Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Eirik Skalleson is old. His death is coming. And soon.’

  Morac looked up sharply. ‘You have seen this?’

  ‘I have, and he has too,’ she snorted. ‘Why do you think he’s made all this fuss about having an heir? His time is rushing away from him, and when he is gone, you will have your chance. We all will.’ She smiled fiercely at Evaine, showing off two crooked rows of rotting teeth.

  Jael felt weary as she pushed open the door. She’d barely been able to see, and Thorgils had barely been able to stand, but somehow they had managed to use most of the daylight fighting one another, much to Fyn’s amusement. He’d enjoyed his improved chances against both of them, and taken a few gleeful helpings of revenge for the punishment they had served up to him recently.

  The house was warm and quiet, apart from the crackle of the fire, and an odd rumbling sound, that reminded her of... snoring? Jael looked about the room as she bent down to pat the very sleepy Ido and Vella who had come to greet her. She saw Eydis sitting by the fire and Biddy tidying her kitchen corner, but where was that noise coming from?

  Biddy put her finger to her lips. ‘That would be your husband,’ she whispered, pointing towards the bedchamber.

  Jael’s eyes rounded in surprise; she shivered.

  ‘Go and sit by the fire,’ Biddy insisted as she came to take Jael’s cloak. ‘You’re shaking.’

  Jael felt awkward as she sat down next to Eydis... in a chair. ‘Hello Eydis,’ she smiled. ‘Where did this come from?’ It was a very nice chair indeed; fine, smooth oak, with a high back, and ample arm rests. Jael sunk back into it, comfortable but confused.

  ‘I had it brought around for Eadmund,’ Biddy whispered as she came to perch on a stool. ‘I thought he needed something more solid, especially after watching Thorgils trying to balance on these little stools.’

  Jael raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at her. ‘I see. But these little stools are alright for me?’

  ‘Well, your rump fits perfectly on them, so I haven’t been worried about you, no.’

  ‘But you have been worried about him?’

  ‘Of course! I want him to feel at home here.’ Biddy shot her a look of determination as she lifted Ido onto Eydis’ knee. ‘Here you go, my dear. He’s looking for a cuddle.’

  ‘He’s getting so big,’ Eydis laughed quietly as she reached out to stroke Ido’s smooth fur. ‘I don’t think he’ll fit on my knee for long.’

  ‘Good,’ Jael said, looking irritably at Biddy. ‘That way I’ll be able to take them walking without worrying they’re going to drown in the snow!’ She watched Eydis’ expression change then and turned to see that Eadmund was standing in the doorway.

  ‘I do believe that’s my chair you’re sitting in.’

  He looked terrible, with his crumpled face and wild, sandy hair, Jael thought; she couldn’t help but smile. ‘Feel free to move me out of it, if you like.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ Eadmund croaked as he walked towards the fire. ‘You look like you’ve had a rough day.’ He pointed to his eye.

  Jael reached up and touched her own. ‘Oh, that? That was Thorgils.’

  Eadmund looked surprised as he sat down on a stool; Biddy was right, he was far too big for it. ‘You were training together? I haven’t seen either of you in the Pit lately. Where have you been going?’

  ‘We... ahhh, we’ve been fighting elsewhere.’ Jael stumbled about, trying to construct a story that didn’t involve Fyn. ‘Just somewhere Thorgils likes to go, for privacy. I’ve no idea what it’s called. He’s worried about Tarak knowing his secrets. He’s taking the contest very seriously.’

  ‘I can’t blame him,’ Eadmund said, wincing, as the pains in his head reminded him just how much he had drunk last night. ‘Tarak has humiliated Thorgils every time they’ve fought. Not just beaten him, but worked hard to make him look like a fool in front of everyone.’ He scratched his sparse beard thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know what makes someone want to be that way. To get pleasure from hurting others.’

  ‘Well, there are a few like that around here, wouldn’t you say?’ Jael noted wryly. ‘And it seems your father is about to welcome one more.’

  Eadmund grimaced, sighing. ‘Yes. That.’ He didn’t know where to look or what to say, but suddenly the room felt too hot, his tunic too close to his skin, the lamp too bright near the corner of his eye. He felt anxious, uncomfortable in this place, under her scrutiny, as seemingly casual as it was. ‘It... is unfortunate, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He had made it clear enough what would happen if I were to... let him down.’ Eadmund could feel Biddy’s eyes and Eydis’ ears taking everything in, and his words felt foolish and poorly formed because of it. ‘I should get you home, Eydis, or at least walk you to the hall steps. Father will no doubt be wondering where you’ve been all day, but I hardly think he’d like to see me.’ He stood up to leave, his head hanging low, his spirits even lower.

  Eydis lifted the sleeping Ido onto the floor and let Biddy wrap her up in her cloak. She’d had such an enjoyable afternoon, sitting and talking with her by the fire, cuddling the puppies, listening to Eadmund snore away, eating far too many bowls of nettle soup. She was reluctant to leave, but she could hear the distress in Eadmund’s voice; he needed to go.

  Jael got up and followed them to the door. ‘Do you have a cloak?’ she wondered. He was only wearing a tunic and already looked cold.

  Biddy had already found it, though, and handed it to him with a sympathetic smile; he really did look like the saddest man she’d ever seen. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Eadmund nodded, embarrassed. ‘Thank you too, for the meal and the company, and the bed, of course. That bed is a hard thing to leave. I’ve never slept in something like that.’ He shook his head. ‘My father worked so hard on that for you.’

  ‘Did he?’ Jael was surprised.

  Eadmund laughed. ‘He wanted to impress you so much. I think sometimes he doesn’t feel like a real king, not compared to your family, at least. I suppose it’s hard letting go of who we used to be, no matter how far away we end up from where we began.’

  Jael could see the sadness behind his smile as he bent down to pat the puppies, but she didn’t know what to say, or how she felt... about any of it. They all stood in silence, awkwardly by the door.

  ‘You should come again,’ Jael tried at last. ‘We can talk about my horses and my chair and my puppies.’ She started to smile, but her eye hurt, and she cringed instead.

  Eadmund laughed, pleased to have caught a flash of kindness in her eye; that meant something. ‘Perhaps I will.’ He shook his head and turned to his sister. ‘Come on, Eydis. We need to go.’

  Jael reached out and squeezed Eydis’ hand. ‘You must come and keep Biddy company again. She is getting lonely without me these days, and old people always like to be around the young, don’t they Biddy?’ She winked at her servant, whose face twisted into a scowl.

  ‘Yes, you should come again, Eydis. It will make a nice change to be around a real lady.’ She reached down to pick up Vella, who was pawing her leg.

  ‘Goodbye, Eadmund.’

  ‘Goodbye, Jael.’

  He smiled briefly, his lost eyes lingering for just a moment, before he opened the door, ushering Eydis out and quickly shutting it behind them.

  ‘You are in the best place possible now,’ Morac promised as he climbed aboard the ship. He felt so reluctant to leave her here; so angry that Eirik was forcing him to.

  Evaine didn’t look convinced. Her small, pale face was drawn tightly together. She did not want to be left here, on this island, with her aunt, without Eadmund. ‘Will you come back? Will you come and take me home?’

  Morac stumbled, his feet unsteady in the rocking vessel. He blinked away his uncertainty. ‘Of course, of course, I’ll come back. And so will you. Ask your aunt. She sees everything, which she will no doubt tell you over and over again!’ He smiled, hoping it would relax her, but Evaine looked even more miser
able.

  ‘Perhaps Eadmund will come and visit me?’

  Morac looked away, not sure he could face disappointing her further. The oars were in now, and the helmsman was demanding they leave. The sky did not look too troubling, but the wind would make it a difficult journey back to Oss. The narrow slip of sea water that remained unfrozen was notoriously tricky to navigate, even on a calm day.

  ‘Go back to the cottage, Evaine,’ Morac called to her as the ship backed into the waves. ‘Get yourself warm. You must take care of that child. And yourself!’ His words blew away on the wind, and he held his hand up instead, waving to her, watching her disappear, hoping she would be alright.

  Evaine sighed miserably, trying not to vomit; the salty tang of the sea air was turning her stomach. She pulled her cloak in to stop it flapping away and turned to climb the hill back to her aunt’s stinking little cottage; her new home.

  28

  Thorgils kept swallowing as he stood there, waiting. He could feel the tension growing at the base of his neck, the straining of his nerves as he watched her slowly coming towards him. He wanted to look away, so desperately afraid of what he would see in her eyes, but not wanting her first look of him to be a disappointment. He tried to keep his shoulders high, his face impassive, but strong as he waited.

  The small party from Kalfa had spent nearly two days making their way from the very south of Oss, overland to the fort. The trip had, for the most part, been uneventful, but with four children and a large group of servants, most of whom were women, it had been a tedious journey indeed. Ivaar was thoroughly sick of them all by the time they approached the rise of the hill where the fort stood, exactly as he had left it, seven years before. He felt his left eye twitch in a burst of anger as he caught his first glimpse of the figures waiting for him and his outcast family. Oss had been his home, and he’d been thrown out of it in the most humiliating way. He clenched his jaw, knowing that he had to keep his feelings hidden deep down inside himself if he were to achieve the revenge he had dreamed of for so long.

  Eirik could feel his beard starting to freeze; he wished they’d hurry up. As much as he was looking forward to meeting his grandchildren and seeing Ivaar again, he was beginning to wonder what he had done. A few days without Eadmund had cleared his mind, allowing him to wander far enough back into the past to remember why he had removed Ivaar in the first place. But still, he told himself, he had to make a choice, there was no time not to. His responsibility as king was to leave his people in the hands of someone who could keep them safe and prosperous. He hoped Ivaar would give him reason to think that it could be him.

  ‘Father!’ Ivaar beamed as he dismounted his horse and stepped forwards to embrace Eirik in a firm hug. His father looked smaller than he remembered, but his eyes were still hard and alert as they peered at him.

  ‘Ivaar,’ Eirik smiled warmly, determined to show the gathered crowd that his eldest son was to be welcomed. ‘It has been a long time.’ He stepped back and was pleased with what he saw; Ivaar looked well indeed. His handsome face had barely aged since he had last seen it. He had cut his blonde hair very short, which made him look more severe than he remembered, and his pale blue eyes were as sharp as ever. After watching Eadmund’s decline, Eirik was relieved to find that his eldest son was mostly unchanged.

  He glanced towards Ivaar’s wife, who was helping the children out of the wagon. ‘Isaura! My dear girl, and look at all these grandchildren of mine!’

  Isaura turned around and smiled nervously at Eirik. She had left as a nobody, seven years ago, and returned, daughter-in-law of the king; she didn’t know how to behave at all. Her weary eyes remained at chest level, staring straight ahead. She didn’t want Ivaar to catch her looking for Thorgils, but she knew he was there; she could sense him watching her. ‘My lord,’ she smiled politely, bowing her head.

  ‘Oh no, you must not be that formal with me,’ he smiled kindly, tickling each child’s chin, in turn, paying particular attention to the little boy, who promptly started grizzling. ‘Eirik is fine. But now, tell me who each of these fine, young people are.’

  ‘This is Selene... Annet... Leya... and the baby is Mads,’ Isaura mumbled, pointing to each blonde-headed child in turn, who all looked tired and out of sorts. The journey had been long, and much of it had been spent in tears.

  Eirik looked genuinely delighted, Jael thought, as she shivered nearby, holding onto Eydis’ hand. She only hoped that he would usher them inside before her teeth broke from all their chattering.

  ‘Eydis!’ Ivaar came over to greet his little sister. ‘You have grown so big!’ He lifted her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. He chose not to notice the look of horror on her face or the rigid way she held her body, as though she was trying to escape his clutches. ‘And you, you must be Jael,’ he murmured, returning Eydis to the ground.

  Jael’s smile was as polite as she could manage. She nodded in his direction, casually, studying his appearance. He did look like Eadmund, she supposed, but a narrower, leaner version. His smile was not warm, though, and his eyes did not sparkle. ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, at long last,’ he said, letting his eyes roam the length of her. ‘I have heard much about you, for many years. All the stories of your battle victories with your father. What little news filtered through to me on Kalfa at least, which, I have to say, was not much.’ He drew his eyes towards Thorgils then. ‘And Thorgils. It has been a long time, but you’re still as big as ever!’

  Thorgils bit down on his teeth, bit down on all the words that were threatening to rush out of his mouth. ‘Ivaar,’ he nodded shortly. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ivaar returned the nod, then leaned in closer. ‘Perhaps it won’t be so easy between us, not as it once was, but I’m sure we will smooth things over quickly enough.’

  Thorgils wanted to rip those slimy words out of his throat and shove them up his arse. He swallowed quickly, trying not to speak until he had control of himself; unsure if that would ever be possible. Thankfully, Eirik gestured for everyone to head to the hall, and Ivaar turned away, giving Thorgils a chance to take a few quick breaths.

  Ivaar caught up with his father, leaving Isaura to usher the children along behind him. As she turned around to gather them all into the same general direction, she looked back, letting her eyes wander just far enough to find Thorgils. It was as though no time had passed between them at all. He suddenly felt hot, as the unfamiliar burn of tears stung the corners of his eyes. She looked away, grabbing her youngest daughter’s hand, hurrying to catch up with her husband.

  Thorgils didn’t move. He wanted to stay there, remembering those eyes, reading everything they had said to him in two, tiny heartbeats.

  ‘Come on,’ Jael smiled kindly as she walked up behind him. ‘Come inside and let’s have a drink together.’

  Eadmund knew that they would all be in the hall by now; he knew that he should be there with them. If he was going to turn his father back towards him, he had to show more fight than this.

  He sat on the bed in his lonely, dark cottage, dressed in his cloak and boots, ready to join them, but he couldn’t move. He remembered the warmth and company of Jael’s house. His house. No, he shook his head, it didn’t feel like his house, like he had earned the right to be there, sitting in his chair by the fire. He smiled sadly; not yet.

  Eadmund thought of Evaine, and wondered how she would fare on Rikka, with her strange aunt; he felt the guilt in that. She would have his child in the spring, but would he even know when it happened? He imagined his father’s face, staring at the doors of the hall, wondering if he was ever going to step through them. What would Jael think? Would she care that he wasn’t there beside her?

  Eadmund drank deeply from the jug. He’d drunk more than he’d planned, and now he didn’t know if he was right enough in the head to be in the hall, with Ivaar and his sharp eyes, and Jael and her harsh tongue. But what about Thorgils, he thought guiltily? How would he be coping, havi
ng to face Isaura again, knowing that she was married to Ivaar, who would be making it as torturous as possible; of that he had no doubt. At least Thorgils had Jael and Torstan, he convinced himself. They would help him, he was sure.

  Eadmund hung his head as it swum with memories and fears, but no direction. He couldn’t see a way forward, not even with Jael, as pleasant as that had felt lately. He wanted to be all those things everyone assumed he could be; the person his father had hoped for, or Eydis believed in. But his father only saw the faded hope of his mother in him, and Eydis saw nothing at all but dreams; none of it was real.

  He took another swig from the jug, his head lolling around from side to side, knowing it was too late for him. He couldn’t go to the hall now, it would only embarrass everyone he cared for. Let them talk to Ivaar, let them welcome him back to the island with open arms. He would rather stay here and drink; here where there was no one to judge him but himself.

  Aleksander sighed with relief as Tuura finally came into view. Or was it discomfort? He almost couldn’t tell. He’d felt so irritable and been so quiet since his talk with Edela about the Widow, that he’d barely noticed anything but his own thoughts. But now, here they were. Tuura was staring him in the face, and he suddenly felt 10-years-old again. Aleksander reined in his horse without a name and waited for Edela to come alongside.

  ‘We made it,’ she sighed heavily, leaning forward to pat her faithful horse. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever be happy to see this place again, but after four days of sitting like this, I’m delirious!’ She glanced over at Aleksander, who still looked morose. She felt responsible for that. It seemed that she had a way of dashing every hope he had for his future with Jael.

  ‘Well, at least you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing that you don’t have to sit on a horse tomorrow,’ Aleksander said. He tried to smile, but his frozen lips barely moved. He nudged his horse forwards.