by A. E. Rayne
‘Eadmund, please,’ Eydis begged anxiously. ‘Is she alright?’ Eydis could tell by the noise of the crowd that Jael was still going. She could hear jeers and boos at Tarak, but she knew that the fight would not be over, that Jael would not be safe, until her father called an end to it.
Tarak would never give in until the end.
He was still fighting, still slashing at Jael, heaving his giant sword towards her with his giant arm, but pain was on his face now, and blood was leaking out of him. Toothpick’s iron-strong blade held off each blow. Jael’s arm was getting tired, though, and she was struggling to breathe. The sheer weight behind his blows was weakening her. He cut her on the shoulder, just past her mail, and she screamed, much to his amusement. He was not done yet, but nor was she.
Jael pulled away, stepping back with speed, far away, urging the bitter air into her lungs, into her head. She needed to think. Tarak wasn’t going to let her have the time she sought, though, as he came for her again, but as he lunged, his leg gave way, and he stumbled, momentarily losing his balance. She saw the path then and ran towards it with everything she had. Her shield in front of her, her sword back, ready to release, her eyes fixed on him, Jael slid as fast as she could, kicking both her feet into the side of his leg, the one she had cut twice, the one that had given way. She rolled away and was up, crouching as he fell, a giant, bleeding, screaming tower, thudding into the earth.
The gasp that weaved its way through the crowd was almost breathless.
‘Who fell?’ Eydis called to Eadmund. ‘Who’s on the ground?’
‘Tarak.’
Eydis stood up. On the ground, but it wasn’t over. If he was on the ground, so was Jael, surely?
Jael rushed to Tarak before he could roll away. That was a mistake. He lunged for her throat, catching the top of her tunic with one hand, yanking her towards him. She fought against him but he was too strong, and he pulled her on top of him, their faces almost touching.
Jael was on the ground.
Eadmund hurried down towards Eirik. ‘Watch him,’ he croaked to his father. ‘End it if he rolls her over. He will try to kill her. Eydis has seen it. Eydis thinks he’ll kill her.’
Eirik’s eyes popped in surprise. He leaned forward anxiously.
Jael pulled herself backwards, ducking as Tarak threw a fist at her, his other hand still on her tunic. She spat in his face. ‘You fucking rapist! You fucking rapist!’ And she ripped her tunic out of his grasp and smashed her elbow into his nose, feeling the pain as her bone met his. She screamed, then punched him hard in the open wound on his cheek. She hit him again and again until his eyes filled with blood and her hands were numb, and she could hear the gurgle in his throat as he tried to breathe.
No one said a thing as Jael stood up, wiped the blood out of her eyes, and kicked Tarak as hard as she could in the balls.
She stood there, her body heaving as she watched him.
She didn’t move. Tarak didn’t move.
There was no sound at all, from anyone. Every mouth hung open, heads turning towards Eirik, who seemed just as dumbstruck as everyone else.
‘Over!’ he called, his voice thick with relief. ‘Jael wins!’
The cheers started then, dulled by shock at first, but the realisation of what she had done started to sink in, and they grew louder and louder. Eirik watched the faces as shock was replaced by disbelief, and then joy, and they rushed towards Jael as she stood there, breathing heavily, bleeding, her arms aching, vibrating all over, ready to drop to the ground.
Eadmund was the first to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped himself around her, squeezing her as hard as he could, feeling the pounding of her heart against his chest, closing his eyes in relief.
Jael grimaced as he let her go, as the crowds came to her, patting her on the back, congratulating her. Not Ivaar though; he stayed where he was for a moment, before walking away.
Jael’s mouth was full of blood. She spat it on the ground as Eirik came up to her, his eyes filled with tears. He took her in his arms, his face breaking into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt. ‘I have faith,’ he laughed in her ear. ‘I have faith in you, Jael! It’s yours, all yours!’
59
Thorgils wouldn’t meet her eye.
His face looked much like Tarak’s must have; a bulging, bruised, swollen mess. His lips were too thick to speak clearly, and his heart was too heavy to say much. ‘You did it then.’
‘So they say,’ Jael winced as she sat down on the bed next to him. Every part of her hurt, and she was grateful to be home. She hadn’t wanted to stay long in the hall, but Eirik had insisted. She was his champion now. He had wanted to show her off, and she had endured it for a while, before Eadmund insisted on taking her home, and for once, she hadn’t argued.
‘I wish I’d seen it,’ Thorgils mumbled, wincing. ‘I truly wish I had, Jael. And Fyn. He would have been so proud of you.’
She smiled at him, listening to the blizzard as it battered the house. It had felt better than she could have imagined, finishing Tarak as she had. Jael didn’t care what became of him now. As soon as she could, she would talk to Eirik and bring Fyn back, and then there would be no more Tarak. She sighed, feeling the relief of the day being at an end.
‘How are you?’ she wondered.
Biddy had stitched his stomach and refused to let him leave, despite his mother’s insistence that he belonged with her. In the end, to Thorgils’ relief, Odda been no match for Biddy’s determination. Thorgils was happy to stay in the warmth and quiet of the house, and, when his stomach healed, he was looking forward to enjoying a good meal.
‘I’m embarrassed,’ was all he could say. ‘I’m better than I showed. I lost my head, as you no doubt knew I would. I should have been the one to finish Tarak.’ He closed his eyes, grimacing at the pain in his belly, at the shame of his defeat.
‘Well,’ Jael sighed. ‘One of us did, and in the end, that was all we really wanted, wasn’t it?’ She groaned, standing up. ‘Just get better, and forget everything else. I’m going to my bed, but tomorrow we can talk about all the reasons you have to smile that you don’t even know about yet.’
‘I’m not sure what my favourite part of the day was,’ Eadmund sighed as he held Jael’s bruised body, warming her with his chest, wanting to keep her close. ‘Tarak’s bloody face when you kicked him in the balls, or Ivaar’s miserable face in the hall tonight,’ he laughed softly.
Jael wasn’t listening. She was lost in the sound of the wind as it howled past the house, lost in the screams of Tarak as she broke him down into bloody little pieces; the screams of her mother as she was raped, her own as a child, and as a woman, bloodied and bruised. She’d survived Tarak, despite Eydis’ dream, but there was nothing to smile about. Not yet. She needed to see Fyn.
‘So,’ Eadmund whispered into her ear. ‘Tell me about Aleksander...’
They filtered out slowly. It had been a night to remember for many, and none of them had wanted to leave. Most of Tarak’s supporters hadn’t been afraid to show their faces. They were as keen to take part in the feast as any, and their allegiance appeared to shift seamlessly over to Jael, Eirik noticed; that was a good sign for the future.
As for Tarak... he wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Ivaar had arranged for some of his friends to have him taken away, seen to, cared for. Eirik didn’t know or particularly care. He was delirious with hope for Oss again, relieved to have found a way out of the hole he had dug for them all; thrilled to have secured a new future for his people that was better than he could have imagined.
He walked towards the high table where Ivaar sat, gloomily, drinking by himself. There were things Eirik needed to say to his son, things he wouldn’t take well. He wondered if it were better to wait until morning? Then he spied Ayla. He turned and swayed towards her, enjoying the feeling of drunk happiness that still flowed through his sagging limbs.
‘My lord.’ She dropped her eyes.
‘I’m surprised to
see you here, still.’
‘I was just leaving,’ she said softly.
‘That’s a shame,’ he said with a smile. ‘I thought perhaps we could have spoken about the future. About what you saw for me.’
Ayla frowned. ‘We have had that talk, my lord.’ She knew that Ivaar was watching and made sure she kept her face emotionless.
‘True, but I wondered if it was all that bad, really?’ he murmured, moving closer. ‘Whether you thought there was any chance I might snatch a last piece of happiness for myself?’ He reached out to brush a loose strand of hair out of her eye.
‘I...’ his meaning was uncomfortably clear. Ayla tried to ease herself away from him, hoping not to offend. ‘I am Ivaar’s, my lord. My loyalty is to him.’
‘Ahhh,’ Eirik sighed, turning to raise an eyebrow towards his sullen son. ‘I had assumed as much, but,’ he smiled, leaning towards her again, his face breaking into a silly grin, ‘it did not hurt to ask, I thought, even at my age and with death stalking me as it does!’
Ayla couldn’t help but smile. For all the dark things she saw coming to Oss, it was hard, in this tiny moment, not to see the smallest amount of joy, especially when she looked at Eirik’s face. But when she turned and saw Ivaar approaching, her smile ran away, out into the storm. ‘I must go,’ she whispered, glancing at the floor. ‘I wish you luck.’
Eirik turned to watch his son approach. Now? Should he do it now?
The screams were growing louder, more terrifying. Aleksander ran into the night, lost, desperate to find his mother who had raced out after his father. No one had noticed him; there was too much blood, too much screaming.
Flames lit the roofs of some of the houses, horses whinnied in terror, swords clanging loudly. Aleksander panicked, running as fast as he could in the darkness. But where was he going? A riderless horse came charging from out of nowhere, rising up on its hind legs, screeching to the moon. Aleksander ran to the side of the nearest cottage, his back pressed against it, his heart beating so loudly. He didn’t want to die; the screams and sounds he heard meant death was coming. Where had his mother gone?
He heard her scream, then. Frowning, listening again, he started running towards the sound of her voice, the screaming, keening, wailing voice. He ran through a huddle of cottages and out the other side, to a field and there she lay, his mother; her hair blowing around her, as dark as the sky. Lying on the ground, over a body.
Over a body.
Aleksander froze. He recognised the hair, the shape of the back, the tunic. His father! The sobs that rose up in his chest would not come out; his screams caught in his throat, and his mouth fell open as his shoulders rose and fell with every terrifying moment. He couldn’t move.
And then she bent down, over the slain body of her husband and when she lifted herself up again, Aleksander saw the knife in her hand. His eyes grew wider, and his heart beat faster, and he started running, but she didn’t see him. Did she? And he called to her, but nothing came out of his mouth as he ran. Nothing. But she saw him, didn’t she? As she put the blade to her throat, the tears flowing down her face, Aleksander ran, but a man ran in front of him grabbing him, stopping him.
‘Where are you going?’ Gant asked angrily. ‘You’ll get yourself killed!’ Then he turned, following the look of sheer horror on Aleksander’s face and he let go of the small hand and ran. ‘Fianna! No!’
But it was too late.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed towards them. And then she was gone.
Gant kept running, but Aleksander stopped. They were too late. The line across her neck was thick with blood now; red and wet as it glistened under the soulful gaze of the moon.
Fianna Lehr pitched forward onto the dead body of her husband; her eyes filled with despair.
Jael had told him everything and nothing. Enough to keep him from asking her anymore, at least for now; enough to comfort him, she hoped. She hurt everywhere but most of all inside, where the wounds of Tuura had lain hidden for so long. She needed sleep, needed to go and shut that door again, lock it back up, keep those men where they belonged; in the farthest reaches of her darkest places.
She sighed, and her whole body shuddered, sinking into the bed, soothed by the rise and fall of Eadmund’s chest, so steady and calm. She closed her eyes, at last, seeking peace and sleep, but all she saw was blood, and Tarak, and Aleksander, and those men, and her mother, and everything in between.
And the storm grew louder around them.
Eirik glanced around the hall. Was this how he would die? Where he would die? He looked towards Ivaar. Would he kill his father as he had killed his own? He had no sword, but he had hands, he could find knives. There were many ways to get it done; he knew better than most.
‘Jael asked me for something else, if she won,’ Eirik started. ‘I have to say, for all my talk, I did not think it possible that she would. I thought she would put on a show, as she did with Thorgils. But with Tarak?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t think it would go that way.’ He paused, scratching his beard. ‘She asked me to make Eadmund my heir again.’
Ivaar’s morbid frown was replaced by sudden, cold shock. ‘What?’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘Eadmund? Did she now. And you said yes?’
‘No, I did not.’ Eirik smiled. ‘No, Eadmund is better, but that will not last. I don’t believe it will.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Ivaar sighed, relieved.
‘But then she asked me... if I could not believe in Eadmund, that I believe in her. If she were to win, become Champion of Oss, then she wanted me to choose Eadmund and her, as King and Queen of Oss. Together,’ Eirik went on, taking some small amount of satisfaction in Ivaar’s pinched face. ‘And then she won. So I have given her what she asked for.’
‘What?!’ Ivaar looked horrified. ‘But... but you brought me here, after all these years. I am your rightful heir. I’ve always been your heir! Eadmund will make a fool of you, a mess of Oss!’
‘Possibly, but Jael won’t,’ Eirik said, suddenly sober, his face stern. ‘And it is her prize. She earned it.’
‘But I’m your son! Your eldest son!’ Ivaar leaned forward, his lips mean and his eyes hard. ‘You cannot do this to me again, Father! Eydis has seen it, Ayla has seen it! I am to be king here!’ He didn’t care who heard.
‘Oss is important to me, Ivaar,’ Eirik said with feeling. ‘It is mine. I turned it from a prison into a kingdom. It means almost everything to me. But it doesn’t mean everything. Not everything. It could burn and sink into the sea, and I would still have everything I needed if I had Eadmund and Eydis beside me. But you...’ he looked at the angry man in front of him. ‘You would destroy them. Eydis has seen that. She has seen how thirsty you are for your revenge. And I will not go to my pyre leaving them in your desperate hands.’
‘You think that little of me?’ Ivaar’s face twisted painfully. ‘You think I could hurt my own family? Eadmund had you banish me when I did not kill his wife! That I have ill feeling towards him is understandable, but Eydis!?’ he implored. ‘That is too much, Father. That is too hard a thing to hear.’ He looked away, his whole body shaking with rage. ‘Your dreamer is a child who has not learned to master her dreams yet. Mine sees no such thing, but she does see me as king one day. You should believe her, because I certainly do.’
‘You will take your family and leave when the storm is over,’ Eirik said coldly. ‘And you will return in spring with your men, for all of the islands will be going to war against Hest, and I expect to see the men of Kalfa, standing behind their lord, as the men of Oss will stand behind their king.’
Ivaar bit down on his tongue, his face clear of all emotion now. He was seething but not about to make it any worse. Like Tarak, another day would come, and another chance for revenge.
He was certain of it.
Edela padded across the floor; her socks felt filled with ice. It was dark, early, and the fire had burned down to nothing. She bent over the bed and prodded Kormac. He jerked awake, stari
ng at her, confused, trying to catch his breath.
‘I need your help,’ she whispered.
60
Jael opened her eyes to see Eadmund standing in the doorway. She groaned, squinting at him in the barely there light. She couldn’t hear a thing, apart from Biddy and Thorgils mumbling in the distance. The storm appeared to have blown away, and finally, after having to spend two days snow trapped, she could go to Fyn’s. It was time he knew what had happened.
Jael sat up, grimacing, yawning, thinking that perhaps another day spent in bed wasn’t such a bad idea at all. She could only imagine how Tarak must be feeling. That made her smile. ‘Are you just going to stare at me all morning?’ she grumbled at her husband.
‘No, I’m barring the door to stop you running away,’ Eadmund smiled.
‘Ha! Well, I didn’t run away yesterday, or the day before, did I?’
‘You couldn’t move, so that doesn’t count!’ he grinned, coming forwards, his hands behind his back. ‘Besides, the blizzard meant you couldn’t go anywhere, even if you’d wanted to. But today... today I think you’ve chosen not to run away.’
Jael frowned as he brought the gift out from behind his back and handed it to her. She smiled. ‘Ahhh, the long awaited present. And you think I’ve finally earned it, do you?’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps Biddy just told me she’d throw it in the fire if I didn’t give it to you!’
Jael laughed, which hurt, as she unwrapped the dust-covered linen sheet the present was wrapped in. She laughed again as she pulled a thick, furry, brown cloak out. ‘A warm cloak! At last!’
‘Well, I thought you might need it if you were going to be staying here a while. Which you seem to be quite keen on.’
‘I seem to be,’ she admitted. ‘Especially since your father has made us both his heirs. I can hardly leave now, can I?’
