Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither did I, but I had no choice.’

  ‘Well, after what you did...’ Jael couldn’t help herself.

  Ivaar didn’t even flinch. ‘You’ve heard all the stories about me, of course.’

  ‘And they’re just stories, are they?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you mean,’ Ivaar said sharply and clicked his tongue, nudging Leada ahead of Tig. They slipped down another narrow path, leaving Jael staring after him with an open mouth.

  She caught up quickly and brought Tig alongside Leada as soon as the path widened. ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t,’ he insisted. ‘Why would I? I loved her. Desperately. Why would I kill someone I loved?’

  ‘Because you couldn’t have her for yourself? Because she chose your brother? Love and hate are similar passions. It’s easy for one to overwhelm the other,’ Jael suggested.

  ‘Of course. But she didn’t choose Eadmund,’ Ivaar said quietly. ‘She chose me.’

  ‘That’s not the story I heard.’

  ‘Well, I can imagine how the story would have gone if it were Eadmund or Thorgils doing the telling.’

  Jael pulled on Tig’s reins, determined to look at Ivaar as he spoke. She needed to know the truth of it and couldn’t discover that without looking into his eyes. ‘So, what is your story then?’ she asked, peering at him.

  Ivaar reined Leada in, his face dark with old memories. ‘Melaena,’ he sighed heavily. ‘She was incredibly beautiful, and she tormented us both. That is how it was for a long while. She came with her father, who was keen to make an alliance with Eirik. So, they stayed some time, enough time for her to wrap the both of us up in knots.’ He looked away, searching for the right words. ‘She would say that she couldn’t decide who it was that she wanted more. Eventually, when I told her I wouldn’t share her with Eadmund, that I wouldn’t go on like that, she told me that she loved me. She chose me,’ he sighed sadly. ‘But her father had a different plan. He wanted her married to the future King of Oss. Not some spare.’

  ‘But why was that?’ Jael interrupted, soothing a restless Tig with her hand. ‘Why had Eirik made Eadmund his heir? What had you done?’

  ‘Done?’ Ivaar’s laugh was hollow. ‘You have so many bad ideas about me, Jael! Done? I was just born to the wrong woman. Eirik had married my mother for her riches, for an alliance, but he despised her in the end and divorced her to marry Eskild. When he fell in love with Eskild, nothing else mattered, no one did.’ His eyes were those of a little boy for a moment, but he blinked his memories away quickly.

  Tig skittered about under Jael. She tugged sternly on his reins; he might have been ready to move on, but she was eager to hear the rest of Ivaar’s story.

  ‘When Eadmund was born, Eirik simply made him his heir. He loved Eskild, and he wanted her son to be king. It was too much for my mother,’ he said quietly, dropping his head. ‘She couldn’t live with the shame of it all. She killed herself.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jael said sympathetically. The pain on his face looked very real. Perhaps he was playing a game, but if so, he was playing it expertly; she felt completely fooled.

  ‘Shall we keep riding?’ Ivaar wondered with a hint of a smile. ‘Before your horse runs away with you?’

  ‘I think we should. He’s not very happy with me today it seems.’ Jael wondered if Tig was mad at her out of loyalty to Thorgils. She didn’t blame him, but what Ivaar was revealing was worth the price of both his and Thorgils’ anger, she was sure.

  33

  ‘Gone? With Ivaar?’ Thorgils shook his head incredulously as he stood on the doorstep, dressed in his thickest cloak, his pockets full of carrots. ‘But we’re supposed to be training!’ He looked at Biddy in shock. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Biddy frowned. ‘But she did suggest you could go and see Isaura. She was sure they’d be gone a long time.’

  Thorgils stilled at the suggestion. Jael was clever to twist the story in that way, he smiled to himself. He would certainly have stern words with her when she returned, but until then... ‘Well, perhaps I could do that,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Although, it has been a long time. She may not wish to speak to me,’ he mumbled into his beard.

  Biddy reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. She glared at him sternly, in a way that reminded him of his mother. ‘There is only one way to find out. And if you stand here on my porch jiggling in your britches any longer, you’ll never know because Ivaar will be back!’

  Thorgils blinked rapidly, realising that she was right. He readjusted his cloak and ran a hand through his beard. ‘Right, I shall go then.’ He looked down at Biddy but didn’t move.

  ‘Thorgils! Go!’ And she shooed him away impatiently with her broom.

  Edela drifted away, lost in old memories as she stared up at the vast doors of the Temple of Tuura. They were just as imposing as she remembered; giant wooden panels, latticed with strips of dark wood, secured at every corner by huge, iron rivets. Tall, carved steeples raged out of its roof, calling to the Tuuran gods, welcoming them to this sacred place. The gods were fierce, and the temple spoke to them, but it was no place for ordinary people now; the elders had made sure of that.

  The temple had stood for over a thousand years, little changed in all that time. As the lands and the people of Tuura had slowly vanished beneath its dark glare, the temple had remained, impenetrable and remote. It offered no sanctuary, though, no welcoming embrace for its disappearing, frightened people. It kept all their hopes for the future locked away behind those doors; a tomb of secrets hidden from all but the powerful elders.

  Edela shuddered, remembering her dream. She had not known that voice, a woman’s voice, but it had been a voice to fear. She wrapped her dark-red cloak tightly around her shivering frame. There was danger coming, a darkness that threatened to consume them, of that she was certain now. But what she could do to keep them all safe, she had no idea.

  ‘Edela?’

  As she turned around Edela’s face broke into a wrinkled smile that was warm and agreeable. ‘Alaric! My old friend!’

  ‘Old, is it now?’ he smiled shyly, embracing her.

  ‘Yes, that is what we have both become, it seems,’ Edela chortled as she considered his long-seen face. ‘Old, but wiser, I hope.’

  He was a small man; only as tall as her, if that. They had been childhood friends, although Alaric had once wanted more; once, she reminded herself, when they were young enough to care for such things.

  ‘Wiser or more foolish, I am yet to decide,’ Alaric said, his watery eyes flickering nervously.

  ‘I feel much the same, I must admit,’ Edela frowned, staring up at the temple doors again.

  ‘Are you going in?’

  ‘Me?’ It was her turn to look nervous. ‘I’m not sure. Branwyn tells me that many things have changed since my last visit. I hear that all are not welcome through those doors anymore.’

  Alaric dropped his head, lest she see his eyes. ‘Things have changed, that is true.’ He looked up at her again. ‘But you’re a dreamer. You will always be welcome there. It is only the rest of us who aren’t.’

  His words were thick with sorrow and something else, she noticed, fear. She glanced up at the doors, then turned to him and smiled warmly. ‘It has been so long, my dear Alaric, since we were last together. You must tell me how it is for you? How your life has unfolded since I was last here?’ She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and turned him away from the temple steps. ‘I am eager to hear all about it.’

  Alaric relaxed, his shoulders dropping in relief as she led him away; happy to talk to her, as old friends, about anything other than that temple and the secrets he wanted no part of.

  They rode silently for a while, but Ivaar’s words kept themselves busy in Jael’s head. She felt confused and unsettled by them. Was he just twisting the truth into a palatable story? Probably, she decided, bu
t nothing about him appeared false. There was real pain there, she saw, when he spoke of Melaena and his mother. But could it be possible, truly possible, that Eadmund had spent all these years heartbroken over a woman who hadn’t even loved him?

  Jael slowed Tig down again, waiting for Ivaar; she needed more. ‘So, if you loved her and she loved you, as you say, why is she dead? And why does everyone assume you did it? Obviously more than assume. You were banished for it,’ Jael said bluntly.

  Ivaar scratched his short beard and frowned. ‘They assumed because Eadmund told them I did it. Convinced them all of it. But he didn’t know that Melaena loved me. He didn’t know that we never stopped being together, even after she was betrothed to him. We couldn’t be apart, couldn’t stay away from one another,’ he breathed, staring deeply into Jael’s eyes. ‘I had no reason to kill her.’

  Jael looked away, confused. ‘So, you didn’t kill her?’ she frowned. ‘You’re without blame in the whole mess?’

  Ivaar laughed, and it was bitter and cold. ‘I’m certainly not without blame. I was in the middle of it, so of course, some of the blame is mine. I could have, should have backed away, left her alone, left her to my brother,’ he sighed. ‘But she was intoxicating. I loved her desperately. So yes, I am to blame for that. But killing her? No.’

  Jael narrowed her eyes, trying to find the lies in his. But she couldn’t see any, and that worried her. If Ivaar hadn’t killed Melaena, who had? And if Ivaar hadn’t killed Melaena, was he really their enemy at all?

  He had almost convinced himself to give up, certain that she wouldn’t want to talk to him, when he saw her. She was down on the snow-covered beach, standing by the drying sheds, feeding seabirds with her children. Her three daughters were racing about in the snow, throwing crumbs into the air as the birds screeched and swooped down towards them. The little boy sat grizzling on her hip, a fat fist in his mouth.

  Isaura didn’t look happy to see him.

  ‘You can’t be here,’ she hissed as he walked up to her. ‘Ivaar will find out. He has a dreamer. She will know.’

  Thorgils looked down at the fair-haired little boy, who stopped his grizzling, staring in shock at the big, red-headed man peering down at him. Thorgils smiled sadly as he held out his thumb for him to grab hold of. ‘I’ll go then,’ he said somberly.

  Isaura looked at him, not wanting him to go at all. She could feel tears filling her eyes and wished them away. She inhaled his smell as it blew towards her on a stiff breeze; it was so achingly familiar, as was that face, albeit with a few new lines and scars. She sighed; it wouldn’t help him or her if she lost control now. ‘There are too many things we could say,’ she quietly. ‘And none of them will make any of this better. None of them will take away the past seven years. We are both damaged by it, but we cannot change what has been. I have my children, and they have a father, and Ivaar is not someone to cross. Ever. You know that.’ She wiped her eyes and looked out, across the frozen sea, towards the sharp, mist-covered spires, as the sea birds wailed and called around them.

  Thorgils heard his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. Isaura’s son had a firm hold on his thumb. He sighed, wishing that all things between them were different; that it was their children they stood watching on the beach, that they could go back to their house and sit around a warm fire and eat a meal together. They had talked about that, when they were growing up, longingly planning the time when they could escape his mother and her father; when they would be free to be together, alone.

  ‘He’s gone riding with Jael,’ Thorgils murmured.

  Isaura looked at him anxiously. ‘You need to warn her about what he’s doing. The way he always goes after whatever Eadmund has. It will end badly. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. I remember that look.’

  ‘I know, so do I. She won’t listen, though. There’s never been a more stubborn creature than Jael Furyck.’

  Isaura’s eyes were fierce as they sought his. ‘Then you must make her.’

  Thorgils nodded, easing his thumb out of the little boy’s wet hand. ‘Just tell me one thing, and then I’ll go. Tell me you would still choose me if there was no Ivaar. If you had a choice.’

  She looked away, watching as her daughters started running towards them. ‘Go now, before the girls come, please.’ Her face was pained as she stared imploringly at him. ‘Thorgils, you never need ask me such a question. What we were, what we had, that will never change in my heart. Now go.’ And she turned away from him and started walking towards the girls, hoping to cut them off before they had the chance to investigate her visitor.

  He hesitated for one, thick, white breath, watching her go, then turned and walked slowly away.

  Alaric’s cottage was a tiny, dark hole, thick with dust. There was barely anything in the small, fusty smelling room. Just a simple bed with a threadbare fur, a poorly made table and stool, a few vessels for cooking, and not much else.

  Edela felt sorry for her friend and the poverty of his existence, remembering how close they had once been. She sighed, feeling the ache in her weary shoulders; how quickly their youth had rushed away from them. ‘You never married then?’ she wondered quietly as Alaric pulled the solitary stool out for her to sit on.

  He sighed as he bent towards the fire, poking the charred logs, looking for flames. ‘No, in the end, it all just passed me by, I suppose.’ He glanced at her, sadly. ‘Some things just aren’t meant to be. You know that, of course.’

  ‘Yes, better than most,’ she shivered. It was almost colder in here than outside. ‘But what about your work, as a scribe? Why is it that you’re not allowed into the temple anymore? I thought the scribes were just as important as the dreamers?’

  Alaric screwed up the wrinkled folds of his face, his eyes almost disappearing beneath them. He looked hesitant. ‘Well...’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, of course,’ Edela reassured him kindly. ‘I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable. If it’s something you’d rather not say...’

  Alaric looked back to his dead fire, hanging his head; there was no life in it, nor in him anymore, it seemed. But here was Edela, a bright-eyed reminder of his past and a time when there had been hope in his heart. He stood up, his hips clicking in protest, and came to sit on the edge of the fireplace in front of her, running his withered hands through the few strands of hair left on his head.

  ‘There are many secrets here, of course, always secrets,’ he said softly. ‘The elders grow more and more worried about them escaping the temple. They don’t trust anyone now. The dreamers are different, the elders need them, but the scribes?’ He leaned in closer now, resting his arms on his knees, lowering his voice. ‘Someone stole a prophecy, many years ago. They decided it was one of us who was responsible for that. Marcus interrogated us all. He’s the elderman now,’ Alaric shuddered. ‘It was very important, this prophecy. I don’t know of it. It was not written in my time at least. But they wanted it back, desperately. In the end, they decided it was Arbyn Nore who did it, that he had told someone about it, or stolen it himself. Arbyn insisted he was innocent. Nothing would compel him to confess, but in the end, they found him guilty and beheaded him.’

  ‘Oh!’ Edela’s eyes widened in shock; he had been one of their childhood friends. ‘I didn’t know that. Poor Arbyn. Do you think he did it? Told someone about the prophecy or took it himself?’

  Alaric shook his head gravely. ‘You wouldn’t choose to steal a scroll, would you? That is hardly a treasure, not unless you have knowledge of what it contained. Someone knew what it said, that it would be important to somebody, which is why it disappeared. But no, I don’t believe Arbyn did it. He was devoted to his work,’ Alaric insisted, shivering. ‘But someone revealed its presence and let a thief into the temple, or took it themselves. After the prophecy was stolen, the elders shut everyone out and turned their attention towards strengthening the army, building the walls higher. It does not fill us with any confidence, to see what they are doing. I often think about what tha
t prophecy might have contained... what its loss could mean for all of us.’

  Edela felt confused. There were so many threads dangling hopelessly inside her head, all loose and unattached. If she were to help Jael, she had to start weaving them together in a way that made sense; before it was too late.

  Thorgils hadn’t come back, and Eadmund wasn’t going to sit and wait any longer. He didn’t need anyone to look after him. He was perfectly able, just slightly pathetic, but his legs and arms were all working fine. So, forgetting Thorgils entirely, he threw his cloak around his shoulders and headed out in search of food. And maybe some ale.

  He left the door to bang behind him, grimacing as the cold attacked his face and his boots sunk into the deep, wet snow.

  ‘I wondered what had happened to you. I’m glad to see you’re still breathing!’

  Eadmund froze, closing his eyes. He turned around, reluctantly, his mood suddenly as murky as the clouds sinking above him. ‘No doubt you were hoping I’d dropped off the cliffs somewhere.’

  Eirik frowned, then sighed. ‘One day you will know the feeling of having a child, and for the most part, never wishing they’d drop off a cliff.’

  ‘Not even if they murder someone?’ Eadmund spat crossly, his stomach growling loudly to match his mood.

  Eirik chose to ignore that. He peered at his dishevelled looking son. ‘You know, Ketil has just opened for the day. I’ll walk over with you. I could do with something to eat, and by the look and smell of you, you’re going to need someone to prop you up soon.’

  ‘And you think you’ve got enough strength in that sack of bones to hold me up?’ Eadmund grumbled; he couldn’t bring himself to say anything nice.

  ‘Boy, I didn’t make myself king by sitting about and scratching my arse all day,’ Eirik smiled as they started walking towards the square. ‘I think even these old bones would make it further in the contest than you.’