Eye of the Wolf: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Lords of Alekka Book 1)

by A. E. Rayne

  Stina looked troubled. ‘But if you help him, he will take us to Goslund. Sell us.’

  Alys nodded. ‘He will, I suppose, but I don’t know how to stop that.’ She saw the fear in her friend’s gentle eyes. ‘Though I will do what I can.’ And leaning in even closer, she lowered her voice. ‘Whatever happens, Stina, I will try to save you.’ Guilt throbbed in her chest as she saw the other women, some of whom were looking at her with hope in their swollen eyes. But Stina was her dearest friend. If she could save just one person, it would be her.

  Stina squeezed her hand. ‘I want you to save yourself. For the children.’

  ‘I will. But listen, you must think about keeping safe. Not everyone is like Reinar. Some of the men are more like the one who tried to rape Magda. Keep your eyes open.’

  Stina smiled sadly. ‘I will, but I doubt there’s anything we can do to stop them, is there? Not really.’ Fear trembled her limbs, but she kept her smile going, knowing that fear was an enemy that would defeat her quickly if she let it take hold. ‘Let’s go back to the table. You need to keep up your strength.’

  Alys nodded, listening to the wind howling outside, wishing she was out in it, wanting to feel it chill and numb every part of her until she couldn’t feel a thing. Her heart was aching with loss, her body was shaking with fear.

  And she could feel a storm coming.

  Mother’s cottage was dark, lit by a small fire in the centre of its sole room. It stunk of herbs and smoke; other things Falla couldn’t put her finger on. She thought of her own cottage, which smelled pleasant, apart from her husband’s boots which she made him keep outside. And thinking of Lief made Falla sigh. ‘I need more of those seeds,’ she said, risking Mother’s wrath. The old woman was hunched over, studying her book near the fire, trying to concentrate.

  ‘You don’t want his child? Ever?’ Mother didn’t turn around.

  ‘I don’t want a mess of a life. How do I even know if he’ll survive what is coming? You want me to be left alone and pregnant again?’ She strode to the fire, stirring it with an iron poker, watching the sparks fly, her eyes narrowed. ‘After Borg died, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Two husbands dead within weeks of each other?’

  Falla’s self-obsession was a distraction Mother didn’t need. She turned the book over on the table, shooing her daughter-in-law towards a stool by the fire. ‘Put that down there.’ And she waited while Falla leaned the poker against the table, placing her hands on her lap as she sat down. ‘Now, we have spoken of this many times, my girl. I came for you as I saw that we were fated to be together. That we would help each other take what this world owes us. And I will. But I cannot do it, Falla, if you do not shut your mouth and do as you are told!’ Mother was spitting again, but she didn’t care. The girl was simply going to ruin everything if she carried on this way. ‘I cannot help us, and therefore, I can most certainly not help you, if you place your own needs ahead of mine!’

  Falla looked surprised, though she knew she shouldn’t be. She clamped her full lips together, her knees too, turning her head to the flames, a petulant look on her face.

  Mother was satisfied. ‘Good girl! Just as it should be. This spell will not work itself. And it will not work at all while you are blabbering behind me.’ She returned to her book, ignoring the rattling of the door and the foul look Falla was directing her way. ‘And if this spell does not work, we will both be in grave trouble with Hakon Vettel. So stop your pouting and pick up that drum. You may find me of great use to you, but I am often left wondering how much use you are to me!’ And spinning around, book in hand, Mother stared at Falla, waiting as she picked up the drum, placing it on her knees. ‘There you go!’ she smiled. ‘Keep that mouth closed now, and let me get ready, for we have a long night ahead of us!’

  The storm scared them both.

  It was loud, and Magnus pulled Lotta close, neither of them able to sleep in the tiny shelter he had made with branches and an old sheet that was being blown apart by a determined wind. Their ponies were tied to trees nearby, and occasionally, Magnus heard them whinnying. He hoped he had fastened them securely, not wanting to discover them gone come morning.

  Lotta shook, jumping as the thunder roared again.

  ‘Tell me about being a dreamer,’ Magnus whispered in her ear. ‘Tell me how it works.’ He wanted to distract her, and therefore, himself. She had been so quiet since night had fallen. Tired, he’d initially thought as his own fears heightened, but now he realised that she was just as terrified as he was.

  Lotta didn’t want to talk. Her ears were busy, picking up the sounds around them, wondering if any of them were threatening. It was hard to hear much with the storm crashing above them, but listening carefully, she could hear branches snapping, leaves rustling. She imagined a bear or an elk running towards them.

  Or a boar.

  She didn’t want to imagine a boar.

  And blinking, Lotta opened her eyes, seeing the darkness almost swishing around her like water. ‘I dream of things, and then they happen. Some of them.’

  ‘What sort of things? Did you dream of Father dying? Of Mother being taken?’

  ‘No.’ Lotta turned her head away from her brother, shadows darkening on her left. She wished she could dream now, to see how it would all turn out. She felt scared, wanting her mother, not her brother. Her brother’s heart was beating fast, his fear as loud as her own. She wanted her mother, who was calm, who spoke with certainty, even when everything was blowing around her in terror.

  Even on the beach.

  Closing her eyes, Lotta saw her mother’s face, urging them to run. ‘I didn’t see those men coming, but I had a bad feeling when I woke up. I felt worried, but I didn’t know why.’

  Magnus remembered. ‘You said you didn’t want to go for a walk.’

  Lotta nodded, wishing her mother had listened to her. She turned back around, head on Magnus’ chest again. ‘I can see Mama.’

  Magnus stilled. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I see her in a new dress, and her hair is brushed and shining. There are no bruises on her face, and she looks happy.’ The words tumbled from Lotta’s lips as she realised that it was a vision she’d had of her mother for some time. ‘She’s with a man who makes her happy. Not Father.’

  ‘And are we there?’

  Lotta paused, thinking. ‘I don’t know. I don’t see us. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where we are.’

  They were lying on the ground, tucked into a copse, off the road, trying to keep out of the wind, the rain, the thunder and lightning. But the storm was only growing more violent, branches snapping around them now.

  Magnus jumped as thunder boomed again, his heart almost stopping. ‘I will think of her like that, Lotta,’ he said, closing his eyes, trying to picture their mother. ‘You should too. See if you can find her. When we get to Jonas, we can tell him. He can take us to her. Close your eyes now, Lotta. Find Mother.’

  Ludo lingered by the cottage door in his awkward slumpy fashion.

  Alys wondered what he was waiting for.

  ‘I can bring you more lamps,’ Ludo muttered, eyes on the mud floor which was starting to look a little moist from all the rain. ‘It’s dark in here.’

  Alys held the bracelet in her hand, staring at it. ‘I’m going to sleep, so I don’t need lamps. Not now.’ She didn’t want his company; she wanted everyone to leave her alone.

  ‘I’ll find more for you tomorrow, then. I expect you’d like to be able to read?’ He grabbed the door, feeling the wind rattling it with vigour.

  ‘Read?’

  Ludo nodded, turning around. ‘Salma had a chest of books. She brought it with her.’ He pointed to the chest at the end of the tiny bed. ‘She was always reading or writing, when she wasn’t talking to Reinar.’

  ‘She wrote the books?’ Alys was curious, heading for the chest, grabbing the solitary lamp from the table, its fishy odour more pleasant than the lingering reek of death.


  ‘Here,’ Ludo smiled, opening the heavy wooden lid, listening to the creak, remembering how he had oiled the hinges for Salma when she’d first arrived in Ottby. ‘Perhaps there’s something to help you in there? I imagine she wrote about being a dreamer.’

  Alys’ eyes were grainy and heavy, but she wanted to take a look. She glanced back at the bed. ‘I’m supposed to dream. To look for your lord’s wife.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ludo squirmed, eyes back on the door. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, then? It’s best if you help Reinar, so he finds you useful. He’ll want to keep you here if you’re useful to him.’

  Alys followed him to the door. ‘Did you know his wife well? I forget her name.’

  ‘Elin.’ Ludo’s face glowed above the lamp’s flame, and Alys could see the pain in his eyes. ‘She was lovely, but she suffered so much this past year. So much heartbreak. It... it was hard on her.’

  Alys waited, sensing there was more.

  ‘Reinar thinks she was taken. He insists on it. And now he has you dreaming about it. I hope you find her, Alys, I do, but I think most of us believe that... that she killed herself.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was both a surprise and not a surprise at all, Alys realised. She’d felt an overwhelming sadness when she held the bracelet. A deep grief. ‘Why?’

  ‘She lost her sons, twin boys. They were both stillborn. It devastated her. Her and Reinar both. I don’t think he realised how lost she became, though. He had the Vettels to contend with, and a sweating sickness during the summer. Men leaving in droves too.’ Ludo glanced at the door, realising that he needed to go. ‘I don’t want to put ideas in your head. I hope you do find her, I just... thought you should know.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ Alys said. ‘I need all the help I can get.’ She felt nervous, knowing how desperate Reinar was to find his wife; worried that she wouldn’t be able to find the answers he needed.

  ‘Ottby is not what it once was,’ Ludo mumbled, opening the door, a gust of wind sweeping his cloak away from him. ‘And nor are any of us, I’m afraid. I’m sorry for that. Sorry we took you. Sorry you’re here.’ And with that, Ludo turned into the darkness, cloak flapping behind him.

  Alys watched him go, grabbing the door just before it slammed against the cottage, hair whipping around her face. She felt odd as she stepped back inside, eyes on the bed that looked so welcoming, trying to ignore the stench of death that was not welcoming at all.

  And dropping her head, she saw the glint of the bracelet in her hands, and she sighed.

  Sigurd was restless, and Tulia was trying to be sympathetic. He couldn’t lie still. And just as she thought he’d fallen asleep, thunder would boom above the hall like a hammer striking an anvil, and he’d start moving about in the bed, groaning again.

  Eventually, Tulia sat up with a sigh. ‘Maybe a cup of wine would help?’

  ‘Don’t feel like wine,’ Sigurd murmured, eyes closed.

  ‘I meant for me!’ And slipping out of bed, ignoring the cold, Tulia grabbed the wine jug, pouring herself a cup. She took it to the fire, sitting on a fur-covered chair, frowning at him. ‘How did you manage to end up with so many stitches, then?’

  She sounded cross, Sigurd thought with a smile, trying to get comfortable. Though despite the softness of the wool-stuffed mattress, he realised that it was impossible. He hated lying on his stomach, yet there was no other way to sleep that didn’t hurt. ‘You love me really,’ he grinned, eyeing her in the flames as she sat there, naked, drinking wine, looking like a Kalmeran warrior goddess. So Sigurd was completely surprised when his mind skipped to Alys. He blinked, focusing on Tulia again as she quickly finished the wine and hurried back to bed, wriggling down under the furs, rolling onto her side, her face almost touching his. Her breath smelled like cherries, Sigurd thought, kissing her.

  ‘Go to sleep, Sigurd Vilander,’ Tulia breathed, kissing him back. ‘Before you tempt me to roll you over.’

  He grimaced, his body trapped somewhere between pleasure and pain. ‘I think I’d cry.’

  ‘I think you would, but perhaps I wouldn’t care?’

  ‘I imagine you wouldn’t.’

  Tulia smiled. ‘We should leave.’

  ‘Ha! I remember thinking how unpredictable you were once. How exciting it was never knowing what you were going to say next. And yet, here we are. Every night it’s the same!’

  Tulia put a finger to his lips. ‘You talk too much, and you don’t listen at all. If you had, we wouldn’t be stuck here in this trap with your stubborn brother and your bitch mother, all about to die together.’ She lay back on the pillow with a sigh. Frustrated. The storm raged above them, though even at its worst it sounded calmer than she felt inside. ‘Amir says we should go before winter sets in.’

  ‘Amir? Amir should focus on being useful here. If your brother wants to be the great warrior he’s always talking about, he needs to stop looking to run away when things get hard.’

  ‘You think a hero must suffer? Go down with the ship? That’s your idea of being a hero?’ Tulia rolled back over, her voice sharpening. ‘Because that’s what Reinar thinks. He thinks he has to hang on here until we’re all dead. Until he’s spilled every last drop of blood for this place.’

  ‘He does. Of course. Stellan held Ottby for nearly twenty years. You think Reinar wants to let him down? To let Ake down, and put the kingdom in danger? A man with his ambition? A man with Reinar’s destiny laid out before him?’

  Tulia snorted, surprised to hear that coming from Sigurd’s mouth. Though, where his brother was concerned, Sigurd had only the one eye.

  Tulia closed both of hers. ‘Sleep will help. Your wounds will heal quicker if you sleep. My mother always said that to me as she forced me into bed.’

  ‘Had a lot of wounds, did you?’

  ‘When I was a child, maybe,’ Tulia yawned. ‘But I’m a better warrior now. I can hear an arrow coming for me, so I know when to duck!’

  Mother crept around the circle like a thief.

  Hunched over, crouching, swaying gently, her bare feet padding across the floorboards, around and around the fire. It blazed like the sun now, golden red and orange, angry and hot, fighting the rain and the wind blowing down the smoke hole.

  She heard music in her head, drumming like waves, and she rode them, rising and falling, her heart keeping time.

  Falla sat away from the flames, away from the circle. She patted the drum with purpose, the beat throbbing inside her body, the herbs Mother was burning muddling her mind until she felt as though she existed in more than one place. As though her feet were on fire, her head in the clouds.

  She stared at the flames, watching the glowing figure dance before her, spinning and spinning her circle until she became a dark blur.

  And then Mother stopped, her body completely still.

  Breath pumping.

  Eyes on the flames. Watching. Waiting.

  Bending to squat before the bowl at her feet, Mother picked it up, holding it to her lips, murmuring over it before tipping its bloody contents into her mouth, inhaling the intoxicating, iron-rich liquid.

  She didn’t drink it all, and placing the bowl back on the floorboards, she dipped a finger into the potion, painting a symbol before her.

  And then another.

  And as she finished the third symbol, she picked up the bowl in her left hand, dipping a small hazel switch into it with her right, flicking the potion around the circle, onto the flames. And they danced, higher and higher as Falla looked on, blinking, watching the flames twist and twirl into a symbol.

  Watching as Mother closed her eyes and started chanting.

  II

  Nightmares

  12

  The straw stunk of piss.

  Though it was better than rocks, Stina thought, unable to smile.

  She rolled onto her back, wanting to get away from Jorunn, who lay next to her, breathing into her face. She sounded like a blowing horse.

  Closing her eyes, Stina tried to remember her little cottage i
n Ullaberg. It had not been much, though it had always smelled sweet. Sweet smelling and quiet, apart from the sounds drifting in through holes in the walls and around the window when the wind was blowing from the east. She would often hear fighting, arguing, crying people through that window.

  Times had become hard all along the Eastern Shore. Famine and disease grew more prevalent. Destructive weather sent as punishment from the gods gave them no reprieve. Punishment for what, Stina wondered, yawning.

  What had they all done to deserve such misery?

  She tried to keep her mind in Ullaberg, seeing herself sitting in her creaking chair by the fire. It wobbled, but it was comfortable, and she liked wobbling before the flames, knitting socks for Magnus and Lotta. For Alys too.

  Alys.

  Alys the dreamer.

  Though, if Alys was truly a dreamer, why had she stayed in Ullaberg with Arnon for all those years?

  And why had she not seen those men coming?

  Someone was drumming.

  Or was it her heart?

  Alys wasn’t sure as she approached the clearing. It was afternoon, she thought, seeing the warmth of the dappled light filtering through the trees. They were green, bright, and vivid. It was summer, but she shivered, feeling cold all over.

  Voices drifted towards her from amongst the trees – women’s voices – and Alys crept forward, pine needles slippery beneath her bare feet. She didn’t feel afraid, though she didn’t know where she was, or what she was seeing.

  And stopping suddenly, she reached out, hand on the gnarled bark of an ancient ash tree.

  ‘You can’t. You can’t!’

  It was Agnette. Alys recognised her voice before she saw her. She slowly poked her head around the tree, not wanting to be seen.

  Two women sat on a log in a tiny clearing. The path was worn beneath their feet, as though it was a place people often came. A place to be alone.