by A. E. Rayne
‘What is she up to?’ Morac asked Runa, who came to help him with his boots, which, being wet, were not coming off easily.
Runa tried her best not to look guilty, then giving up, simply turned her face towards Morac’s boots. ‘Nothing, as she said. She’s just being silly, thinking of Eadmund all the time. As she always does. She’s having a hard time getting his attention lately, I think.’
‘Well, as long as it’s only thinking she’s doing,’ Morac grumbled as Evaine came back to the fire. ‘You keep staying away from him like I told you and we’ll all be better for it. I’m sure that once this marriage stops being new, and Eirik has the grandson he wants so desperately, he’ll be more relaxed about everything. But until then, you must keep your distance. Don’t let Eirik catch a glimpse of you!’
Evaine didn’t enjoy being reprimanded. Ever. Fire rose up in her chest. She bit down on her bottom lip and sat sullenly next to her father, simmering. When she was Queen of Oss, Eadmund’s queen, when that day came, and it would, she had seen it so clearly, then no one would be able to tell her what to do. Ever.
There was only darkness.
Edela strained her eyes, but there was nothing to see, just darkness. It was heavy, all around her, inside her, and she struggled to breathe, to clear her throat and mind. She felt herself getting sucked into it, as though she was becoming part of it, as though her life-force was slipping away from her, into it. She tried to scream, to call for help, but her screams echoed back to her, all around her. She was trapped in a cave, a small cave, all alone. In the dark.
Then she heard the screaming; women’s voices, wailing in agony. She turned around, searching desperately for the source. Suddenly she noticed a light, a hint of fire in all the blackness. Edela could hear her breath, rasping out of her lungs, as she ran towards the flames. As she approached the fire, it grew bigger, brighter, then disappeared entirely to reveal a town. It was Tuura. There was nothing she recognised, nothing to tell her where she was, but she knew, in her knotted stomach, she knew this place.
The screaming died down, replaced with low, keening moans. A crowd stood around in the night air; a huddle of raven-haired Tuurans in winter cloaks, snowflakes drifting around them. Some were holding onto each other in grief and despair, while others, it seemed, looked less upset, more relieved. As the crowd parted, Edela stepped in, peering through the people, who didn’t notice her at all.
Two men, in boiled-leather aprons, were cleaning up a mess. A mess of blood and bodies. Two bodies. Two heads. Each man picked up a head, and with an expressionless face, jammed it onto a long, pointed spear. Edela inhaled sharply, as she glimpsed the agony-strained death masks. They were young women, no more than girls. Long, dark, blood-soaked hair hung down from their crudely chopped off heads.
Edela wanted to vomit, but there was no fluid in her; she couldn’t even retch. She tried to turn and run from those pained, ruined faces, but her feet wouldn’t respond. Her body wouldn’t move at all, and as the men shoved the spears firmly into the hard earth, leaving the heads to drain of all their blood, Edela was forced to stare into those glazed eyes. Not even her head could turn itself away, nor her eyes close against the horror.
‘We have to find the other one,’ she heard from somewhere behind her. ‘She must have taken the book.’
Edela woke, gagging, coughing, spluttering.
Aleksander was at her side immediately. ‘Edela!’ He had been awake for some time and had watched her dreaming, her body twisting relentlessly in her bed, uncertain whether he should wake her. ‘Edela, are you alright? What’s happened? Is it Jael?’
He handed her a cup of water, which she quickly pushed away. She wasn’t thirsty; she needed air. The room was suffocating her. She felt as though part of her was still trapped there, in that cloying darkness; she needed to breathe. ‘Open the door,’ she croaked urgently. ‘Please!’
Aleksander did as he was bid. The dull light of the morning fell gently into the small room as Edela scrambled out of bed, and, with Aleksander’s help, headed quickly for the door. Her body sunk into his supportive arm as she felt the chilled air on her face. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, letting the air fill her lungs and cool her panic. ‘That’s enough,’ she shivered eventually. ‘I’ll get frostbite if I stand out here any longer!’
Aleksander sighed, relieved that Edela had recovered herself, but also desperate to know what had happened. ‘Come, sit down,’ he urged, guiding her towards her chair. He put another log onto the fire and poked at the embers, before coming to sit on the stool in front of her. ‘What happened? What did you see?’
Edela didn’t know what to say. She gazed into his worried eyes, trying to form an explanation for what she had been shown. ‘I’m not sure. It wasn’t about Jael, not really,’ she mumbled thoughtfully, noting his relief. ‘It was about the Darkness, that much was obvious. And perhaps it was another clue.’
She told him all about her dream, about the beheaded girls, and the missing one, the one with the book.
‘Do you think that it could be the Book of Darkness?’ Aleksander wondered eagerly. ‘Perhaps your theory is right? That it all comes back to that book? That it’s real?’
‘Yes, possibly,’ she frowned, uncertainly. ‘But it’s all so very muddled. I have no real answers, and no one to talk to about any of it. I think you and I might need to go on a journey, to Tuura. The vision I had in my dream, it was Tuura, I’m sure of it. It seemed an older time, though, something that had happened long ago. That was my feeling,’ she said with more confidence. ‘I’m sure we can find someone in Tuura who might know of it, someone who can help us help Jael.’
Aleksander squirmed. ‘But Tuura...’
‘I know,’ Edela murmured as she got up, desperate for that water now. ‘I know, we don’t want to go back there, none of us do after what happened, especially you. I know it will be hard, but we need to find out more. We won’t be able to help Jael until we do, and I certainly can’t help her without you.’
She eyed Aleksander with a determination that he recognised. He shuddered, never imagining that he would have considered returning to that place.
Eadmund felt dreadful as he trudged towards the Pit. The snow was thick to his ankles, and his balance was unsteady. He’d drunk too much last night, for the first time in weeks, and his body was punishing him mercilessly. His limbs were heavy and his head banged with every step. He wasn’t looking forward to Thorgils’ rollicking either. The day was dull and grim, but Eadmund could tell the morning was nearly over. His friend wouldn’t be impressed by his late arrival.
‘Ahhh, you’re awake at last, sleeping princess,’ Torstan grinned as he eyed the dishevelled figure before him. ‘You really did have too much last night, didn’t you?’
‘Maybe one or two more than I should’ve,’ Eadmund said, slightly embarrassed. ‘But I’m here. I might vomit at any moment, but I’m here.’ He looked around, rubbing his eyes; he might have been here, but no one else was. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘They’ve gone to eat, most of them,’ Torstan said as he threw on his cloak. ‘Ketil knows how to drum up business, that’s for sure. He started cooking in the middle of training, and no one could think with their sword arms after that, just with their bellies. Come on, you can buy some meat on a stick.’
‘Where’s Thorgils?’ Eadmund wondered, following his friend towards the square. ‘And Jael?’
‘Oh, they just left. He went riding with her. On your horse. Again.’ Torstan blew on his hands, most of which were exposed in well-worn, blue gloves. ‘Anyone would think she was his wife, instead of yours, the amount of time they spend together!’
Eadmund was irritated by the observation and wasn’t sure why. His head was thick with regret this morning, and he was struggling to form any clear thoughts at all. He was relieved to know that Jael wasn’t here, though; he could spend the afternoon trying to wake himself up, ready to face her again. She was always so sharp and fast, and he felt like a blunder
ing fool in front of her. An addled head was hardly going to help him improve upon that. He cursed himself for being so weak again.
‘He’s welcome to her!’ Eadmund grinned, attempting to appear more jovial than he felt. ‘I’m sure Eirik won’t suspect a thing. As long as his grandsons don’t come out with bright red hair!’
They rode along silently, into the dark grey morning. It was an awkward silence, and Thorgils felt as though there was something he had missed; there was definitely a tension that he wasn’t part of. Not an unfriendly one, but he sensed that something had occurred. He dismissed it for now, though, determined to enjoy the ride, despite the moodiness of his companions and the gloom of the day.
It had been Thorgils’ idea to take his horse, Vili, with them so that Fyn could join them for a ride. And he had something in mind that would put a smile on both their miserable faces. ‘You will be speechless, I promise,’ Thorgils winked at Jael. ‘Oss has some secrets that will amaze you. Secrets that most people on the island don’t even know about. It may be that this will surprise you too, young Fyn!’
Fyn looked unconvinced, but Jael smiled. Thorgils had quickly forgiven her for nearly severing his balls, and was as cheerful as ever, unlike Fyn, who had barely spoken to her for weeks now. She had tried to broach the subject of what to do about Tarak, but he had backed into his shell so quickly, that she’d left it alone. Trawling up memories from such a dark pit hadn’t been easy for him, she could see, and Jael knew it would take some time for him to release them back into the abyss again.
Despite the sinking clouds, there was much to take in. Oss was a wild, windblown place and Jael found it unexpectedly appealing. Whereas Brekka was lush, rolling, and serene, Oss was a jagged, angry mess of dark mountains, frozen lakes, sharp cliffs, and wide valleys. The scenery was a constant surprise, even hiding beneath a good blanket of snow, as much of it had been since she’d arrived.
They rode at a leisurely pace through a winding valley, mountains rising up around them on both sides. Jael hadn’t been this way before, in fact, she had not explored much without Thorgils, so she had no idea where they were going at all.
‘So, you won’t say where you’re taking us then?’ she wondered.
‘No, not a chance,’ Thorgils said happily. ‘I want to see your faces when we get there. I think you will like it. I know you will!’ He was enjoying leading them along, his chest puffing out bullishly in his new, brown, fur cloak.
‘We turn here,’ Thorgils smiled and pulled on Leada’s reins, turning her left, towards the mountains.
Jael and Fyn shot each other puzzled looks behind Thorgils’ back; where was he leading them?
It was perfect. Tender, smoky, and the ideal remedy for his grumbling belly and muddled mind. Eadmund chewed happily on his hot pork, as he sat opposite Torstan, amongst the crowds of Ketil’s satisfied customers, enjoying the noise of the square as it meandered around him. He started to relax.
‘I meant to tell you,’ Torstan mumbled. ‘Your father came by, looking for you this morning.’
Eadmund’s face dropped, his shoulders tensed, and he stopped eating. ‘And what did you tell him?’
‘I didn’t tell him anything, but Thorgils did. Said you were unwell,’ he snorted, wiping a greasy hand over his short, blonde beard. ‘Not that Eirik thought much of that! He rolled his eyes a lot and left.’
Eadmund’s improved spirits quickly sunk. It had been a nice change to feel his father’s approval these past few weeks. He had been embarrassing him for so many years, and Eirik had endured it better than most fathers would have. Eadmund felt he owed him something now, for keeping faith in him for so long.
‘Speaking of which, here he comes again!’
Eadmund abandoned the rest of his meal, and, clapping Torstan on the back, went to meet his father, who had stopped to talk with Ketil. He tried to ignore the urgent desire he felt for a quick sip of ale.
‘So, you’re awake then?’ Eirik smiled, although his good cheer did not extend much past his lips, Eadmund noted.
‘Almost,’ he grinned, keeping his tone light. ‘Perhaps I may have had one or two more than I should have last night.’
Eirik raised a woolly eyebrow at that. ‘One or two? Or maybe 10 or 20?’
‘It wasn’t that many!’
‘Oh, if you say so,’ Eirik smiled wryly. ‘I’ve just had Morac this morning, telling me that our ale stores are running low, which is not the thing I want to hear when we’re not even at Vesta’s Feast yet. He didn’t mention your name, but I have a feeling he was trying to suggest it might have something to do with you.’
‘Well, it sounds as if Morac needs to work on his planning a little more if you’re running out of ale this quickly. Perhaps I should make some suggestions about how much he should allow for in future?’ Eadmund’s tired eyes sparkled with a little humour. He was making an effort to smooth over any cracks his lapse last night had caused. It was working, he sensed, as his father’s face started to lose its sharp edges.
‘I’m not sure anyone should take advice from you, not when it comes to ale, my son.’
‘Eadmund!’ Eydis smiled, coming towards her brother, using a long stick Eirik had carved for her. It enabled her to be independent around the fort while keeping her safe, although Eirik still hated to let her out of his sight. She was growing up, he knew, but he couldn’t stop worrying about her. He was terrified of losing her, as he had her mother.
Eadmund grabbed his sister and spun her around. ‘How are you, Little Thing?’ he smiled, genuinely pleased to see her.
‘Hungry! And you smell like what I want to eat,’ she said cheekily.
‘You want to eat dirt? Ear wax? Snot? Stale ale?’
‘No, but you can buy me one of Ketil’s meat sticks please.’ She dug inside the little purse hanging from her belt.
Eadmund put his hand out to stop her. ‘Eydis, no, I think it’s well past my turn to treat you,’ he insisted. ‘You wait here.’ And he went off to stand in line for her.
‘He seems happy?’ Eydis stared questioningly towards her father, her milky eyes full of hope. ‘Maybe it was just a small hiccup?’
Eirik watched Eadmund, who looked alert and cheerful enough as he chatted with his friends. ‘I hope so. I don’t want to lose him all over again.’
‘Well, maybe you could let the ale run out completely?’ Eydis suggested. ‘Then you would always have him like this.’
‘Ha! I would, but the rest of the men would plot to kill me, for sure!’ Eirik squeezed Eydis’ arm, enjoying the feeling of relief as it soothed his tense muscles. Eadmund did seem alright, he thought. If only he would stay this way, always; no hiccups. Then he could sleep through the night, for the first time in years.
Next to him, Eydis tugged on his cloak. He turned to see Runa approaching. He had always liked Runa but the years had not been kind to her. She walked in a shadow these days; her heavily lined face mostly turned towards the ground. He wondered if that was the loss of her son, or perhaps the trial of her daughter, or was it Morac who had worn her down; his old friend had become increasingly ornery of late. ‘Runa,’ he smiled warmly. They had been friends since childhood, perhaps even bed companions in their youth; although he had spent much of that time as drunk as Eadmund, and couldn’t say if that was a true recollection.
‘Eirik, Eydis,’ Runa nodded, returning his smile politely. Her eyes darted about, showing no signs of friendship anymore.
‘Are you looking for Morac?’
‘Yes, he wasn’t in the hall, and since everyone seems to be at Ketil’s today, I thought he might be here.’
‘I haven’t seen him, but I will tell him you’re looking for him if I do.’
‘I would be grateful, thank you.’
Evaine snuck up behind her mother then, and Eirik watched Runa’s expression freeze in horror as she saw her daughter. He imagined his face didn’t look much different.
‘Hello, Mother, my lord,’ Evaine beamed, her pale cheeks showing
spots of pink. ‘Eydis, I didn’t see you there! I hope you are feeling well again?’
No one said a word.
Eydis reached for the assurance of her father’s hand, to steady both of them. Runa looked as though she wanted to run away.
Eadmund returned, not noticing Evaine until it was too late.
‘Hello, Eadmund,’ Evaine smiled coyly, looking down at her clasped hands, which sat just in front of her belly. She could hardly contain her happiness; it had been days since she had seen him.
Eadmund was immediately consumed by the awkwardness of the situation. He gave Eydis her meat stick and nodded in Evaine’s direction, making no attempt to look directly at her.
No one said a word.
‘So, have you been training for the contest, Eadmund?’ Evaine asked sweetly, trying to ease the tension that was building. ‘My father said I’m allowed to watch this year, as I’m old enough. I’m very much looking forward to it. Of course, Tarak will be the favourite, but I imagine there will be a few challengers, perhaps even your wife?’
Eadmund didn’t reply. He was confused, wondering just what Evaine was playing at with her pointless chatter; getting herself into trouble with everyone, it seemed. His father’s face was turning red; that was a bad sign.
‘We must be getting along to find your father, Evaine,’ Runa hissed at her daughter, her composure withering under Eirik’s furious stare. ‘I wish you luck in the contest, Eadmund.’ She nodded quickly at Eirik and Eydis, and grabbed Evaine firmly by the arm, pulling her away.
The three Skallesons stood in silence. Evaine had somehow managed to make each one of them feel uncomfortable.
Eirik spoke first. ‘I should get rid of that girl.’ He looked furious, all good humour erased from his face.
Eadmund suddenly felt sorry for Evaine. It was his fault, he knew, for leading her on. He had encouraged her for purely selfish reasons, and if she were to be punished, or worse, banished, it would surely be his fault. That thought weighed heavily on him. She was so young, and he cared for her, of course he did, but ultimately he knew, he had used her. ‘You can’t do that, Father,’ Eadmund pleaded, turning towards him. ‘She’s done nothing wrong, nothing to be banished for at least. You may as well banish me. It’s my fault!’
