Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  His last dampened his earlier words somewhat, leaving a tarnished edge on the glittering prize he had offered up. But still, the men and women around the hall stood in slightly awkward unison, and, raising their cups, echoed Lothar’s words with a small show of enthusiasm. It was not wholly convincing, and he could see that, but when they sat down and started to discuss it amongst themselves, Lothar watched their eyes widen, and their lips moisten with the thought of such riches and fame. Now he just had to deliver on his promise. He needed to ensure Jael would go through with the marriage ceremony, to solidify the alliance, to bring Eirik into his fight.

  Leaning forward, he sought out the sullen, sunken eyes of the hooded man in the shadows and smiled.

  The rain was beating down in icy, violent bursts now as Jael eased open the door to the small cottage she shared with Aleksander. Peering into the darkness, she was relieved to see a large, fur-covered lump in their bed. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she shook the rain from her hair and dropped her wet cloak over a stool to dry.

  Sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, Jael yanked off her sodden boots, half smiling at her servant, Biddy, whose eyes were just visible from her own fur-covered bed. Embers from the banked fire burned low, a tiny, red glow in the middle of the room. Jael tore off her tunic and trousers and quickly shivered her way into bed. Aleksander hadn’t stirred, but she knew him; he never slept deeply, he was always alert. She smiled, remembering her father, who had raised them to sleep with a knife under their pillow and one eye open. They weren’t the sort of comforting words that most girls were sent off to sleep with, but 10-year-old Jael had not been like most girls. Once she had finally convinced her father to train her as a warrior, everything in her life had been a lesson in how to survive. And now, all that she had learned from him was about to be tested fully.

  Jael wriggled her way towards Aleksander as the wind raced through holes in the cottage’s crumbling wattle-and-daub walls. His back was to her, and he remained motionless and silent as she desperately sought the warmth of his body. Her feet were numb as she pressed her legs up against the backs of his, pushing her pelvis into the curve of his buttocks, resting the weight of her chest on his scarred back. He didn’t stir. He didn’t speak. And so they lay there like that for some time, Jael burying her head into his back, welcoming the heat of his body as it fused with hers. They had slept like this since they were children; she couldn’t imagine sleeping any other way.

  Aleksander rolled over then, a dull ache in his chest at the thought of never feeling those frozen legs on his again. Grabbing her face between his large, calloused hands, he kissed her roughly. Jael could feel his wet cheeks and the damp bristles of his beard on her lips as she kissed him back. She wanted to lose herself, disappear into him then, but he pulled back and stared at her, tracing the dark shadows on her face with his finger. She was a beautiful woman, not girlish or pretty, though; she was far too fierce for that. She was tall and strong, and sharp-tongued, with a determined nose, and a small scar under her right eye, which lent her face a threatening edge. But those deep green eyes of hers told a different story; there was warmth lurking in them if you knew how to find it.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Aleksander whispered, his face almost touching hers.

  ‘I... I think I have to,’ she sighed, feeling the soft crunching of hay as she wriggled uncomfortably on the mattress.

  ‘Why? Why have to? I don’t understand. What did Edela really say to you?’

  Despite the thick darkness, Jael could sense his eyes searching hers for answers. She had answers, of course, but did she share them? She took a deep breath, choosing her words as carefully as possible, which was not something that came easily to her. ‘She saw me... with him... that my future was with him, away from Brekka.’

  ‘Away from me,’ Aleksander sighed despondently, his head drooping.

  She raised his chin with her hand. ‘I don’t want this, you know that, but what choice is there? Lothar has arranged it. Edela has seen that it’s meant to be. The only way we can stop it happening is to run, and we can’t do that. We can’t live like that. Even if we managed to escape, which I doubt we could, he would stop at nothing until we were all dead. Can you imagine him just letting us go?’

  ‘But that’s not something you even want to try. You’ve made your mind up already,’ Aleksander insisted. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘I suppose I have. I don’t see another way.’ Jael paused. ‘If I don’t go through with it, Lothar will kill us all. I don’t have a choice. Not really.’

  ‘And you think we’ll be safe from him when you go?’ Aleksander wondered doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, you will. As long as I do what he asks, as long as his alliance with Eirik holds, as long as Axl doesn’t cause any trouble.’

  ‘Ha,’ Aleksander scoffed. ‘Axl not causing any trouble will be difficult. He wants that throne.’

  ‘Well, I can’t blame him for that. He was Father’s heir,’ she muttered. ‘You will need to look after him for me. Please.’

  ‘Of course I will, of course,’ he said, smiling as she rubbed her cold feet against his. ‘If we had married then he wouldn’t be able to send you away like this.’

  ‘Well, that was my fault,’ Jael admitted. ‘I wouldn’t even let you ask me.’

  ‘I could’ve tried,’ Aleksander said sadly. ‘But you were happy, so was I, the way it was.’

  There was silence, a quiet acceptance of the end that was coming.

  Jael leaned in closer, until their lips were almost touching. ‘It doesn’t mean forever,’ she insisted hoarsely. ‘It doesn’t mean that we will never be together again. Imagine me as Queen of Oss, with that drunk for a husband?’ She shuddered. ‘Things can change, alliances can break, people can die. Who knows, me on Oss might mean a way back to Brekka... for all of us.’

  That was something she hadn’t thought of before, and nor had he, so they considered that for a moment, but just for a moment, as Jael’s hand started to slowly stroke away the tears on Aleksander’s slender face, and their minds and bodies turned to other needs. She pressed her pelvis firmly into his, could feel him wanting her, wanting to be loved and soothed on this bleak, stormy night, away from the reality they would both have to face tomorrow. And so he melted into her and she him, desperately and willingly, kissing and touching each other with an unhappy, urgent passion, for they both knew that soon, it would be over.

  The next morning hung low about Andala like a foul mood. It was calmer, though; the storm had abated before dawn, leaving behind a twisted mess of debris, loose animals, and houses that needed urgent patching.

  As the townspeople roused themselves out into the chill and started clearing up, Jael headed quickly to the stables. She knew she couldn’t escape the looks and gossip, or her uncle, forever, but she was desperate to find a place to think, at least for a while. There had been no sign of Aleksander when she woke; she could only assume he was searching for the same thing.

  Her horse, Tig, snorted crossly as she slipped a bridle over his twisting head. Jael couldn’t help but smile at his moodiness; in truth, it matched her own. Ranuf had given him to her when she was 13-years-old, and they’d been inseparable ever since; much like her and Aleksander. He hated being stabled and was keen to remind her that she hadn’t ridden him for two days. He skittered about wildly, his nostrils flaring, as Jael tightened the saddle under his smooth, black belly. She stroked his cheek, and he stilled briefly, just long enough for her to get one foot into a stirrup and throw herself up into the saddle.

  Jael nudged Tig out of the stables, navigating him around a squawking flock of ducks waddling down Andala’s main street.

  Andala was the largest town in Brekka, with a well-protected harbour, and a market that was generally busy, even during the coldest months. It was fortified to its rear and sides by a ringed ditch, with a high wall of dirt and stone, and wooden ramparts circling its top. There were three guard towers, overlooking pasture and hills, manned day and
night by sentries, and one pair of tall, wooden gates that were already open this morning, as local farmers made their way into town to set up their stalls for another day’s trading.

  Once free of the gates and cumbersome foot traffic, Jael took a sharp breath of cool air deep into her lungs and tapped her boots lightly into Tig’s flanks. He had been anticipating her signal and didn’t need further encouragement. Quickly finding some purchase on the thick mud, he took off with speed. Jael wrapped the reins tightly around her hands and leaned over his neck, hanging on as the wind swept her hair and her worries far behind her... for a while at least.

  They rode up over the gentle hills that surrounded Andala to the rear, and down, deep into a thick forest. Here was the silence she’d been craving, as the heavy canopy of entwining trees created a private, hushed world. Tig knew this path so well that he barely broke stride. Jael guided him smoothly through the tree maze, over a slippery bed of needles and out into the dim light.

  She turned his head gently, and they headed left, more slowly now, towards a cluster of trees shrouding a small clearing at the bottom of a hill; this was her favourite place to hide. There was a small stream running through it, and in the summer months, Tig would stand in the water and cool off, while Jael lay on the grass, soaking up the welcome silence.

  Entering the clearing, Tig’s ears flattened backwards, and Jael, too, could sense someone nearby. She rested her hand firmly on the familiar hilt of her father’s sword, waiting; her body tense and ready.

  She was surprised to see a familiar face emerge from the trees to her right. It was Gant. He had once been her father’s man but now belonged to Lothar. Jael didn’t smile at him as she once would have done. They had fought together many times, working to protect Ranuf and keep him safe during battle, but now there was an awkward distance between them; Jael wasn’t sure if they had even spoken since Lothar’s uprising.

  Gant cautiously nudged his white horse towards her. He was a gaunt man, with a serious, scarred face. The weight of his years and choices rested heavily on his broad shoulders. He might be Lothar’s man now, but his loyalty to Ranuf had not ended. He had come to find Jael at great risk to his own life.

  ‘What do you want?’ Jael asked coldly, her mouth set in an unforgiving line.

  Gant was saddened by her tone but accepted the way of it now. ‘I came to warn you about Lothar.’ He spoke quietly, not wanting his voice to carry to unbidden ears.

  ‘What? That he is marrying me to the Drunkard?’ Jael scoffed, trying to keep control of a skittish Tig, who seemed just as cross at Gant as she was. ‘Your warning comes too late, old friend.’

  Gant dropped his eyes at that but was undeterred. ‘He wants you dead, all of you,’ he warned.

  ‘Ha! Of course he wants us dead. We are a constant reminder of how he betrayed his brother.’

  Gant edged his snorting horse closer to Jael, his greying hair falling lightly over weary eyes. ‘He saw his chance, and he took it. If your father had named you instead of Axl...’ He let that hang in the freezing air but Jael refused to take it up, so he continued. ‘Lothar is sending Tiras with you.’

  ‘What?’ Jael was shocked. ‘Tiras? That shit worm! Why?’

  ‘Tiras is to watch you for any sign of disloyalty, for any sign that you are betraying Lothar and creating your own alliance with the Skallesons.’

  ‘Me?’ Jael sputtered in disgust. ‘Make an alliance with them? Why would I do that?’

  ‘I don’t imagine you would,’ Gant smiled, remembering the years he had spent teaching her to fight when she was just a girl; he knew her, better than she thought. ‘But Lothar knows there is a chance of betrayal, and he wants to ensure it doesn’t happen. As he should, if he is to protect his position. He won’t hesitate to have you all killed.’

  His last words lay a heavy responsibility on Jael, and she felt the weight of it tighten her chest. ‘You should go,’ she warned. ‘Tiras is probably hiding amongst the trees, watching me already.’

  ‘He might well be, but I hardly think he wants to make an enemy of me,’ Gant remarked coolly. ‘He wouldn’t like what that would mean for him.’

  Jael smiled, the tension on her face relaxing slightly. She had felt so isolated from her father’s men, his friends and warriors, since they had gone to Lothar, especially Gant; he had been like an uncle to her. It was surprisingly pleasurable to have a conversation with him again. It made her feel closer to her father, and, for a moment, less alone.

  Gant turned his horse’s head away and made to leave. The sky was darkening around them, flooding the clearing with the cold, grey warning that snow was on its way.

  ‘It would have been different,’ he said softly over his shoulder, ‘if Ranuf had named you. But we just had no choice. Axl wasn’t ready. I doubt he ever will be. Brekka needed a leader.’ He looked sadly at Jael, then spun back around and kicked his horse off into the trees.

  3

  Eirik Skalleson stood, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched his son snoring.

  Eadmund had a serene smile on his face as he lay on his back in a pile of mud and other liquids, which may have included vomit, which definitely included ale, perhaps some urine, and Eirik didn’t want to imagine the rest. The stink made him retch, and he kicked Eadmund sharply in annoyance. His son didn’t budge, but his smile disappeared, replaced with a perturbed, sleepy frown, so Eirik kicked harder, and this time Eadmund sat bolt upright, shocked, surprised, and gasping for air.

  ‘What? What is it?’ he panted, wide-eyed, glancing urgently around himself. He grasped his head as everything started to ring and spin, sharp pains darting in from all sides.

  ‘What is it?’ Eirik rasped crossly. ‘What is it?! It’s midday, boy, is what it is, and you’re sitting in a pile of your own shit!’ Eirik sighed loudly, despairingly, and stalked away from the stench of his son and the fishy stink of the drying shed that Eadmund had made his second home. Obviously, it was far easier to sleep in a place where you didn’t need to go outside to piss, shit, and vomit.

  His last chance, Eirik told himself, this was most definitely his last chance.

  Eadmund struggled to his feet and stumbled after his father. The stabbing pains in his head meant that he could barely keep his eyes open, but he could see that Eirik was thoroughly furious. ‘You wanted to speak to me, Father?’ he croaked as he stepped outside, blinking into the grim light, the sound of his voice clanging in his ears.

  ‘I did. About an important matter but I’m not sure you’re even able to hear me right now.’

  Eadmund felt himself swaying; he reached out a hand to steady himself against the side of the shed. ‘Perhaps we could find somewhere to sit?’ he grimaced.

  Eirik nodded curtly, and they walked until they came to a row of moss-covered benches set up just before the grass merged into a stony beach. Snow was coming, and light flurries drifted down from smoke-coloured clouds.

  Eadmund glanced at his father as they sat down. Eirik Skalleson’s leathery face looked cold in the gloom; there was nothing good-humoured about him today. Eadmund could feel a chill settle over his pallid skin; he wondered where he’d left his cloak.

  ‘I’ve made an alliance with Lothar,’ Eirik delivered bluntly.

  Eadmund shook his head in surprise, wondering if he had heard correctly. ‘I’m sorry? Lothar Furyck?’

  ‘Yes, I’m running out of time to change our fortunes, and Lothar has what I need to do so.’ Eirik stared confidently at his son, feeling a swelling of pride at this, his master stroke.

  Eadmund just looked confused, partly because his senses were so dulled, but also because an alliance with Brekka seemed a strange move. ‘What does he have that you need?’ he wondered slowly, feeling himself walking into a trap.

  ‘His niece. Jael.’

  That hit Eadmund like a cold bucket of water. ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! It is what I need. It is what you need,’ Eirik insisted firmly.

  ‘No, Father! No, I can’t!’ Eadmund s
tood up, panic rising in his chest as he stumbled down to the water’s edge. He stared out into the distance, his eyes trying to focus on the giant shards of stone rising out of the dark sea, his stomach swirling with last night’s ale.

  Eirik came to join his son, his footsteps cautious on the slick, black stones. ‘You will marry her, Eadmund. If you want to be my heir, heir to all of this...’ he motioned back up the hill, to the thick, stone walls of the fort at its very peak, ‘...then you will marry Jael and get her with child, quickly. And many times over.’ He frowned, fingering his long, white-tipped beard. ‘This family, our family, must not disappear into the Nothing. I didn’t conquer these islands to watch them turn back into a slaver’s paradise. And when I’m gone, and you drink yourself to death, or die without an heir, then what will happen to our people? Who will protect them? I chose you, Eadmund. You, over your brother. And so far you have done nothing but make me regret that decision!’