Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  Jael sat down, staring into her bowl but she was no longer hungry; her appetite had left with Thorgils.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Eirik called impatiently as Ivaar opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. ‘I was beginning to wonder which one of my sons I had asked to see. It’s usually Eadmund I end up waiting for!’

  Ivaar ignored his father’s grumbles, laughing as he sat down opposite him. ‘What’s the hurry? Have you nothing else to keep you busy?’

  Eirik sat back on his chair, trying to decide whether Ivaar’s attitude was meant to annoy or relax him; it was an even choice. ‘No, I have nothing else to do today, except wait on you, it seems. What were you doing?’

  They were sitting in Eirik’s private chamber, a place he reserved for his less public conversations, of which there were not many, but he had seen the eyes as they followed Ivaar; it was better to talk away from them and their accompanying ears.

  ‘I went for a ride with Jael,’ Ivaar said casually as he warmed his hands over the inviting fire. His father’s room was plush and well heated, its floor covered in layers of hides and furs. It was the chamber of a king; one day his, if this conversation went as he expected.

  ‘Jael?’ Eirik didn’t look impressed. ‘That’s no way to endear yourself to your brother, nor anyone else here.’

  ‘Why? Eadmund doesn’t seem to like her, why would he be bothered?’

  Ivaar was fishing for information and Eirik could see it in his eyes. He said nothing more on the subject. ‘What do you think of the place after all these years, then? Better than Kalfa?’ Eirik wondered evenly.

  ‘The stables are better than Kalfa,’ Ivaar sneered. ‘Yes, of course. It’s not been easy, being away. We’re all relieved to be back.’

  ‘I’m not sure your wife looks relieved. I haven’t seen her smile yet.’

  Ivaar blinked. ‘Well, no, I suppose it is harder for her. Her father is dead now. She had no one to come back to. She doesn’t have fond memories of how she left either.’

  ‘No, well that would be my fault, I suppose, but I did owe her father a favour,’ Eirik admitted. ‘Still, she has given you fine children so far. Another son or two will be necessary if you become my heir, though.’

  ‘If?’ Ivaar narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to appear too keen, but he was desperate to hear the words he had been dreaming of for most of his life. ‘I didn’t think I was here for just a visit.’

  ‘Didn’t you now?’ Eirik snorted. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a problem with confidence, have you, my son?’

  ‘I will make a good king, Father, and Eadmund is obviously in a bad way. Do you have any other choice?’

  Eirik leaned forward, irritated, ready to defend Eadmund but then his shoulders sagged, his irritation eased; he realised he couldn’t. Ivaar was right; Eadmund had given him no choice. ‘When I am ashes, drinking in Vidar’s Hall, and you are here, sleeping in my bed, sitting in my chair, what sort of king will you be?’ Eirik wondered, studying his son carefully. Ivaar was 34-years-old now; any youth had vanished, leaving his face sharp-edged. His clear, blue eyes held no emotion that Eirik could see, just cold, hard ambition. He didn’t need an answer; he could tell what sort of king Ivaar would be, and that rankled, but what else could he do?

  35

  Aleksander turned to Edela. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘I am most certainly not sure about this,’ Edela murmured uneasily as she stared up at the never-ending doors. She had let her conversation with Alaric keep her awake for much of the night and knew that she would never get any closer to the answers she sought unless she entered the temple. But now that she was here, she felt unsettled.

  ‘I would come with you if I thought they’d let me in,’ Aleksander smiled, sensing her anxiety. He squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘Just don’t forget that you’re welcome in there. You’re a dreamer. They like dreamers!’

  Edela glanced up at him, relaxing her face slightly. ‘So I hear. But not all, I’m sure.’ It was snowing, and she didn’t want him freezing out here while she dithered about like a foolish, old woman. Edela shook her head, waking herself up. ‘You go, go on back to Branwyn. I’ll walk there when I’m done.’ She tried to look brave, but her bottom lip quivered.

  ‘I’ll come back. I’ll keep coming back to see if you’re here,’ Aleksander insisted. ‘The snow is only going to get worse, so I’ll just spend some time in the stables... thinking of a name for my horse.’

  Edela laughed, forgetting her tension as she stepped forwards. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, come on,’ she gripped his arm. ‘Help me up these steps and then go. I’ll be fine.’

  Aleksander guided her up the snow-covered steps to the temple, then hesitated, watching as she stood there, knocking on the door. Edela turned and shooed him away. Aleksander backed down the steps as one of the large doors slowly opened, the light of the temple falling out into the dark grey afternoon. With one final, anxious look towards him, Edela disappeared inside.

  Fyn was getting so good at this, Jael thought to herself as she watched him strut into the centre of their circle, his sword pointing confidently out in front of him; she could see that his grip was strong.

  It was an unpleasant day for fighting; the coldest one yet, and blowing such a snow-gale about her face that she could barely see. Jael couldn’t imagine anything she’d rather be doing, though; if only Thorgils were here. She shoved that thought away quickly; she was still too angry at him.

  ‘Are you sure you have the strength to go again?’ Fyn asked cockily.

  Jael raised one eyebrow and tightened her numb fingers around the wooden grip of her sword. ‘Really? You think my panting is because I’m tired, you little weed?’ She shook her head and walked towards him until their swords were almost touching, her smoky breath lost in a haze of sweeping snow. ‘No, that’s just me trying to calm my fury before I unleash it upon you!’ She smiled, and Fyn laughed.

  That was a mistake.

  Jael lunged forwards, jabbed her sword into the side of his ribs, stood on his foot so that he couldn’t move, and smacked her elbow into his jaw. She jumped back quickly, leaving him to stumble, grumble, and feel his face before he recovered, blinking the snow out of his eyes, raising his sword and thrusting, slashing it towards her. Again, it was a mistake. She swung herself around to the side, avoiding his sword and smacking the back of his legs with hers. Hard. He stumbled again but didn’t go down.

  ‘Lucky for you, my sword is made of wood, little boy!’ she warned and turned to hit him again. She went for his face, and he just managed to get his sword up in time, then she changed angles and hit the inside of his wrist. He flinched but didn’t drop his sword. Jael was impressed but didn’t let it show. She didn’t have time to because he was coming at her again. He lowered his sword and went for her belly but his jab was laboured, and she moved aside easily, quickly, bringing her sword up to his left side, hitting him firmly in the waist. He grimaced but didn’t stumble. Jael frowned; surely it was time for him to go down?

  ‘I’m watching your legs, Jael,’ Fyn smiled, teasing her. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you won’t get me this time.’

  Jael turned her back on him and walked away. It was so cold; it felt as though her sweat was freezing on her face. She wanted to get inside to the fire and heat herself through. But first, she had to find a way to end Fyn’s fun.

  Jael cocked her head to one side and smiled; she had an idea.

  Fyn shivered in his frozen boots, steadying himself as he waited for her. He knew that she would not take his goading well and would surely come at him with speed. He pushed his right leg back, firmly into the ground, feeling it slip slightly on fresh snow, and waited, gripping his sword as tightly as he could.

  She turned, and her face was completely blank. It unsettled him, how cold she looked, as though she was staring right through him. She didn’t move. The wind flapped his hair into his face, and he tried to shake it away without taking h
is eyes off her; he should have braided it, he thought irritably.

  Jael rushed at him quickly, and he braced himself. She moved that leg of hers, and he felt a half-smile form on his face; he knew what was coming, surprised that she’d be that predictable. He moved his sword up to the left, preparing to protect his head and knock away her leg but before he could blink, she had dropped to the ground, sweeping her leg in a fast circle, knocking both his legs out from under him. He fell into the snow with a thud, feeling a small rock lodge in his side, grimacing at the pain of it, cringing at the shame of it, and staring up into the thick, white storm as it blew about him. And then Jael’s face, as she leaned over him, smiling.

  ‘I hope your fire’s still going,’ she grinned and held out a hand.

  It was vast, bigger than she remembered and much quieter, Edela thought, as she shuffled down the length of the temple, her eyes adjusting to the soft glow of light that coloured the high walls. Fires were burning down the middle of the large, vaulted room, and their loud crackling was the only sound she could hear; that, and the soft squelching of her wet boots as she trailed after the woman who had let her in. Edela didn’t know who she was, or where she was leading her to, but she had no time to ask as she hurried across the stones, desperate to keep up.

  Towards the very back of the temple was a corridor; a narrow, dark passage, leading to a handful of rooms. Memories flooded back suddenly, like old friends. This was where the dreamers would come and talk to the elders, to share their visions and learn how to interpret them as more than just pictures or words. She had been so young in these rooms once, young and intimidated but excited by her new gifts, eager to learn, wanting to see more, always wanting a new dream. But now? Now she was terrified when she closed her eyes every night. She was tired and needed answers more than she needed dreams.

  The woman led her to the room at the very end of the corridor and knocked on the door, leaving Edela without even a nod. It was much colder here, in the narrow passage, without the warmth of the fires, and Edela was suddenly conscious of how wet her cloak was as it clung to her legs.

  ‘Come in!’

  Edela thought she knew that voice. She frowned, trying to picture the face it belonged to as she turned the handle and eased open the door. A burst of warmth flooded towards her, and she was relieved to see a large fire and lamps burning. It was bright in here, bright enough to recognise the woman who stood before her. ‘Neva,’ Edela breathed in surprise, confused. ‘I didn’t know you had become an elder here.’

  Neva had been Branwyn and Gisila’s childhood friend, many years ago. A very pleasant girl, Edela remembered, but now? She didn’t know what to think of this middle-aged woman who stood there so calm and still, her face completely unreadable in the firelight. Her hair was gathered back in red and grey streaked braids that hung to her waist. Her figure had wasted away somewhat, Edela thought, and despite the attractiveness of her pale blue, velvet dress, she looked thin and frail.

  Neva smiled as she came forwards. ‘Well, it has been many years since I came to the temple, many more since I raced around with your girls.’

  ‘Yes, I think you are all a bit too old for that now, aren’t you?’ Edela said wistfully.

  ‘Come, please, sit down.’ Neva helped Edela to a simple wooden chair by the fire and took the one opposite. ‘I have been waiting for you.’

  Edela stilled at that, her senses heightened. She didn’t know where to look.

  ‘You have many questions, I know,’ Neva said softly. ‘More than I am able to answer, I warn you. But let us begin and see where we end up.’

  Jael’s hands were dangerously close to the flames, but her body was still shivering. ‘I’ve never been this cold,’ she chattered.

  Fyn sipped on a cup of ale next to her. ‘That’s not good. I’ve known it to get much colder than this,’ he warned her. ‘This has been a mild winter so far.’

  ‘What? Don’t say that!’ Jael looked horrified. ‘Well, perhaps next time I need to bring Leada, and we can ride to the cave and warm ourselves up.’

  Fyn frowned. ‘What about Thorgils? You still haven’t told me why he hasn’t been coming with you lately.’

  Jael frowned back at him. ‘Thorgils is being an idiot. It’s as simple as that. When he stops being an idiot, I’m sure he’ll be back.’ She looked more confident than she felt; she hadn’t seen him for days.

  ‘Oh,’ Fyn shivered as the wind raced under the door. ‘Well, I hope so because I’m not sure I can offer you much in the way of a challenge. You need more help to get ready for the contest than me and my little wooden sword.’

  ‘Don’t think like that,’ Jael smiled. ‘You’re getting good. Better than I thought possible when I first saw you dropping your sword all over the place. Your father was an idiot to think you wouldn’t make a warrior. Truly.’

  Fyn ducked his head, uncomfortable with both her praise and talk of his father. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m ever going to become a real warrior, though. Fighting with an army.’

  ‘Not if you hide out here, you won’t,’ Jael said crossly. ‘We need to do something, get you back to the fort before you die out here, especially if it’s going to get colder than this! You can’t hope to have a life out here, Fyn. On your own, in this hole.’

  ‘No, Jael, no!’ Fyn glanced anxiously at her, his eyes darting back and forth in fear. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t say anything! Please don’t. I’m fine here. I don’t mind the cold at all. I like my own company, I really do.’

  Jael sighed. He was terrified, and she didn’t know how to change that. ‘Alright then, I won’t mention it again. At least not for a day or two,’ she said sadly, then had an idea. ‘But promise me this, if Thorgils or I manage to defeat Tarak in the contest, let me talk to Eirik about you coming back.’

  Fyn shifted about on his stool, looking away from her. He didn’t imagine she would defeat Tarak, as good as he knew she was, nor Thorgils either. No one could; he was certain of that. Tarak was simply too big and too experienced at winning. He sighed heavily. ‘Alright, I promise.’

  ‘Good!’ Jael was happily surprised. ‘That is extra motivation for both of us then, yet another reason to destroy that bastard. As if we needed any more.’

  Fyn shuddered; just hearing that name made him sick. He tried to shake away the memories, but it was impossible. They haunted him, asleep or awake; he couldn’t escape them.

  ‘It took a while to find you,’ Tarak rumbled irritably at the hunched figure lurking in the shadows. ‘No one knew where you had crawled away to. I thought that Brekkan bitch might have thrown you off a cliff.’

  Tiras scowled. He didn’t like the look of the giant beast glowering down at him, but he could see the opportunity he provided, especially when he glanced at the man standing next to him. Ivaar. If there were two sides on this island now, then this was the only side Tiras would pick; the side that had a chance of defeating Eadmund, and with him, that cunt of a woman. ‘She wouldn’t dare,’ he hissed. ‘Despite all her words and her temper, she’s afraid, that one. She let Lothar take the throne for himself and did nothing to stop him. She could have killed me, but she didn’t.’

  ‘Maybe that’s not afraid,’ Ivaar said coolly, dismissing Tiras as a nothing kind of fool. ‘Maybe it’s clever. She would only create problems for herself by killing you, and she didn’t have the support to defeat Lothar, from what I hear.’

  Tiras and Tarak stared at Ivaar; his defence of Jael surprising them both.

  ‘Why have you sought me out?’ Tiras wondered, trying not to appear nervous under Ivaar’s iron-edged glare and Tarak’s towering frame.

  Ivaar narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, you are the reason I was brought back, from what Tarak tells me, so I came to thank you.’

  ‘Thank me?’ Tiras squinted doubtfully at Ivaar.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Ivaar said coldly. ‘And make you an offer of my protection.’ He leaned towards Tiras, who flinched back into the shadows.

  They were
standing, hunched over, inside the tiny hut Tiras had found for himself in the farthest corner of the fort. It was barely big enough for a dog, Ivaar thought dismissively, and looking at the filthy, animal-like creature before him, he thought it a fitting hole.

  Tiras raised an eyebrow. ‘And in return?’

  ‘In return, you will place your very useful ears back to the ground, and to the doors, and to the windows of every place in this fort, and you will bring me anything and everything I need to know, especially anything to do with Jael or my brother. I want to know how many times they are shitting a day, every word they speak to one another, every person they meet, every small detail you can sniff out. Bring it to me. And in return, Tarak here will keep you safe, from Jael, and from my father, and most of all, from me. Do you understand?’

  Tiras stared into those cold, humourless eyes and nodded. He was caught in a trap.

  Edela fumbled nervously beneath Neva’s calm stare, not knowing where to begin, nor what to reveal. She had no idea who she could trust or what danger she was in.

  Neva reached out and gently patted Edela’s hand. ‘I don’t mean to intimidate you,’ she smiled reassuringly, her pale grey eyes softening. ‘This is about your granddaughter, isn’t it? Jael?’

  ‘It is, yes.’ Edela felt her heart racing in her chest as she looked into Neva’s encouraging eyes. ‘I... I’ve had many dreams these past few months, about her, about what threatens her. And now the sword...’ she looked closely but Neva didn’t flinch. ‘I’ve always known that there must be something special about her... something she was meant for. Why else was I given that sword to hold for her?’

  ‘She has the sword now?’ Neva asked.