by A. E. Rayne
WINTER’S FURY
The Furyck Saga: Book One
A.E. Rayne
Contents
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Untitled
Prologue
I. Destiny
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
II. Adrift
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
III. Into the Storm
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
IV. Fury
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Epilogue
The Kingdoms of Osterland
Coming soon
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Details at the end of the book
Prologue
You tried to take my head, as my sisters went before,
but in the dark you slept and let the wolf slip out your door.
You tried to take the book, the one that Tagus stole for me,
but I have it with me still, and its magic set me free.
You tried to take my home, but I will begin again;
I will make myself an army of one hundred thousand men.
And when my name has faded from your memories and your lips,
I will crawl out of my grave, and I will ready all my ships.
And when you’re at your strongest, when your happiness is full,
I will bring to you the Darkness and destroy the Furyck’s rule.
And when the night is blackest, and your lands are burnt by war...
Your eyes will blind.
Your blood will flow.
Your hearts will beat no more.
Edela woke with a gasp, her heart hammering loudly in her ears. She tried to hold on to the fading dream, to cling to the warning before it slipped away again, before she fell asleep, before she forgot everything. But it was too late. She couldn’t stop her eyes closing, closing, closing... and once again, the warning fell back, into the abyss of her forgotten memories.
I
Destiny
1
Jael Furyck’s feet were slowly freezing, in wet socks, that clung unpleasantly to numb toes, sitting in damp boots, which, although new, were already leaking. She tried to focus on the uncomfortable sensation of her cold feet, pressing them harder into the wet wool, into the soft, damp leather of her boots, into the reeds that lined the hard mud floor. She tried to imagine them twisting and strong, like the roots of the oldest tree in Brekka, buried deep in the earth, solid and unwavering. If she could do that, if she could focus on her feet, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe there was a chance she could control the urgent, angry fire coursing up through her body and into her mouth. No! Not her mouth, her feet, her feet! She must stay there, thinking of her feet, so far away from her mouth. She had to ignore the screaming violence throbbing at the base of her throat, demanding to be released. She couldn’t let him, them, all of them, watch as she lost control.
Lothar Furyck sat impatiently on the edge of his finely carved throne and waited, glowering furiously at his niece’s continued silence. His announcement, moments earlier, had guaranteed a hasty reaction from her but where was it? Jael had a fierce temper, and this was to be the ultimate humiliation of her, and, by extension, her whole family, but so far she would not play his carefully constructed game. Her face remained impassive, and although he was certain she was raging internally, she said nothing, which caused an uncomfortable silence to creep around them both. But Lothar had to say something, though, or the moment would be lost to him. The people in the hushed hall, sitting on their cold benches, looking up at him and her – soon those people would start to wonder what power he truly had over any of them.
Lothar bit down on his annoyance, cleared his throat sharply, and spoke as if there had been no awkward silence at all. ‘And so, the wedding feast will take place on Oss, in 15 days. Enough time for you to find a dress, I hope.’ He waved one hand dismissively in the direction of Jael’s well-worn trousers and cloak. ‘And enough time for the rest of us to be back in Andala before the Freeze.’
Lothar glared down at her, his bulging eyes demanding a reply, and this time Jael knew she had to trust herself with a word or two; what choice did she have? Her whole body trembled with rage, but she had to try. ‘Will I be able to take my horse?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.
Lothar thought for a moment, not really caring, just relieved that she was finally speaking. ‘Yes, you may. But you will give up your sword. You won’t need it where you are going.’
There was an audible murmur around the hall at that, which surprised Lothar and sent another bolt of fury shuddering down Jael’s rigid spine; her sword! ‘That was my father’s sword,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, her devastation revealing itself at last.
‘That was my father’s sword,’ Lothar growled, leaning forward to impress upon her his position atop the high seat, the ancient throne of the Kingdom of Brekka. ‘And, as king, as the Furyck heir, it is I who own that sword, not you. It is centuries old, handed down from king to king. How or why you received it when my brother died, I do not know.’
She wanted to launch herself at him then. To rip out his vile throat, lying hidden behind the rolls of gelatinous fat gathering around his sagging chin; to watch his life-blood course down his bloated belly until he was white with death. Take her sword?! She was seething now and stood on the edge, ready to abandon all reason, but then, remembering her feet, she dug her toes deep into her boots, clamping her jaw shut and fixing her face with an unnatural smile. He wasn’t going to humiliate her any further; she wouldn’t give him that. ‘As you wish, my lord.’
Lothar frowned, disappointed. He had watched her desperately trying to gain hold of her temper, and it looked as though she had succeeded. Oh well, he conceded, he had hit his mark at least; she was badly, if not fatally, wounded. He could feel the growl of his dead brother at his back then. Here he was, sitting on his brother’s throne, selling his beloved daughter off to his enemy; this was a good day. Just the thought of Ranuf’s indignant face imbued him with confidence, and the smile that curled from his wet mouth was wide and brimming with satisfaction.
‘Good,’ Lothar said coolly, glancing at his son, Osbert, who was struggling to contain his annoyance at Jael’s calm reaction; he too had hop
ed for more than this damp fire. ‘We will speak more of this tomorrow, but for now, we must begin the meal before it’s cold and tastes like shit. Alp!’ he barked at his servant, who was hovering anxiously behind him. ‘Have the food brought to the tables!’ Alp bowed his head silently and left. ‘And drink!’ Lothar yelled after him. ‘More drink!’
Jael was rooted to the spot as the hall suddenly burst into life around her. The servants started moving again, bringing dishes to tables, filling cups with ale and mead, conversations sparking quickly around them. It felt as though every pair of eyes had turned on her and Jael was desperate to escape. Glancing quickly around the hall, she spotted her mother, Gisila, lurking uncomfortably near one of the large fire pits, the shock of Lothar’s words furrowing her brow. Jael made straight for her.
Gisila, who had once been queen in this, Brekka’s King’s Hall, had now seen her family brought to a new low. She glanced wistfully towards the high table, where Lothar and his vulgar son sat. She could still see her husband, Ranuf, up there and she on his right, dressed in fine garments, so far away from the plain homespun she had been reduced to since her demotion to nothingness. Gisila felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, then the sudden pull from behind, as Jael grabbed her roughly by the arm and hurried her outside.
Dark rain clouds rushed across the face of the moon; a storm was brewing, but Jael barely noticed as she stalked down Andala’s main street, her head bent and hood up to avoid the latecomers heading for the hall. Gisila walked quickly beside her, struggling to keep up with both her daughter and the panic that was growing in her chest.
When they reached Gisila’s small cottage in the centre of town, Jael pushed her mother inside and slammed the door behind them. Gisila’s servant jumped in surprise, then, with one look at Jael’s furious face, she made herself scarce, merging into the shadows at the back of the sparsely furnished room.
Jael dropped her hood and turned towards her mother, narrowing her hard, green eyes accusingly.
‘I, I didn’t know,’ Gisila spluttered quickly, sensing the angry fire that was coming. ‘I didn’t know.’
Jael was too wild to speak. Her eyes roamed over the poverty of the cottage, at the erosion of their old life. When her father had ruled, their freedom had been assured; now everything had changed. Lothar could and did play with them as he wished. He was a capricious man and delighted in subtle torment.
‘You cannot marry that man,’ Gisila muttered crossly behind her. ‘He is nothing. His family is nothing! His father was a slave, Ranuf’s enemy and a slave! It’s an insult. The worst that Lothar has done to us!’
That was like her mother, Jael thought, always seeing a slight from her own perspective.
‘Where’s Axl?’ Gisila turned and directed this towards her servant, Gunni, who was silently preparing the beds for the evening.
‘I don’t know, my lady,’ came the nervous reply.
Gisila glanced at her daughter. ‘He will have something to say about this, I’m sure.’
Jael said nothing; her head was a mess of hot fury and building sorrow. She couldn’t keep up with her thoughts as they tumbled over one another, desperately seeking a way out of the hole that Lothar had so happily trapped her in. Running her hands distractedly through her long, dark hair, Jael frowned. She was far too old for marriage, or so she had believed until a few moments ago. Why would Eirik Skalleson want her for his son? How could this be happening? Now? After all this time?
Pulling the hood up on her black, woollen cloak, she ducked through the door. ‘I will go to Edela. She’ll know what to do.’ She turned and left before her mother had even looked up.
The wind whipped the door shut with such a bang that Gisila shuddered. Folding her arms across her chest to ward off the chill that had entered the cottage, she returned her gaze to the fire. There was nothing her mother could say that would stop this, she was certain. Lothar had found a way to remove Jael as a threat to his presence upon the throne. And with her gone, they would all be exposed, for she was their protector and Lothar knew it. Without her, they were weak and vulnerable, just as he wished. Gisila shivered and stared into the amber flames, tears running freely down her dispirited face.
Jael strode up the steps to her grandmother’s cottage, which sat on a small rise, hidden inside a windswept grove of trees. A line of bones and stones strung about the porch chimed chaotically to announce her arrival.
Axl opened the small door, smiling in surprise to see his sister, although the look on her face quickly soured his. ‘Jael? Are you alright?’ he frowned. She didn’t reply, staring past his tall, gangly frame into the dull glow of Edela’s cottage. Axl knew well enough not to prod any further. ‘I was just leaving,’ he mumbled hastily, squeezing past Jael and out into the night. Wrapping his cloak around his broad shoulders, he hurried down the steps, wondering if his mother knew what had happened.
Edela Saeveld sat in her fur-thick chair, just to the right of a low-burning fire. She studied her furious granddaughter with one raised eyebrow, patting the wooden stool in front of her. ‘Well, come on then, you may as well tell me what your storm is all about today,’ she smiled, her weathered face creasing with an easy humour, which, she noticed, did little to change the fierceness of the face that was considering her.
Jael didn’t sit down.
Edela frowned, her smile disappearing. ‘What has happened then, Jael? Tell me.’
‘Well, you’re the dreamer, Grandmother,’ Jael spat crossly. ‘Why don’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?! You see everything that is going to happen. Why didn’t you see this?’ She was almost screaming and quickly clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself down. She loved Edela above all people and didn’t want to release her fury now, not when it was Lothar who truly deserved the lash of her tongue.
Edela blinked her tiny blue eyes and her face suddenly cleared. ‘Ahhh, so he is marrying you off then?’
‘You knew?’ Jael’s eyes bulged. ‘Of course you knew!’
Edela stood, grimacing at the familiar ache in her right hip as she hobbled towards her granddaughter. ‘I will make you some tea, and you will sit down, and we will talk. If you wish to yell, go and yell at the moon. It is full enough out there to hear you, I’m sure, even over that wild wind.’ And, with that, she bustled away to her kitchen, rummaging around the overfilled shelves, heaving with pots and cups, fresh and dried herbs, and all sorts of strange items that no one dared ask about. Edela was more than a dreamer, gifted with visions of the future; she was Andala’s healer, called upon to cure all manner of ailments. After 27 years of looking after Jael, she had grown used to easing red, hot tempers.
Jael sighed heavily; there was no shifting her grandmother, experience told her that. She moved the stool closer to the fire and sat down, her entire body vibrating with the urge to run out into the night and stab her sword through one of Lothar’s bulbous eyes; if he wanted it so much, she would happily give it to him! Marry her to an Islander? Banish her from Brekka? She shook her head. And what about Aleksander?
Edela came back with a cup and lifted her iron cauldron from its hook, carefully pouring hot water over her medicinal sprinklings. ‘Here, let this sit a while, then drink it. It will help with all that fire in there.’ She waved at Jael’s creased forehead as she replaced the cauldron and came to sit in her chair.
‘Thank you,’ Jael mumbled shortly. ‘Now, tell me everything.’
Edela leaned back, feeling the comforting warmth of fur beneath her bones. ‘Ha! Everything?’ she smiled, rubbing her cold hands together. ‘Well, I knew you would be married one day. Yes, I did see that.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Jael was incredulous, almost spilling the hot tea. ‘Grandmother! Why wouldn’t you have told me that? I could have done something! Aleksander and I could have made plans to leave before this happened. Anything but this!’
Edela inhaled the sweet scents of skullcap and chamomile as they steeped in Jael’s cup. ‘Yes, I coul
d have told you, I know that,’ she said calmly. ‘Being a dreamer is not about revealing everything you see, though. It’s not as simple as that,’ she sighed, suddenly weary. ‘And yes, of course, you could have run away. But I saw you in my dreams with this man. I saw, so strongly, that it was meant to be. There is something about you and him together that is important. I know this is not what you wanted, but it was so clear to me that this marriage must be. I had no choice but to stay quiet.’
‘What?’ Jael shook her head. ‘No, no! You should have told me! You should have given me a choice. If you knew, you should have left it up to me to decide!’
Edela sat, untroubled. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps you would have found your way to him somehow. But who am I to take that risk? To interfere with the plans the gods have made for you? And not your gods either, Jael, but mine, the Tuuran gods, for they are the ones who show me my dreams, and I am bound to do their work. They told me that you must be with this man, so who am I to argue?’
