Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Well, goodbye then,’ Edela said softly. She tried to smile, but she could feel herself starting to cry, so she simply ducked her head and hurried out of the stables before he could say another word.

  Aleksander wanted to call out to her, to warn her about the ice. It had rained during the day, and the streets were deadly. But he said nothing; he just stood there and watched her go. She was wrong, he kept telling himself. It was the only thing he wanted to hear right now, that Edela was wrong. She had grabbed hold of the wrong dream this time, and he simply could not forgive her for it.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Eadmund had hold of Jael’s hand and she was not happy about being led along like a goat to milking.

  ‘Ssshhh,’ he turned and growled at her. ‘Be quiet, woman. Just follow me. Quietly.’

  She frowned and hurried along behind him, wanting to rip her hand out of his, despite the fact that it was almost pleasant to be touching him. Almost.

  It was dark but early enough that there were still people packing up for the night; bringing in their tools, securing their animals, shooing their red-faced children inside. Eadmund navigated them all with his head bent, slipping down a side alley, away from all eyes, skirting the main streets of Oss.

  Jael was getting colder and crosser the further they went, but eventually, he stopped, beneath a high, thickly wattled fence. She looked up to see that they were at the back of the hall. She stared at him, utterly confused, but he ignored her and felt about for the gate, which was mostly hidden. Eadmund had used it many, many times in his life, though, and found it easily enough. He grabbed Jael’s hand tighter and pulled her through the gate, closing it quietly behind them.

  The moon was almost at its fullest as they stood there on glistening slabs of stone that led towards... a pool? Jael’s mouth gaped as she stared at Eadmund, who smiled and started ripping off his clothes in a furious burst of freezing cold energy. Quickly naked, he stood there, wearing nothing but a ridiculous smile, before tip-toeing across the slick stones and hopping into Eirik’s very own, private, hot pool.

  Jael watched as he slipped into the water, a look of extreme bliss transforming his face. He slid under until the water was up to his beard, then lay his head back on the stones that surrounded the small pool, looking up at the moon.

  Jael glanced about. There were no windows in the back of the hall. There was one door, perhaps that came off the kitchen? She wasn’t sure, but it was very secluded here, and the water did look very hot, she noticed as the steam rose all around Eadmund’s head. She quickly stripped off her clothes and raced to join him, as the evening air froze the hair on her arms. Sliding into the warm liquid, her eyes closed and she felt the most wonderful sense of bliss, her sore muscles undoing themselves with every moment.

  Jael opened her eyes and came face to face with her very smug-looking husband. ‘You’re a bit close, don’t you think?’ she whispered crossly.

  ‘I don’t, no, not for what I have in mind,’ he smiled, sliding even further forwards. ‘I’m not close enough at all. And right here, where we are, Wife, there is nowhere for you to run to. Now, you’re my prisoner.’

  Jael laughed too loudly and Eadmund quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes bulged as they both looked towards the kitchen door. They waited a moment, but no one came out. Eadmund removed his hand just as Jael turned back around to him and replaced it with his lips.

  ‘You are very annoying,’ Jael said as she moved her head away.

  Eadmund had absolutely no intention of letting her move at all. ‘Stop running away from me,’ he breathed into her face. ‘I’m your husband, and if I have to, I will lock you up and keep you prisoner in our house, in our bed, and you will have to stay there with me all day and all night long until you beg for mercy.’ He kissed her again.

  ‘Beg for mercy?’ Jael said, pushing him away. ‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Eadmund whispered into her ear, his hands exploring her body beneath the surface. ‘But I very much want to.’

  Jael closed her eyes as his hands rested between her thighs. ‘Well, if you insist,’ she sighed. ‘Just for a moment.’

  54

  They were not ready.

  Jael worried endlessly that they were not ready, and she wanted to be as ready as they could be. She thought of Aleksander for the first time in days. What would he have had done to them? Defeated them, most likely, but he was surely smarter than Tarak, so perhaps they had a chance. If, of course, if, they got through the handfuls of men standing in their way. They had to. They had to defeat Tarak. For Fyn.

  Eirik was on to his second speech now. He was starting to sound drunk, and happily so. ‘...and the winner will become Champion of Oss!’ he called over the raucous cheering. ‘And that winner will be gold-rich, fame-rich, and depending on who wins, of course,’ he nodded at Jael, ‘rich in women too!’

  ‘I’d like to watch that,’ Eadmund winked, squeezing his scowling wife’s knee. He liked it when she scowled; something about the way her nose crinkled made him smile.

  Eirik was busy toasting the contenders, but Jael had stopped listening; she was thinking of Fyn. This was their chance to avenge him, to destroy the man who had destroyed his life. She caught Eydis’ eye and remembered her dream. It was hard not to believe in the power of a dreamer’s visions, but she couldn’t, not this time. Still, she would have to ensure she didn’t end up on her back if she wound up fighting Tarak, just in case.

  ‘If only Ivaar were in the contest,’ Eadmund whispered into Jael’s ear. ‘That would make it much more interesting, don’t you think?’

  ‘For you, maybe, if you could remember how to use a sword,’ she smirked. ‘Perhaps next time?’

  Eirik’s speech was over at last, and the serious drinking was beginning. Jael watched Eadmund as he got up and walked over to his friends, cup in hand. She wasn’t especially worried. He had drunk ale, wine, and mead since Edela’s tincture but no more than a cup here or there, and so far there had been no sign that he craved more. It was impossible to rest easy, though. The Eadmund that was here now was not one she wanted to let slip through her fingers, despite the fact that she was still consumed with the occasional urge to run away. She had yet to wake up next to him, and the parcel continued to sit unopened by the door.

  ‘Are you nervous? About tomorrow?’ Isaura asked Jael quietly as she sat down beside her. ‘They are all so big and strong.’ She looked at the huddles of large, thick-necked men who stood around the fires, loudly teasing and insulting each other, bragging about the humiliation they would bring down upon the heads of their friends and enemies alike. ‘Do you not feel scared at all?’

  ‘Not scared, no,’ Jael murmured, almost to herself. ‘I think there’s always some fear going into a fight. Fear of humiliation, or pain, or death. But no, I don’t feel scared. I haven’t felt scared since I was ten-years-old.’

  They had not developed a friendship. Jael was far too uninterested in women’s prattle to be bothered fostering such a thing, and Isaura was far too intimidated to have anything much to say to her. But tonight, before the contest, Isaura needed Jael to get a message to Thorgils. Ivaar was head to head with Tarak now, far away from them, so she took her chance. ‘Will you warn Thorgils to be careful,’ she whispered, her eyes remaining on Ivaar. ‘I know how he will feel about trying to defeat Tarak, but I’ve heard Tarak talking to Ivaar, and he says he’s the strongest he has ever felt. I fear he will hurt Thorgils badly, to try and impress Ivaar. And because it’s in the contest, Eirik will let it happen.’

  ‘I’ll warn him, of course. I doubt he’ll listen, though,’ Jael muttered, turning towards Isaura. ‘But you shouldn’t worry about Thorgils. He has trained hard. He’s prepared for Tarak.’

  Isaura didn’t look convinced at all, but she nodded her head and tried to smile, before slipping away.

  Eirik came and took her place. ‘I hope you’re ready for them,’ he smiled at her, nodding towards h
is warriors as they lurched loudly around the hall, full of pre-battle bravado.

  ‘I hope they’re ready for me,’ Jael said without a hint of a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to winning my prize of gold, and fame, and women.’

  Eirik laughed and drained his cup. ‘Well, I’ll have to change the prize if you become my champion, won’t I? I don’t imagine you’re after any of those?’

  ‘No, not really, but perhaps there is something you could give me...’

  Eirik raised a bushy eyebrow and swayed slightly towards her. ‘Tell me. Anything,’ he insisted bullishly.

  ‘Make Eadmund your heir again,’ she said simply. ‘If I win, I want to be Queen of Oss one day. Eadmund’s queen.’ She wasn’t sure she meant that exactly, but Eirik didn’t need to know that part.

  Eirik blinked in surprise. ‘Ha! I can’t do that,’ he laughed, then frowned. ‘You wouldn’t want that, would you? To be stuck here, being queen? I thought you’d ask me to send you back to Brekka, grant you a divorce. Isn’t that what you really want?’ He peered at Jael, shaking his head as a serving girl tried to offer him more ale.

  ‘Brekka?’ Jael mused as she found Eadmund, standing next to Torstan. He turned and smiled at her. ‘No, my wish is that you make Eadmund your heir. Not Brekka.’

  Eirik frowned and followed her eyes. He saw the way Eadmund was smiling at his wife, looking almost like the Eadmund he remembered from so long ago. He had not wanted to falsely raise his hopes again, but so far nothing was bringing them down. But the fall would come, he was certain it would come. ‘I can’t do that, Jael,’ he insisted firmly. ‘I have chosen Ivaar. Ivaar will make a good king.’

  Jael could hear the lack of conviction in his voice; she could see that he didn’t believe that. But he wasn’t ready to believe in Eadmund again, not yet. ‘Ivaar will not make a good king,’ she whispered hoarsely, her eyes narrowing. ‘As well you know. But Eadmund will. That tincture cured him. You just have to have faith in him again.’

  Eirik shook his head. ‘I don’t need to have faith in him at all, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve chosen Ivaar.’

  ‘And you can sleep at night knowing he will end up killing Eadmund and Eydis? Knowing that he will destroy everyone here who remains loyal to Eadmund? Me? Any child Eadmund and I might have, if we live long enough under his rule?’ She glared at Eirik. ‘You might not have had a choice once, but you do now. And if you’re worried about Eadmund, then look to me because I will be beside him, whether he’s standing or on the ground. Have faith in me. If I win the contest, have faith in me.’ Jael stared into Eirik’s fading eyes one last time, then got up and walked away. There was nothing more she could say to convince him.

  ‘So, he’s still here?’ Edela looked surprised but relieved. ‘I thought he may have gone by now.’

  ‘No, Kayla said he stayed with them last night,’ Branwyn murmured quietly as she turned down her bed and blew out the lamp. ‘Which is a good thing, I think. He mustn’t be as mad as you imagine.’

  Edela smiled as she rolled over again, trying to find a comfortable spot, which was difficult with hips that ached as much as hers did, and a bed that needed more padding. ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she sighed. ‘But I’m glad he’s still here.’

  Kormac came back from checking on the animals. Another storm was blowing through Tuura, and he had spent much of the evening outside, securing everything for the night. ‘There are soldiers everywhere at the moment,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t understand it. Are we facing an attack? Who is this mysterious enemy we don’t know about?’ He huffed and puffed his way over to the bed, sitting down to remove his damp cloak and mucky boots.

  ‘Perhaps Marcus just likes to keep order?’ Branwyn suggested. ‘He is not from here, is he, so maybe he just sees everything differently than we do?’

  ‘Then how did the elders let an outsider become their leader in the first place? Our leader? A leader who wants to change everything we have been and turn us into something we don’t wish to become.’ He slipped under the furs and rustled his feet around, trying to warm them up.

  ‘Perhaps he is only doing what is necessary?’ Branwyn yawned, moving towards him. ‘The dreamers must have told him that we need protecting.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Kormac murmured, his head sinking into the pillow, his arms heavy after another long day at the smithy.

  Edela listened as they whispered away to one another. She thought of Marcus and her whole body clenched in fear. She had spent every quiet moment she could find studying the book, trying to absorb its knowledge as quickly as possible, but much of it was confusing and hard to read. True mastery of its texts would take months and much practice; she wasn’t sure if there was time for that. But at least Aleksander was still here, she smiled sleepily. There was some hope after all.

  ‘How are your dreams coming along?’ Ayla wondered softly as she sat down next to Eydis. ‘Have you been feeling stronger?’

  Eydis frowned; her dreams were still tying her up in knots. ‘No, not stronger at all, just more frustrated,’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘I keep asking to see one thing, the same thing, but it never comes.’

  ‘Ahhh, well that is when you must change what it is you are asking for,’ Ayla smiled, sipping on her wine. She watched Ivaar out of the corner of her eye. He had insisted she go and talk to his sister again. He was still desperate to know what she was seeing in her dreams, but so far Eydis had revealed absolutely nothing. ‘As I said before, the gods will only show you what they want you to see. If they don’t believe what you are asking for will help you, or someone else, then you will see nothing.’

  Eydis looked ready to cry; her lips quivered. ‘But I need to see what will happen to my father,’ she whispered as loudly as she dared. ‘I need to see how he will die so that I can stop it, so that he can stay king, and then there will be no need for Ivaar.’ She gasped, her head turning about anxiously, suddenly realising that she had no idea where Ivaar might be.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Ayla assured her quickly, patting her arm. ‘Ivaar is not near us. It’s alright.’

  Eydis sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. No doubt you have to tell Ivaar everything I say.’

  Ayla felt guilty as she faced those tear-filled eyes. ‘Well, I’m supposed to,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t have to. Besides, what is there to tell when you are dreaming about nothing but clouds?’

  Eydis reached out for Ayla’s hand. ‘Are you sure you have not seen it? My father’s death?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly, I have not,’ Ayla promised her. ‘If I had, I would tell you. Your father asked me the same thing. But I’m afraid it remains a secret for the gods alone to keep.’

  Ivaar pulled Tarak into a quiet corner. He’d watched Jael and Eadmund all night; their eyes constantly finding each other, the little touches that seemed insignificant, but were the mark of an intimate couple. He’d watched as they’d laughed with Thorgils, with his father, barely even acknowledging that he was there. The frustration had crawled under his skin until it lay there, hot, and ready to burst. ‘Tomorrow...’ he breathed quietly into Tarak’s ear. ‘Don’t just beat them. Whoever it is you end up against, I want you to destroy them. Crush them into the earth. I want them in little pieces, too broken to stand.’

  Tarak couldn’t have been happier as he stood back and smiled; a smile that curled itself high up onto his scarred cheeks, right up into his menacing eyes. He could only hope that the bitch managed to make it through the rounds. He was desperate to lay his hands around her throat.

  It was completely silent. Eirik couldn’t even hear the fire as he lay in his enormous bed. Three wives had lain at his side in this bed, and countless women he had cared little for, but he didn’t remember their names. He lay in the middle these days. Somehow it made him feel less lonely, as though he was filling up more room, and there wasn’t such a large, empty space beside him.

  He thought about Ayla. She had often been on his min
d of late. Just thinking of her made him feel younger than he had in many years. He sighed wistfully. Perhaps, if he wasn’t about to die, perhaps... he laughed at the thought. Why would a beautiful, young woman want to lie with a shrivelled up old man? Well, because he was the king, of course, and he could get most people to bend to his will. But a woman? No, he’d never tried that, or had he?

  The wine was still in his head, making him dizzy, making him feel lighter than he had in a while. He thought of Jael and quickly sobered. Was he so blind that he didn’t see what everyone else did? Ivaar was nobody’s favourite, that was the truth of it. Even Ivaar’s own mother had called him a strange boy. But he was his son; Eadmund and Eydis’ brother, and his son. Eirik could see the fire in his eyes, could understand his bitter anger and resentment of Eadmund, but he wouldn’t kill him, surely?

  Eirik closed his eyes and remembered his own father. He was a gaunt, iron-eyed man, much like Ivaar. There had been no warmth in him, not a solitary flicker of it. He was a man who had cared nothing for others.

  Grim Skalleson had taken Eirik’s mother by the hair one night and slit her throat in front of the entire hall, in front of 12-year-old Eirik, just because he had looked at him without respect. Eirik pulled his knees up to his chest. What a long time ago that was now, but he still remembered the shock of it; the thin, red, bloody line as crept its way across his mother’s pale throat. The life fading from her eyes as they stared imploringly at him.

  Grim had given him a chance. Come and apologise, he’d demanded. Come and lick my boots, he’d laughed. Come and do that or your mother will die. And Eirik hadn’t moved. He had had enough of being humiliated in the hall, in front of everyone on Oss. He stood there, his feet like tree trunks, making a stand, trying to fight back against his father’s never ending tyranny, never believing for one moment what would happen next.