriage would provide him with were sons and ceremony. Jaeger pulled his pillow over his ears, wishing for a different night, and a quieter sleeping companion.