Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  Gisila gulped, her eyes frozen in terror over Lothar’s shoulder as he pushed her down onto her knees and pulled her face towards his cock, grunting at her, demanding she place her lips on him.

  Gisila closed her eyes and prayed to Furia to avenge her, then bent forwards.

  ‘You think you’re getting closer, Edela?’ the voice crowed darkly. ‘You think you have even scratched the surface of what this all means?’

  The thick echo of that voice rolled over and over, around Edela’s head. There was darkness. A twisting, burning hint of flame lingered near the corner of Edela’s eye, and her breath came in short bursts. She tried to move forwards, to find her way towards the light; turning, turning, but the flames moved with her, and she could never find anything ahead of herself but pure, dense, chilling darkness.

  ‘Rhea Thorsen? You want to know what she did? Well, that is no secret. You don’t need to go to the temple to find that out. But it won’t help you. Finding out about Fianna Lehr? That won’t help you either,’ she laughed, and it crashed like hollow waves, all around Edela. ‘You can follow that trail, that path of tiny little morsels, and bit by bit you will get somewhere, but by then it will be too late. By then you will be dead.’

  Edela gasped. She saw it in the darkness then, the briefest glimpse of her own death; the first time she had ever seen such a thing. There was truth in that vision.

  ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ the voice hissed coldly. ‘How close you were to the end? And yet you have had your whole life to solve this mystery of mine. I have been in your dreams since you were straining out of your mother’s cunt. I’ve been warning you since the day of your birth, Edela,’ she scoffed. ‘But have you ever remembered your dreams of me? Oh Edela, how disappointed I’ve been. Grandmother to Furia’s daughter? The one they say will save you all? And you can’t even remember a simple dream?’

  Edela was numb, her heart pulsing rapidly. She couldn’t catch her breath; she was being swallowed by the voice and the darkness.

  ‘But if you don’t remember in time, then what will happen to your precious Jael? To your Tuurans? Or your Brekkans? Who will save them if you can’t remember your dreams, Edela? Who will save them from me when you are gone?’

  50

  Isaura glanced nervously at Eirik. He didn’t look too upset, she thought hopefully; there was still a hint of a smile lurking near his eyes.

  He turned to her then, sensing her unease. ‘It’s alright. We have the contest to look forward to in a few days time. And you cannot predict what the weather gods will bring us. Not in the armpit of winter. Not on Oss.’

  He was right, Isaura sighed, stroking Annet’s golden hair as she slept on her knee, but still, after all that planning, she was completely devastated to think it had been for nothing. The blizzard that swept through Oss on the first night of Vesta had been vicious, battering them without respite. Only a brave few had ventured into the hall on the second day, and no one had left their homes today; it was too dangerous to go outside. Isaura listened to the screaming wind relentlessly rattling the walls and sighed.

  ‘Who knows, perhaps it will die down out there, and we might get a few stragglers coming in later, if we’re not all in bed?’ Eirik smiled, trying to coax a smile out of her, but he could see that none was forthcoming. He turned and glanced around the empty hall; it looked like a perfect winter’s day. Everything felt frozen by time, untouched. They would take all the decorations down tomorrow, of course, which would be a shame, but it was bad luck to leave them up when Vesta was over. He wondered if he would live to see another? ‘You will be queen before you know it, Isaura,’ he reassured her. ‘You will make many Vesta’s here which will last the whole three days, I’m sure.’

  Isaura frowned. She never wished to think about being queen and what that would mean for Eadmund or Thorgils. She knew that Ivaar was consumed with revenge; he would not rule here without making them suffer, or die.

  ‘What is it?’ Eirik leaned forward. It was just the four of them by the fire; Isaura with Annet on her knee, and Mads snoring gently on his. Eirik was enjoying the silence of his grandchildren, who usually made more noise than he could remember from any of his own children.

  Isaura squirmed uncomfortably. Eirik had certainly been friendlier these past few days, and his face glowed warmly in the firelight now, but still, he was Eirik the Bloody, Ivaar’s father; she hardly felt free to speak her mind, or her heart to him.

  ‘Isaura, tell me,’ he urged, watching her eyes dart about the room like a deer sensing danger. ‘Is it Ivaar?’

  ‘You don’t need my opinion on Ivaar,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure you have made your choice for many reasons that are nothing at all to do with me.’ She ducked her head, not wanting him to see the fear or hate in her eyes.

  Eirik was intrigued. It was true; sometimes it did seem as if everyone had an opinion on Ivaar, and as much as he knew he could not, and certainly would not, abandon his decision, the worry he had over it did keep him awake at night. ‘Tell me,’ he insisted, quietly but firmly. ‘Tell me your reasons, Isaura. Why don’t you want to be queen?’

  The knock on the door surprised them all as they sat around the fire. Kormac frowned at Branwyn, and they both watched as Berta opened the door. They couldn’t hear a thing, though, nor see a face.

  Berta closed the door quickly and came over to her mistress. ‘It was a messenger from the temple. Marcus wishes to see you, my lady,’ she nodded towards Edela.

  Branwyn and Kormac’s pale faces revealed just what they thought of that news. Edela wasn’t as disturbed, though. She knew that the elders needed her because they needed Jael, so she didn’t imagine she could be in any danger from this Marcus. As much as she had tried to search her memory, she had no real picture of who he was, or had been, during her own time in Tuura. But no one said his name without a fearful look on their face.

  ‘Mother,’ Branwyn said nervously as she placed her bowl on the floor and came over to sit next to her. ‘Mother, you must be careful around Marcus. You must watch your words. He knows everything that happens in Tuura and beyond. The dreamers tell him everything they see. He will catch you out in any lie, be sure of that.’

  Kormac studied Edela quietly. ‘I shall walk you there. After that rain last night, I fear it is very icy outside.’ He got up to put on his cloak and gloves.

  Edela handed Branwyn her bowl and eased herself out of the chair, grimacing in discomfort. She felt a heaviness in her body that had only intensified over the last few days. The absence of Aleksander was affecting her spirit greatly. She had not seen him since their talk about his mother and was growing increasingly worried about him. She had not had a single dream, nor any further insight into Fianna or Rhea, but perhaps there was more to be found at the temple... if this Marcus would tell her anything, although she doubted that was his intention.

  Branwyn held out her cloak, and Edela turned around so that she could slip it over her shoulders. She kissed her mother on her cheek. ‘Be careful. Please.’

  Aleksander knew he had to stop or he was going to turn into everything he despised; a man who had no control over mind or body, who lurched about the streets like a mad fool, causing people to turn away from him in distaste or fear. He had seen men like that, and he had no intention of becoming one. Aleksander pushed the cup away, deciding it was time to leave. He wobbled, his head ringing loudly as his eyes moved in and out of focus. He grabbed the table and tried to steady himself.

  She reached out and touched his arm. ‘Aleksander,’ she whispered. ‘Come. Lean on me.’

  He peered at her, trying to remember her name. He was happy to see someone he knew, but at the same time, wished she’d go away. He didn’t want her to see him, not like this. He didn’t want a reminder of what they had done; what he had done.

  ‘No, no!’ he grumbled, pushing her arm away. ‘No!’

  But she saw the state he was in and the looks from the men around the dark little tavern. Soon they would throw him o
ut into the snow, she was sure of it; he was a stranger here, alone, and making another fuss. She tried again. ‘Come, just let me help you, back to your house. That’s all. Come on.’

  He frowned at her and let go of the table, trying to prove he didn’t need her, but the room moved away from him, and he stumbled again. She reached out and grabbed his arm, placing it around her shoulder. He didn’t argue; he didn’t want to be here anymore.

  She led him through the door and into the chill of the night, or was it night? The sky was so dark, but surely it was barely midday? He was confused, confused and disoriented, as she led him away. He wanted to stop her, to make her turn around. He needed to go back to Aedan and Aron’s. He was sure they were going the wrong way. He didn’t want to go back to her cottage again, not that. His shoulders sagged in defeat as his feet slid around beneath him.

  Hanna, he remembered as the wind rushed the sweet smell of her over him.

  Her name was Hanna.

  ‘Ivaar’s not here,’ Eirik assured her. ‘We both saw him leave this morning and he hasn’t been back. You can speak freely, unless you think your children here are spies for him?’ He smiled encouragingly at her, but inside, his stomach was twisting into knots. Why was he asking questions he didn’t want answers to?

  Isaura bowed her head and spoke quickly before she changed her mind. ‘I worry for Eadmund and Thorgils, for what Ivaar has planned for them.’

  Eirik’s frown was sharp. ‘Planned for them?’

  Isaura didn’t flinch. ‘He is driven by revenge, for what Eadmund did to him, what he sees as Eadmund’s fault. He has always insisted he didn’t kill Melaena. He blames Eadmund for his banishment, for turning everyone against him. But of course, it goes so much further back than that, doesn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘He blames Eadmund for all the things that have gone wrong in his life.’ She paused, nervously glancing around again but there wasn’t even a servant in the hall now. ‘Once you are gone, there is nothing to stop him taking his revenge.’ She looked Eirik firmly in the eye. ‘Nothing will stop him. He is determined.’

  Eirik chewed on his lip. Isaura was right, he knew, of course. Eydis had said similar things, but in the heat of his anger at Eadmund, he hadn’t wanted to hear any of it. Oss was his priority. Oss had to be protected. But what if they were all right; what if Ivaar’s revenge destroyed everyone he loved? ‘Tell me about Ivaar’s dreamer,’ he whispered. ‘Is she good?’

  Isaura looked puzzled. ‘Good?’ She shook her head, trying not to let her distaste show on her face. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t let anyone speak to her. He treats her like a pet. He takes her advice very seriously, though. He is never without her.’

  Eirik scratched his head, suddenly as anxious as Isaura. He remembered the sad eyes of the beautiful dreamer as she had passed him the other night. When the blizzard had done its worst, he would have to seek her out, draw her away from Ivaar; he needed to see if she had any insight on what his son’s plans were.

  Eadmund was going mad. He sat on his bed and stared at the door, tapping his toes impatiently on the floor. The wind was still whipping snow around outside but was it slowing down? He fidgeted with his tunic, readjusted his cloak, stretched his neck, and got up. Again. To open the door and check outside. Again.

  The wind whipped the door out of his hands, and he had to step outside to retrieve it as it banged haplessly against his cottage. Part of him was hoping the storm would sweep the cottage up into its fury. He was sick of the sight of its pitiful four walls; sick of the scream of the wind as it raced through the holes in them.

  He wandered back inside and sat down by the fire; what was left of the fire. He was almost out of wood and was either going to have to face being blown away and lost in the snow storm, or simply just freeze. He sighed and looked over at his bed, remembering the night Jael had been there with him. Naked. On top of him. Her hair loose and wild about her, as her eyes devoured him. He frowned. Where had she gone? Why had she disappeared?

  Eadmund looked down at the parcel that sat on the ground by his feet; a gift that he hadn’t been able to give because of the storm. But perhaps, when the snow and the wind eventually retreated, perhaps he could try?

  His head was clear now. He was tired of waiting.

  ‘Come in, please Edela, I have a seat waiting for you by the fire.’

  Edela shuddered at the sound of his voice. She didn’t know why. There was nothing especially threatening in it, but it was cold, and he spoke slowly, and she feared him instantly. She quickly glanced at his face as she made her way to the seat. She didn’t know him but how was that possible? How had he risen to be elderman here, in Tuura, without her even knowing him?

  ‘We have not met, you and I,’ he breathed as he walked behind her, the soft thud of his boots barely noticeable on the stone floor. He was a large man but made little sound.

  Edela turned and sat down on the small, wooden chair. She was numb with cold and fear in equal measure. ‘No, we have not,’ she croaked, clearing her throat, trying to imagine herself younger, stronger, less vulnerable in front of this powerful man. ‘Which is strange I think, don’t you?’

  ‘Very,’ he admitted, sitting opposite her, placing his hands on his legs, his amber eyes resting on hers. ‘But I believe our paths may simply have crossed. I come from Helsabor. My mother brought me here when I was a child, after the death of my father. I am Tuuran, on her side.’

  Edela was not at ease, and she knew that put her at a disadvantage. Every sense in her aching body was warning her that this man posed a threat that stretched far beyond his polite chatter; this man meant her harm. She could sense it in the tightness of his shoulders and the tension in his thick, black eyebrows; in the way his head barely moved when he spoke. He sat before her like a mountain that wanted to crush her with its force, and her mind was scrambling about helplessly before him.

  ‘Well, that would explain it, I think,’ she smiled freely, taking a deep breath. She saw Jael standing behind him then, and her jaw clenched, her focus sharpened. ‘But you are so young, and yet you have risen to become elderman,’ she said, stroking his ego. ‘That is a great achievement indeed.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted, one eye twitching. ‘But then we are all given gifts. It is how we use them that dictates where we end up, wouldn’t you say?’

  Edela sat forward confidently. Life was a game of shadows, she knew. And in the shadows, many things could remain hidden. ‘I would, yes. But of course, not everyone who has a gift uses it wisely, or indeed, to its full potential.’

  Marcus stared at her without speaking. There was fire in those old eyes, he noted; that could cause problems. He inhaled sharply and stood up, walking towards a table in the corner of the room. He poured wine into two silver cups and brought them back to the fire. ‘Please, have a drink.’ He didn’t smile as he held out her cup.

  ‘Thank you,’ Edela said, placing the cup on her knee with absolutely no intention of drinking it.

  ‘We must speak of your granddaughter,’ Marcus began.

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ Edela said sharply. ‘There is much I wish to know.’

  ‘You? You wish to know?’ Marcus said, surprised. ‘Neva has already informed you of what you need to know. I have brought you here to discuss what you must do when you return to Oss.’

  Edela tried not to let her annoyance show. He was curt and arrogant, and it riled her, but he was the most powerful man in Tuura, and she needed to keep on good terms with him, for now. ‘I thought Neva was going to speak with me about that?’ she frowned.

  Marcus looked slightly unsettled. ‘Neva is... not well. I thought it best I spoke to you instead. You will need time to study, to ready yourself for Morana.’

  ‘Who is this Morana? How is she so dangerous and yet still alive?’ Edela wondered, watching Marcus’ face harden with each word she spoke. ‘Why has no one tried to stop her before?’

  ‘All things happen as the gods wish it, Edela. As the gods lead us, we will always fol
low.’ He spoke as though reading a prophecy. ‘And Morana’s death will come when it is time. That, however,’ he shook his head, ‘is not your concern. Your concern is to protect Jael from Evaine, her daughter.’ He reached under his seat and brought out a book, a very worn, black, leather-bound book. He gave it to Edela, almost reluctantly.

  ‘This is for you to see. You alone,’ he said firmly, his fingertips still gripping the edges of the book. ‘You will not show another soul. Do you understand me? Morana has magic of the darkest sort at her disposal,’ he warned. ‘She has her own book, of course, but this is ours. And you must take it and learn how to defend yourself, and Jael, against whatever she is planning. Everything you need to know is in here.’

  Edela put down her cup and took the book. It smelled of death, as though it had been buried in a damp, dark hole for centuries. Edela felt the weight of it sink into her knees; she couldn’t breathe. ‘But I....’ she looked up at Marcus, suddenly anxious.

  ‘Jael must live,’ he said firmly, his eyes probing hers. ‘You will help her to live, Edela. You will learn what the book has to teach, and you will go to Oss, and you will save her. Do I make myself clear?’

  Edela shivered and shuddered as she sat there by the intense heat of the fire, her mouth dry, and the stench of the book filling her nostrils. She must have nodded her head, for he looked at her, satisfied, then got up and walked away.

  Jael ran the brush down Tig’s neck, her hand following its smooth, silky path. He hated being shut up in the stables. She would have felt the same, she was certain, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was trying to hide from everyone.

  The snow storm had been an unexpected Vesta gift; perhaps for her alone. She had been able to hide away, hibernating in the house with Biddy and the puppies, or the stables, with the horses. They had a wealth of food and wood, and an abundant store of ale and mead, so it had been a thoroughly pleasant few days. She had pushed every thought of Eadmund out of her head as soon as it had arrived, along with every guilty pang and stirring desire. Nothing had existed for her except the howl of the wind and the warmth of the fire.