Daughters Of The Storm

by Kim Wilkins

  A few minutes later, they were standing at the bar. Rose asked the alehouse husband for a room.

  He eyed them one by one, taking special notice of Bluebell. ‘Yes, we have a room. One of you might have to sleep on the floor.’ He nodded towards Bluebell. ‘Your tall friend looks like she’s well used to hardship.’

  ‘Give us the key,’ Bluebell snapped, earning a kick in the shins from Ash.

  He handed the key to Rose and they turned to the door, only to find it barred by the oily man and his friend.

  Bluebell bit her lip so she wouldn’t swear. Her fingers twitched at her hip.

  ‘Let us by,’ Ash said in a sweet voice. ‘We mean you no harm.’

  The larger man huffed. ‘You were laughing at my friend.’

  The hushed quiet behind them told Bluebell they had an audience.

  ‘We weren’t,’ Rose said. ‘We were laughing about something else. We offer you no disrespect.’

  ‘We see it differently,’ said the oily man, ‘and we don’t take kindly to women who talk out of turn.’

  And, by fuck, Bluebell wanted to make him eat steel. Hot mist built up behind her eyes.

  The larger man took a step forwards. ‘You see ...’ he said, reaching for Ash’s upper arm.

  And that was it. Bluebell’s sword was out and swinging down, its deadly edge stopping suddenly on his sleeve. ‘Touch her and you lose your hand. Then how would you fist your mister?’

  Ash gave an exasperated groan. The man reached for his knife, but Bluebell grabbed him under the armpit and in seconds had him in an armlock, his back against her chest and her sword resting lengthways across his belly. His knife clattered to the floor. The oily man stood back. A long way back.

  ‘Do I have to spill your guts?’ Bluebell asked him.

  He shook his head.

  She let him go, sheathed her sword. Looked around. Everyone was staring at her. She readjusted her cloak. The alehouse husband was staring at her and she could see the wheels in his brain turning. She felt the first cool touch of regret.

  ‘Come,’ Ash said, urging her ahead. ‘Let’s be away.’

  They found their way outside to the guesthouse, locking their room firmly.

  ‘The alehouse husband recognised you, I’m sure of it,’ Ash said, pacing.

  Bluebell pulled off her dress and handed it back to Rose. ‘So what do we do? Do you want us to leave?’

  ‘We need to rest,’ Rose said.

  Bluebell was climbing back into her own clothes. ‘What do you sense, Ash? Is danger near?’

  ‘No. It’s not ... I can’t control this. I’m sorry. We are both safe and not safe here, and I don’t know why.’ Ash sat heavily on the bed, her head in her hands.

  Bluebell considered her by the flickering lamplight. On the one hand, she took Ash’s fears seriously, but on the other, she found it hard to conceive of a world in which she couldn’t keep two of her sisters safe. She had sometimes kept her entire hearthband safe. ‘Ash? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ Ash said. ‘Let’s sleep and be away early.’

  Bluebell glanced around the room, spotted a large chest. She pulled it up to the door to bar it. ‘You two sleep, I’ll keep watch,’ she said.

  ‘You need sleep too.’

  ‘I’ll doze. I’ll be fine.’

  She sat on the chest with her back against the door, the Widowsmith drawn, to wait for sunrise.

  There were more appealing ways to be woken than being prodded by Bluebell’s bony fingers at dawn. Rose opened her eyes, the comfort of sleep fell away, and she was left instead with the memory that she was far from those she loved the most. Ordinarily, she would take a few moments to remember Rowan’s soft kisses and derive small comfort, but Bluebell was insistent.

  ‘Come on. We must be away. Up and dressed, sisters.’

  Ash was doing as she was told, but Rose wasn’t in the mood for Bluebell’s orders. ‘In good time, Bluebell,’ she said.

  ‘Good time is now,’ Bluebell said in reply. In the dim light, Rose could see her sister’s eyes were darkly shadowed. Had she stayed awake all night on watch? A small pulse of guilt.

  Ash put a cool hand on Rose’s shoulder. ‘Take your time, sister. I’ll pack your things.’

  Ash’s kindness galvanised her more than Bluebell’s overbearing bossiness ever could. She rose and pinned on her dress, pulled on her shoes. Bluebell paced the whole time, clearly anxious to get away. She took Ash’s premonitions very seriously, even when they were as inarticulate as this one. Rose wondered if it wasn’t the dark wood and empty isolation of the village that had made Ash uncomfortable. They were beyond the border of civilisation here. For Rose, the idea of being away from everything was not an uncomfortable one. Away from everything meant away from obligation and damning eyes and promises made in public.

  The dogs met them gratefully at the stable, tails thumping, and soon they were saddled and on their way. Bluebell was in a foul mood, shouting at the dogs and scowling. Rose ignored it, but when they had been riding about ten minutes and Sceotley was a dark shape on the hill behind them, Ash ventured to draw Bluebell into conversation.

  ‘Is everything all right, Bluebell?’ she ventured.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied shortly.

  ‘Did you have any sleep last night?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Bluebell snapped. ‘Let’s get on.’

  Rose clenched her teeth. Enough of Bluebell’s foul humour, especially as Ash had done nothing to deserve it. ‘Leave her be, Bluebell.’

  ‘All is well, Rose,’ Ash said. ‘She hasn’t slept. She stayed awake to protect us.’

  ‘All is not well. She isn’t the only one who has a reason to be unhappy. Why should we indulge her? She doesn’t indulge us.’

  ‘You mean I’ve never indulged you?’ Bluebell said, pulling Isern up hard and turning on her. ‘And why should I? You were given one thing to do to earn your place in this family. One thing: marry the king of Netelchester and be faithful to him. And you couldn’t even do that. You barely made it through a year before you were riding your nephew.’

  ‘He’s not my nephew.’

  ‘Please don’t fight,’ Ash said. ‘You’re both tired, you both have a lot on your minds. Please don’t fight. This will get us nowhere.’

  ‘Leave out of it, Ash,’ Rose said, firmly. ‘Bluebell and I need to speak of this directly.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to you directly. Many times,’ Bluebell said with a scowl. ‘Heath is Rowan’s father, and for that he may live and be of use to us. But one more half-breed bastard will be too many for me, and certainly too many for Wengest.’

  ‘You speak as though all that matters is the business of kings.’

  ‘It is all that matters. What am I to say to you, Rose? That you have my blessing to make decisions from between your legs? Where does that leave the rest of us in Ælmesse? In the other territories that rely on us? Am I to say to the people on the borders of Bradsey: “Oh, I’m sorry that you are being slaughtered by raiders, but my sister was in need of a good fucking”?’

  The temperature of Rose’s blood surged and she could no longer stand to be there. Bluebell had reduced something so beautiful to something so coarse. She had sent her daughter away with strangers. And her heart was as cold and hard as steel. Rose kicked her horse and galloped off, down towards the woods. Away, for fear that if she stayed her heart would explode with hot fury.

  ‘Wait, Rose!’ Ash shouted, a thrill of desperation in her voice, though Rose didn’t know why. It wasn’t the first time she and Bluebell had argued and it would hardly be the last.

  Then she saw the heavy, overhanging branch of a chestnut tree barring the road. She yanked the reins. A hard, black pain shuddered across her forehead. The sun blinked out.

  She was awake, but not awake. Consciousness was not lost, but shredded into incoherent pieces. She seemed to see herself from far away, Bluebell lifting her limp form onto Isern’s back. Then a long
stretch of ringing darkness. Ash’s hands, close and smelling of leather from reins. Voices. Shouting. Bluebell shouting, ordering people around. Rose felt the beat of her heart as a deep ache in her head. The darkness flickered on and off. A pungent smell, choking her. She fought against it, then Ash said, ‘Sleep now. We are here with you.’

  Then a long silence in the hum of life.

  Rose’s eyes flickered open. Long shadows and a chill in the air told her it was late in the afternoon. She was somewhere soft, her head throbbed. She took a moment to remember what happened.

  Then Ash leaned into view. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Back in Sceotley.’

  ‘Where’s Bluebell?’

  ‘I’m here.’ A voice from the shadows in the corner of the room. Rose sat up to look around, but her neck and shoulders screamed with pain.

  ‘Stay down,’ Ash said. ‘You hit your head and then you had a bad fall. You need to rest.’

  Rose did as she was told, reaching for her forehead where the branch had struck her. It was bandaged. ‘Have I been unconscious all this time?’

  ‘I gave you something to make you sleep. I had to stitch your wound.’ Ash pointed to her own forehead. ‘It was bleeding badly.’

  Bluebell came into view. ‘When can she ride again?’

  Ash turned to her. ‘Give her a day or two. She’s bruised badly.’

  ‘This place ...’

  ‘I know.’

  Rose reached for Bluebell’s hand. Her sister looked grey with tiredness and concern. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Bluebell shrugged. She squeezed Rose’s hand, then released it. A quick knock at the door made her head jerk up. Her sword was drawn in a second.

  Ash put out a hand. ‘I’ll open it. Stay out of sight.’

  ‘They’ve already seen me.’

  ‘Please, Bluebell.’

  Bluebell shrank back into the shadows. Ash opened the door. It was the alehouse husband.

  ‘Good evening,’ Ash said.

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘It will depend very much on my sister’s recovery.’

  He peered into the room, his eyes lighting on Bluebell.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Ash said.

  ‘I have a lot of travellers come through here,’ he said gruffly. ‘I might need the room.’

  ‘I’ll try to get better quickly,’ Rose joked weakly.

  Once again his eyes went to Bluebell. ‘Would you like some food sent up?’

  ‘Thank you, but we will keep to ourselves,’ Ash said.

  He nodded, then backed out. Ash closed the door after him. ‘He knows who you are, Bluebell.’

  ‘Good. Then he might have the sense to be afraid.’ Bluebell moved the chest back in front of the door. ‘Well, Ash, you still have your bad feeling?’

  ‘I do,’ Ash said in a soft voice.

  Rose felt such a fool. If she hadn’t stormed off like a child, she and her sisters would be far away, perhaps in another, safer village, or perhaps preparing to sleep under the stars. But she had lost her temper the way Rowan did — hot and violent. Thoughts of Rowan made her ache. Where was she now? Was she safe? A fall like the one Rose had would kill a child. Rose began to cry.

  ‘Hush,’ Ash said, grasping her hands. ‘All will be well. The best thing you can do now is rest so we can leave tomorrow.’

  ‘But if you’re not up to it, we can wait another day,’ Bluebell said, sitting on the chest with her knees folded up under her chin.

  Rose knew what an effort it must have taken Bluebell to appear calm as she said those words. Bluebell was in a hurry — to get out of Sceotley, to save Father’s life. Rose’s stomach clutched with guilt. She spent too much time in her own head, consumed with her own feelings. She blamed her heart: surely it experienced love and fear and desire and guilt more steeply than anyone else’s heart. That could be the only explanation for her selfishness.

  She turned on her side — gingerly, trying to find a spot that wasn’t bruised — and promised herself that, no matter how she felt, she would ride tomorrow. She had already caused her sisters too much trouble.

  A rush of cold water in Ash’s veins made her startle awake.

  She sat up, heart thudding, and looked around the room. Rose, asleep next to her, face soft, lips slightly parted. Bluebell, curled on her side on the floor in front of the door. As she tried to focus on Bluebell, a scream behind her eyes began to vibrate through her skull.

  Something very bad was coming. Coming for Bluebell.

  ‘Up!’ she cried, leaping out of bed. ‘We need to go now.’

  Bluebell was on her feet in a second, not a trace of sleepiness or confusion in her expression. ‘What’s coming, Ash?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. But it’s coming for you,’ Ash said. She leaned over Rose, who was struggling to wake up. The tonic Ash had given her the day before had made her brain sluggish. She was blue with bruises from shoulders to hips and Ash knew it was going to be painful for her to move. ‘Rosie, I’m sorry. But we have to go. Right now.’

  Rose lifted her head and palmed her eyes. ‘Yes, yes,’ she managed. ‘Help me with my cloak.’

  Bluebell had cracked open the door and was peering out. ‘How far away, Ash?’

  Ash shook her head, stomach clenching with frustration. ‘I don’t know.’

  Bluebell hoisted her pack to her shoulder. ‘Can you walk, Rose?’

  Rose was on her feet, leaning heavily on Ash. ‘Yes,’ she said, though Ash could tell she was lying.

  Then they were outside in the cool, early morning air. Dawn-gold sunlight lay on low mist down the valley and across the river. The stable door was closed and bolted. Bluebell’s dogs barked madly inside.

  ‘Where’s the stable hand?’ Rose said, alarmed.

  Bluebell gave Ash a grim look, her mouth a hard line. ‘They’ve locked our dogs and horses in. We are to be served to these enemies on a plate.’

  ‘Do you want me to try to pick the lock?’

  ‘There’s no time. Leave it,’ Bluebell said. ‘We run. We can come back for the horses and dogs later. And the revenge.’ She put her hand out for Rose, who winced as Bluebell tugged her forwards. They began to run down the hill and out the front gate of the town.

  Ash saw them a heartbeat before Bluebell did.

  ‘Raiders!’ Bluebell shouted, skidding to a halt. Four of them on the road, clearly heading straight towards Sceotley. She turned and ushered her sisters ahead of her — poor stumbling Rose, and Ash — with her heart thumping. They skidded off the main road and onto a worn track through grass, then dangerously vertical down a grassy slope. Rose cried out in pain and Bluebell stopped and turned.

  Ash stopped too. ‘Bluebell?’ Her sister’s long fair hair was lifted by the wind. The raiders were a hundred yards away, just beyond the dirty white ruins of an ancient building.

  Bluebell waved to them with both arms, and shouted, ‘Sansorthinn!’

  ‘What did you say to them?’ Ash asked.

  ‘I called them cocksuckers in their own language.’ Bluebell smiled grimly. ‘Go. Take Rose.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘They’ll kill you both. Hide in the woods and if I don’t come for you, head back towards Ælmesse. I’ll draw them away from you. Here.’ She pushed Rose into Ash’s arms and then, before Ash could say another word, she was off, heading down towards the grassy banks of the river.

  Ash put her arm around Rose’s waist and headed around the curve of the town perimeter, then up the hill towards the road home. Then she stopped to watch Bluebell, in her light mail, pushing her helm down on her head. Alone. No dogs. Four men came for her, down the same grassy slope. She couldn’t win this one. Ash felt the foreshadow of death across her skin.

  Bluebell stood, silent and tall, between the river and an oak tree. Her sword was drawn and her round shield was on her left arm, as they closed in on her. Ash’s heart galloped. Rose clutched her hand.
r />   ‘There are four of them,’ Rose said. ‘We must do something.’

  But neither of them were trained in arms, and to go down there now would probably make matters worse. Ash could only sit and watch as the thrill of premonition was made solid. The pale morning sky watched the fates of kingdoms impassively, as it always did.

  Ash’s skin prickled. She could do something, couldn’t she?

  ‘Go back over there, near the town wall,’ Ash said, giving Rose a gentle push.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Nowhere. But I need to concentrate.’

  Rose did as she was told and Ash moved a few feet up the rise so she had the best open view of the happenings below. Stilling her thundering pulse, she opened up her second sight.

  Shadows and shimmers, escaping from her vision left and right. Elementals in the water, the tree, the rocks, the earth. She fixed her attention on one with her mind. ‘Hear me,’ she said in her head. It stopped moving and glared at her across the distance, its chalky, cragged face set hard and cruel.

  Ash licked her lips. She didn’t know what to say next. A distant roar as Bluebell lifted her sword, the first two raiders running at her. And Ash realised she didn’t have to say anything. Her eyes went to the elemental, then the gravelly ground beneath it. A thought, barely formed, left her mind and then the ground trembled. Small stones jumped. The other two raiders skidded over, fell on top of each other. Bluebell had already finished off one of the others and was fending off the blows of the second. The fallen pair climbed to their feet, and Bluebell was pushed back towards the river, three men closing on her.

  ‘Into the river, Bluebell,’ Ash whispered under her breath.

  Bluebell’s head snapped up, as though she had heard. She turned and clambered over the rocky bank, waded in up to her calves. The three raiders advanced.

  Ash focussed her energy, her power, drawing it up from the ground and down from the sky. Little hands reached out of the water, shadows slithered over the rocks.

  Then, a spout of water shot from the river between Bluebell and the raiders. Bluebell took a step back, alarmed. The rocks along the riverside shook in their places, and one large flat one, bigger than a man’s head, jumped and slammed between the shoulders of a raider. He fell forwards. The waterspout opened up and dragged him under. Bluebell took advantage of the confusion, dealing a blow to another man. His severed arm fell into the water, which ran red with blood. Ash couldn’t watch, closed her eyes. She was sickened, her body ached and yet ... her veins thrummed with something that felt dangerously like excitement. She had tasted the first thrill of her power.