Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Well, it’s supposed to stop him drinking. To stop the need for it,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Edela said that you must keep him restrained, keep him away from any drink while the tincture does its work. And watch him, don’t let him out of your sight.’ She looked sideways at Jael. ‘It may take some days, of course, for him to work through it, but Edela said that if he were to finish the bottle without anything else touching his lips, then he would have a chance to be free of it.’

  Jael stared thoughtfully down at the tiny bottle. ‘And you believe that? You think it could have helped your father if you’d have known?’

  ‘My father was a bastard, so I wouldn’t have wasted it on him in the first place,’ Biddy spat, her face twisting harshly before the fire. ‘My mother and I were better off without him.’

  ‘So, drinking too much is not always a bad thing, then?’ Jael suggested, surprised by the venom in Biddy’s eyes. ‘I suppose it just depends on the person who is caught in its trap.’

  Biddy shook herself away from that dark place. ‘Yes, it does, and Eadmund is one who I think we must save. Don’t you?’

  Jael frowned at her, thinking it over, but didn’t say a word.

  30

  ‘It’s a bad idea, Jael!’ Thorgils grumbled. ‘You don’t play with Ivaar. He plays with you!’

  He was barracking her from his wooden stump as she circled Fyn, trying to ignore his disgruntled mumblings. ‘Are you ever going to come at me, Fyn? I may as well fight the snow for all the use you are today!’

  Jael was irritable. She had not slept much. Her dreams had been terrifying and vivid; thoughts of Edela and Evaine, threats of darkness and dead bodies, storms and blood, Ivaar and Eadmund. She’d woken up frowning and weary, and had stayed there, trapped in that scratchy place. Thorgils had barely spoken to her on their ride; his mood was as fractured as her own.

  Fyn felt stuck in the middle, between two rapidly approaching storms. He didn’t know what to say or do. Perhaps it was better to let the two of them fight it out. ‘I’m going for a drink,’ he decided and threw down his sword, heading off towards his hut.

  Jael and Thorgils blinked after him, surprised.

  Jael picked up Fyn’s sword and handed it to Thorgils. ‘Well, come on then, I’m going to freeze solid if I don’t start moving about,’ she sighed, stretching her neck from side to side. ‘We both need the practice.’

  Thorgils stood up, still annoyed with her, and took the weapon, happy not to be fighting with real swords today. The mood they were both in, it would likely end up a bloody mess, and it was better to save that for the contest. ‘I wish you would hear me, Jael. You’re making a mistake playing with Ivaar.’ He raised his sword and took three quick steps towards her, slashing his blade down in a hail of fast, aggressive strokes.

  Jael rushed her sword up to defend herself, then backing away, lunged quickly, hitting him in the ribs. It did little to improve Thorgils’ mood. He flinched crossly, taking a step backwards.

  ‘If Eirik dies and leaves Ivaar as his heir, what will happen to all of us? Jael wondered, too distracted to fight. Her shoulders sunk, she lowered her sword. ‘What will happen to Eadmund?’

  ‘You think you can protect him by becoming Ivaar’s lover?’ Thorgils stepped forwards and glared down at her. ‘How will that help anyone?’

  Jael laughed loudly. ‘Ivaar’s lover?’ She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t thinking about being that friendly!’

  ‘You didn’t notice the way he was looking at you?’

  ‘Of course I did, but I’m not interested in playing the game that seriously,’ Jael insisted. ‘I just want to confuse him, distract him, while we try and sort Eadmund out. If we can do that, then Eirik will have a reason to change his mind. He doesn’t really want Ivaar, he’s just angry, but that will pass, especially if Eadmund can stop drinking and start training again.’

  Thorgils looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe, but playing with Ivaar is only going to end badly, for all of us. Ivaar is a fucking arse, but he’s no fool. He won’t believe you, no matter how convincing you were last night.’

  ‘Do you have another plan?’ Jael muttered crossly. ‘It makes sense. I’m going to distract him. We’re going to fix Eadmund and make Eirik change his mind. That’s our plan. If you have something better, then tell me, otherwise, that is our plan!’

  Thorgils mulled it over, his bushy eyebrows working hard as he stared at her. He didn’t like the sound of it, but he didn’t have anything else to offer. Besides, if Jael was so determined to keep Ivaar busy, it might give him a chance to speak to Isaura alone. Eadmund had passed on her message, and his hopes had lifted considerably. He raised his sword and tapped it against hers. ‘Alright, it’s our plan. For now. It’s a bad plan, and I want you to remember I said that when it all comes shitting down on our heads. But be careful. Remember what happened to Eadmund’s last wife!’

  Jael rolled her eyes and casually turned back towards the shelter where Tig and Leada were huddled together. ‘I am nothing like Eadmund’s last wife,’ she promised darkly as she stilled, taking a long, deep breath. ‘But I shall remember the warning.’ She swung herself back around quickly then, raising her leg as high as she could, snapping her foot fiercely into Thorgils’ jaw.

  ‘Aaarrrhhh!’

  Fyn came rushing out of his hut in time to see Thorgils staggering out of the snow, gripping his face, his eyes bulging in shock. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘She got you then? That’ll be a nice bruise tomorrow.’ And smiling, he picked up a sword and headed towards Jael, reminding himself to watch out for that leg of hers.

  Morana was a slow walker, much to Evaine’s irritation. She wanted to stop and explain the use of every plant she picked; how it survived in the coldest climes, what time of day or night was best to pick it, and how the moon needed to be a certain number of days old or new. Evaine had stopped listening some time ago. She yawned, scratching at her tired eyes. She had not slept for more than a few hours since she had arrived, traumatised by the thought of never seeing Eadmund again. Surely that could not happen; she was carrying his son!

  Morana poked Evaine with her long, nobbly staff. ‘You are not listening, child!’ she grumbled, and not for the first time. ‘I am thinking there is not much between those pretty ears of yours, certainly no patience at least!’

  Evaine eyed her aunt moodily. They had walked in circles for hours, it seemed, and for what? A few plants and an aching back, to go with a swirling stomach, and a throbbing head. She was truly miserable, and her bottom lip remained firmly turned towards the snow they waded through.

  ‘Do you not care to know the magic of these plants? How they can help you achieve all that you desire?’

  Evaine lifted her head, her eyes suddenly full of interest. ‘What do you mean, all that I desire?’

  ‘Is it so long since you last visited me that you have forgotten what I can do?’ Morana crept towards Evaine, her torn and dirty, black cloak slithering across the snow behind her. ‘What I have helped you do, in the past?’

  They were standing in a small cluster of trees, hidden from any sun that might have escaped the thick, morning clouds. It was bone achingly cold in the shadows. The tall, gnarled trees looked as though they were closing around Morana as she stepped forwards, pointing her staff at Evaine.

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ Evaine muttered quietly. ‘It’s just that I don’t see what I can do from here. What use is your magic when there’s no one to use it on? How can I achieve anything when I am so far away from Eadmund?’

  Morana smiled. ‘There is always something we can do. Besides, that child won’t stay in you forever, and you won’t stay here forever either. Just long enough for us to make our plans. We have much to talk about, you and I.’

  Edela was thrilled that there was nowhere to ride to this morning. Her body felt weak, as though it was held together by a few loose stitches. She was certain that if she moved too quickly, she would crumble apart, so she was content to sit by the fire, nibblin
g on some warm bread and hard cheese, as she chatted to Kormac and Branwyn.

  ‘It is so different these days,’ Kormac said thoughtfully, shaking his mop of curly brown hair at the wedge of cheese Branwyn was offering. ‘You can see that, of course. Raiders were coming so frequently. We were easy prey, but now the army is everywhere. The elders keep building the walls higher, making the army bigger and stronger, which, I suppose is good for us blacksmiths,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘But the elders have shut themselves further and further away from the people. They barely come out of the temple, except to announce decisions by the council, and they no longer let anyone in, besides the dreamers of course.’

  ‘Really?’ Edela coughed in surprise. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Branwyn said, handing her mother a steaming cup of skullcap tea. ‘They will not say. Since Marcus became the elderman, it has all changed. The elders have become almost invisible.’

  That was not good news for Edela’s plans. She would have to tell Aleksander when he returned from checking on the horses.

  ‘What is it, Mother?’ Branwyn wondered, sensing the trouble in Edela’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, it is nothing, I suppose,’ Edela smiled lightly, uncertain how much she wanted to reveal. ‘I was just hoping to speak to someone... I have some questions, about... Tuuran history. I had thought I would simply go to the temple and find an elder, but it seems it will not be that simple now.’

  ‘What sort of questions, Edela?’ Kormac wondered as he tended to the fire. ‘Perhaps we can help? The elders aren’t the only ones who know Tuura’s secrets. We have our own ways of finding things out.’

  Edela frowned. It had been many nights since her last dream, but every detail of it had been carved into her memory with a sharp blade. She wasn’t sure who she could trust with it, besides Aleksander. She rested her eyes on Kormac and let her body relax, clearing her mind. He had always seemed a very decent man, and he had made Branwyn happy, she saw. He turned his kind, brown eyes on her with such genuine concern that she felt a certain push towards him. She leaned forward, aware of the creaking pains in her back, and told them both, in hushed tones, about the girl with the scorched face, the nightmares, the book, and the danger she had seen for Jael.

  Kormac and Branwyn listened with wide eyes and furrowed brows; neither said a word until she was done. Edela sipped on her tea, resting her feet close to the fire. She glanced at their faces, hoping they would be open to helping her, but doubting there was much they would know. Kormac was a blacksmith and Branwyn had not inherited her mother’s gifts, and neither of them were particularly close to any dreamer or elder that she knew of.

  ‘That is very troubling, Mother, but I’m not sure what you will be able to find out here,’ Branwyn puzzled. ‘There are people who know more than most about Tuura’s history, but those people are in the temple, hidden away with all the secrets they keep. I can’t imagine they will be eager to reveal anything to you.’ She shook her head and looked towards Kormac.

  ‘Branwyn’s right, they guard their secrets well,’ Kormac said. ‘But of course, you know that. It has not changed these many hundreds of years. The dreamers tell the elders what they see of the future. The elders have their scribes write everything down, and they keep it all safely hidden away, all those prophecies of the future, hidden from the ones they concern the most. They have never told us, have they? Not in all these years. We have watched as they turned this village into a town, and now a fortress, and we wait, knowing that something is coming. Something must be coming, but they won’t tell us.’ He lowered his voice, staring into the flames. ‘But there are others here, who have secrets, who have knowledge that has been passed down through the centuries of time. Not all Tuuran secrets are housed in the temple.’

  That surprised Branwyn, who eyed her husband curiously. ‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, suddenly conscious of how loud their voices sounded, echoing around their large house. Her eyes darted towards the closed door.

  ‘Well,’ Kormac whispered hesitantly. ‘I know about the sword.’

  ‘You’re back then?’

  Morac could barely bring himself to raise his head as he walked towards Eirik’s chair. ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘That didn’t take long.’ Eirik was out of sorts and not at all pleased to see his friend again. It was a bitter reminder of all that had happened; of the betrayal he felt by the people closest to him.

  ‘I only stayed as long as I needed to.’

  ‘Well, who could blame you? Morana is hardly the best company,’ Eirik muttered crossly as he leaned backwards, resting his head against the carved back of his wooden throne. He was feeling weary today, disturbed and unsettled by the events of the past few days, and in no mood to be generous with his words.

  Morac eyed him, just as crossly. ‘She is still my sister, Eirik, no matter how ill your feeling towards her may be.’

  Eirik sat up, feeling the full of weight of that rebuke. He bit his tongue lest he say something more to regret; there had been far too much of that lately. ‘You’re right. Let us not talk of her, or that girl. I’m in no mood to grumble at each other like old women.’

  ‘That may be so,’ Morac said, trying hard to control his rising anger. ‘But you have insulted my sister, and now you dismiss Evaine as though she is nothing.’ He ran a hand through his lank, grey hair distractedly. ‘She may be just that girl to you, but she is my daughter, and you have sent her away from me!’ He was shaking now, vibrating angrily, bursting with decades of resentment and fury towards this man who he’d always thought of as his closest friend.

  Eirik rose out of his chair, his eyes bulging with irritation as he stepped down towards Morac. ‘I took her away?’ Eirik smiled coldly. ‘Me?’ He laughed, and it sounded hollow in the almost empty hall. He leaned in closely, his breath white in front of Morac’s face. ‘I warned you. How many times did I warn you?’ he growled, shaking his head. ‘I should never have let that girl come here in the first place, but I did, for you. She was only here because of you, but now look at what that weak decision all those years ago has cost me!’

  ‘And you blame Evaine for that? She is just a girl! It is Eadmund who used her, who did this to her!’

  Eirik laughed. ‘Just a girl? Ha! I did not take you for such a fool, my friend. You really think this had anything to do with Eadmund?’

  Morac was momentarily thrown. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that your little bitch of a daughter has had her claws in my son and one eye on my throne since she could walk. You’re blind if you can’t see that! The way she followed him around? Everyone could see it. Everyone but you!’ Eirik was becoming furious; he could feel his tongue loosening and his chest throbbing. Morac was blinded by his loyalty to that girl, and there was nothing he could do to make him see the truth.

  ‘You should stop and choose your words more carefully, Eirik,’ Morac warned, his eyes narrowing, his voice threateningly quiet. ‘That bitch, as you call her, will be mother to our grandson. You would do well to remember that.’

  ‘Ha! Our grandson? You seem a long way from the truth of anything today.’ He shook his head and returned to his throne. ‘That child is nothing to me. It will be born a bastard, and you may do with it what you wish, but you will not bring it here, and you will never mention it to me again. Or her. Never again. Do you understand?’

  Morac shuddered as he stood before the throne. In all their years of friendship – over 50 years of it now – they had never fought like this. His heart was pounding loudly inside his chest, his hands shaking with fury by his sides. He knew that something had just broken between them. There would be consequences to pay for it, of that he was certain. ‘I understand. Perfectly well.’ He spoke with barely any volume, and nodding his head, he turned and walked slowly out of the hall.

  A fresh afternoon breeze had managed to blow away most of Thorgils’ cobwebs; that, and a stop at Eskild’s Cave on their way back to the fort. Jael had sugges
ted that a soak in the hot pool would make him feel better, and she had been right, annoyingly. He glanced over at her bright face as they dismounted. She was still determined to go ahead with her ridiculous plan. It was going to end badly, he was certain of it.

  ‘Seems you’re very popular after your little speech last night,’ Thorgils noted as they passed a group of warriors smiling amiably in her direction.

  ‘Ha!’ Jael scoffed. ‘I can’t imagine that’s why they’re looking at me. They’re probably just staring at my tits.’

  ‘You have tits?’ Thorgils raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I did not notice that about you. Where are you hiding them, then?’

  His humour had returned, despite his swollen jaw, bruised ego, and turmoil over Isaura, and Jael was happy for it. ‘Nowhere you will ever find them!’ she laughed and looked up at the sky as the first gentle flurries of the day started to drift down. ‘Looks as though we made it home just in time.’

  She caught sight of Tarak then, and her face froze. He was walking towards them, with Ivaar, the two of them sharing a joke and indulging in much back slapping. Jael scowled.

  ‘Ahhh, our two favourite people,’ Thorgils mumbled. ‘Let’s turn here so we can avoid them.’

  But he was too late for Ivaar’s keen eye. Spotting Jael, he smiled and strode quickly towards them, Tarak trailing in his wake like a giant dog. ‘Hello there,’ Ivaar said, holding his hand out for Tig to sniff. ‘A beautiful beast you have here, Jael,’ he smiled, stroking Tig’s muzzle. ‘Eirik has been telling me how much you like to ride, you and Thorgils here.’ He acknowledged Thorgils with a brief nod, noticing his swollen jaw. ‘What happened to your face?’

  ‘Oh... I, ahhh...’ Thorgils looked awkwardly at Jael, his mouth empty of words, his cheeks starting to burn.

  ‘He fell off his horse,’ Jael said quickly. ‘We came across a lot of icy patches today, didn’t we? It must have rained last night.’