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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘I must,’ said a woman Alys didn’t recognise. She had a round face, with a pointed chin, thick eyebrows and soft lips. Her glowing auburn hair hung in simple waves over a pretty yellow dress. She looked elegant, like a lady.

  A very sad lady.

  ‘If I don’t, what will happen next? Reinar will kill me, I’m sure of it!’

  ‘Kill you?’ Agnette was horrified. ‘He’d never! He adores you, Elin.’

  Elin turned away from her friend. ‘But everything he touches dies! Everything!’ Her eyes were frantic, filled with madness and pain. ‘His luck is gone. The gods have abandoned him! Even Gerda admits to that. His bad luck is dooming us all!’ Tears leaked from her hazel eyes, flooding her face. ‘His bad luck killed my babies!’ And now she was sobbing, head in her hands. ‘You must help me, Agnette! Help me escape this cursed place!’

  Alys stared at Agnette, who looked confused, trapped, eyes filled with sympathy. She was pregnant, though her belly was not as pronounced as it was now.

  ‘Alright,’ Agnette whispered, glancing around. ‘I’ll help you leave, Elin, I will. But where will you go?’

  Elin leaned in closer, wiping the tears from her sad eyes. ‘I know a place.’

  Hakon couldn’t sleep.

  He had wanted to be there, to see Mother work her magic.

  He didn’t believe in magic, but he did believe in power. And if Mother could harness the power of the gods in her grubby little hands, then who knew what trouble she was capable of causing those stubborn Vilanders.

  Karolina sniffed, edging away from him.

  Hakon’s mind barely lingered on her before it was back on Mother, who was in her cottage with the temptress Falla, calling to the gods.

  He sighed, eyes wide now, imagining what it would feel like to be that powerful. Wondering how long it would be until he sat on the Alekkan throne, the head of the usurper king, Ake Bluefinn, at his feet.

  And smiling, Hakon rolled over, closing his eyes, seeing his father’s face.

  ‘There was a wolf.

  And her name was Ulura.

  And she was larger than any wolf in the forest.

  Ulura was Vasa’s wolf, and she would send her out as a warning.’

  Alys frowned, staring up at her mother, who bent over her in the darkness, the orange glow of the fire rising behind her back. ‘Why?’ Alys was five. It was her favourite word.

  Her mother smiled.

  ‘Well, Vasa is a dark goddess, one might say. She brings death and pain, though she thinks it only fair to give warning.’

  ‘A warning of death?’

  Her mother nodded. ‘When you hear Ulura’s cry, you know that Vasa is coming, so it’s time to say your goodbyes.’

  Alys gulped, big eyes blinking in the darkness. ‘And what does Ulura sound like?’

  ‘A storm,’ her mother breathed, leaning forward to kiss Alys’ head. ‘She sounds like a storm.’

  Mother had slipped her wolf hood over the top of her head, and now she pranced around the circle on her hands and knees, growling.

  Falla wanted to laugh, but she started shaking with fear instead, hand still patting the drum, unable to stop.

  That growl...

  It was terrifying.

  Someone was drumming.

  Alys woke with a start.

  Someone was drumming. She could hear them.

  For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, then the smell reminded her and she shook, reaching down for the fur which had fallen onto the reeds.

  The drumming rolled over her body like a wave, urging her to move.

  And creeping out of bed, Alys wrapped the fur around her shoulders, her mouth dry.

  No fire was burning. She couldn’t even see the glow of an ember as she crept forward, hands out, trying to find the rattling door.

  And then a handle.

  Grabbing it in her right hand, she turned it, almost disappointed that it opened; half-wishing she’d been locked in, unable to go outside. She wanted to run back to bed, to hide and wait and see.

  But she had to keep going.

  She was a dreamer. She had to keep going.

  Shutting the door behind her, Alys walked away from the cottage, towards the giant tree that stood not far from her door. Valera’s Tree, they called it, named for the Goddess of Love. Its branches were thick with frozen leaves, rustling angrily. There was no light. No moon. No stars. Thunder boomed, out of time with the drumming; crashing sounds, louder and louder, shattering the silence of the night. Rain fell heavily, the storm raging around Alys as she walked away from the tree now, soaking her through.

  The drumbeat pulsed rhythmically as Alys stepped into the square. She had little memory of the place, and she spun around, trying to see what was happening, certain she was dreaming.

  It had to be a dream.

  And then she saw a strange woman creeping towards her, swathed in dark robes which flapped about her, the wind trying to tear them to pieces. She was middle-aged, grey hair loose in the wind. ‘You must help them!’ she cried, ‘for I cannot! I cannot! Ulura is coming! Can you hear the wolf? Ulura Blood Hunter is coming for us all!’

  Alys tried to move towards the woman, but she slipped in the mud, stumbling onto her knees.

  And then a hand on her arm, pulling her up.

  Reinar.

  ‘Can you hear it? The drumming?’ he shouted, voice raised above the storm.

  Alys nodded as she stood, rain streaming into her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ Reinar’s heart was racing, his body chilled by the icy rain. He’d run out of the hall without a cloak, and turning around, he saw men coming: Bjarni and Ludo; Bolli and Holgar were there; Amir and Tulia too. He turned back to Alys. ‘What’s happening?’

  Alys saw images of his crying wife, and she blinked, trying to focus. ‘It’s the wolf!’ she called. ‘The wolf is out there!’

  No one knew what she meant. Tulia grabbed her brother, and they hurried towards a guard tower, heading for the ramparts, Ludo and Bolli following closely behind.

  Reinar spun around, pointing at Torvig, who was doing up his swordbelt, squinting, trying to keep the rain out of his eyes. ‘Follow them! See what’s happening! It sounds like it’s coming from the forest!’ He turned back to Alys, who shook, teeth chattering before him. ‘What wolf?’

  ‘Vasa’s wolf. Ulura.’

  Reinar’s eyes popped open. ‘Go back to your cottage!’ he yelled, pointing into the darkness before running after Torvig.

  Alys stood there in the torrential rain, jumping as thunder clapped overhead, watching as the wind ripped thatch from tiny cottages, sending it tumbling through the square.

  And then a white cat bounded past her, trying not to be swept away.

  A white cat?

  Alys swallowed, turning after it.

  Stina was on her feet, gathering as many women into her arms as possible, trying to keep them all calm.

  ‘What is happening?’ Jorunn begged the guards who had the doors open, peering outside. ‘Tell us! Please!’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ Stina soothed, breath smoking around her face. The barn was frigid now, all of them shivering uncontrollably.

  The guards stood by the doors, gripping axes, neither looking certain about what to do.

  ‘Go out there!’ Ilene urged. ‘Hurry! Find out what’s happening!’

  The inner wall ramparts were solid, made of stone. Reinar and Sigurd had worked with Stellan to replace loose stones and repair any holes not long before his seizure. The ramparts were solid, but the wooden boards beneath their boots bounced as they thundered around them trying to make sense of the drumming.

  Trying to hear through the storm.

  It sounded like an army was approaching. But then the drumming would shift.

  Sometimes it came from the forest.

  Sometimes from the bridge side.

  Sometimes from the pastures to the east.

  Reinar tried to clear both his throat and his mind, wishing he’d bro
ught Alys with him. He grabbed Tulia. ‘What can you see?’

  She shook her head, her braid slapping her back. The wind was so strong now that they had to grip the rampart wall to keep upright. ‘Nothing! I can’t see anything! What could it be?’

  Reinar shrugged, not wanting to say.

  And then they heard it.

  A howl.

  Trees shook, and Reinar froze.

  Bjarni was beside him, panting. Eyes wide, he kept scanning the wind-swept forest in the distance, trying to see any sign of a wolf. ‘That’s no ordinary wolf!’

  ‘Alys says it’s Ulura!’ Reinar cried, eyes on Torvig and Amir.

  Amir had no idea what he was talking about.

  Torvig’s mouth hung open, but he quickly closed it, shaking his head. ‘Impossible!’

  Reinar glowered at him, swaying in the wind. ‘You don’t believe in the gods anymore?’

  ‘Of course I do! But why would Ulura be here?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ Ludo growled at Torvig, too terrified to be cautious around the notoriously thin-skinned man. ‘Because we’re all about to die! That’s why she comes! It’s the warning!’

  Reinar looked from one man to the other.

  ‘There!’ Tulia yelled, pointing at the forest.

  And turning towards her, Reinar followed her arm, catching a glimpse of movement. The trees, blowing about at the mercy of the malevolent wind, were almost parting now.

  Something was coming.

  More men flooded the ramparts.

  ‘I want my archers!’ Reinar turned, screaming down into the square. ‘And fire! Somebody find me fire!’

  Sigurd hobbled into the hall. He’d heard the wolf’s call too.

  It was like nothing he’d heard before.

  Agnette was there with Gerda, both of them shaking, gripping hold of one another.

  For almost the first time in her life, Gerda looked thrilled to see Sigurd. ‘What’s happening?’ She rushed to him, hands on his arms.

  Sigurd blinked, listening. He could hear the wind more than anything now. The drumming had faded, though it was still there, lurking in the distance like a heartbeat. ‘I heard a wolf.’

  Agnette gripped her belly, eyes bulging. ‘That was no wolf, Sigurd! You have to find out what’s happening!’ She looked at her ashen-faced cousin, who was teetering before her, trying not to pass out.

  Sigurd nodded, turning, limping towards the doors.

  ‘Here!’ Agnette called, hurrying after him with a broom. ‘Use this to help you walk!’

  Sigurd took it, glancing back at Gerda. ‘Barricade the doors! Lock yourselves in!’ He saw Martyn, Stellan’s old steward, shuffling towards him. ‘Help them, Martyn! Get this place secure!’ And leaning on the brush part of the broom, Sigurd tried to quicken his pace towards the doors, Gerda and Agnette staring after him.

  Alys followed the cat, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she was following the cat.

  She could hear voices above her as the warriors ran around the inner wall, calling to one another. More men were gathering in the square, though there would not be enough if Ulura had truly come to Ottby. There wouldn’t be enough warriors in the whole Eastern Shore to turn her back.

  The cat stopped outside a door, sitting down, peering up at Alys.

  She blinked, lightning jagging above her head, a tiny glimmer of light.

  It was the dreamer’s cottage, and hurrying to push open the door, Alys ran inside, eager to get out of the rain.

  The cat followed after her, bounding over to the chest, jumping on top of it.

  Alys remembered the books, and she edged slowly forward, trying not to trip over whatever lay hidden in the darkness.

  The chest was open, the wet cat sitting on top of a book.

  And then it moved, knocking it onto the dirt floor.

  Mother had them all in her thrall.

  Oh, the power, the sheer, unrivalled, intoxicating power! It pounded in her chest, it sparked in her fingers, and throwing back her head, she roared again, padding forward.

  She could see trees, though they were like shoots of grass.

  Rampart walls like pebbles and twigs.

  She was immense.

  Unstoppable.

  Hungry.

  Sigurd hobbled into the square, teeth gritted, listening to the howl reverberating around the tall inner wall.

  Shivers shot up his injured back, down his arms. He stumbled, trying to make the broom more comfortable, easier to manage. The ground was mucky, the rain washing it over his bare feet like a river of mud. He moved forward, tugging the broom out of the deepening muck, over and over, hearing Tulia now, running the archers on the ramparts.

  ‘Nock! Draw! Aim! Release!’

  Sigurd couldn’t have fired an arrow if he’d tried.

  He kept moving in the direction of the warriors who waited in the square, half of them being screamed at by Torvig, who had them moving towards the inner gates.

  ‘What is it?’ Sigurd yelled, trying to get his attention.

  But the wolf howled again, and he could feel the earth move beneath his feet, unbalancing him, sending him crashing down into the mud.

  Alys picked up the book, trying to still her shaking hands. The cat jumped again, hopping onto a stool, peering down at her.

  At least that was what Alys saw in her mind.

  The cottage was too dark to see anything more than shadows.

  Too dark to read a book, but she flicked through its vellum pages anyway, waiting for a clue as to what she needed to see.

  She didn’t get one.

  Dropping the book and feeling panic start to freeze her mind, Alys crawled over to the cat, wondering what it wanted from her. Wondering if it was trying to help her.

  Hands out, and feeling her way, she came to the stool, touching the cat, who jumped down again, knocking something to the ground. Alys was quick, hand out to where she heard the noise, feeling a small tin.

  A tinderbox.

  Torvig loomed over Sigurd like an ice giant.

  Then he stuck out a hand.

  ‘What is it?’ Sigurd gasped, grabbing hold of the irritating broom again, not wanting those prickly bristles sticking into his armpit, but quickly realising that he had little choice.

  ‘Wolves, can’t you hear?’ Reinar wasn’t around, and Torvig was in no mind to be polite.

  ‘That’s not wolves!’ Sigurd called to him as Torvig hurried away.

  But Torvig wasn’t listening as he left Sigurd behind, running to gather his men together.

  The inner wall seemed to be moving now, every howl shuddering it anew.

  And then more growling, throaty and deep, as though it existed within them, pulsing in their veins, rendering them captive, imprisoned in the wolf’s thrall.

  Up on the ramparts, Reinar turned as lightning shattered the sky, seeing the familiar figure of his brother stuck in the mud. ‘Sigurd! Get back to the hall! It’s coming! Hurry! Get inside now!’

  Mother laughed, and it sounded like a clap of thunder rocking the cottage.

  Jumping out of her chair, Falla dropped the drum onto the flames, shrieking in fright.

  Mother spun towards her, jaw slack, eyes aflame, thoughts slow and muddled.

  She was no longer in the forest, crushing the trees, no longer breathing on those rampart walls, terrifying Reinar Vilander and his men.

  She was back in her cottage with Falla.

  The storm retreated like a wave being sucked out to sea. And all those on the ramparts felt the sudden shift in things.

  Reinar held up a hand. ‘Hold!’ he called to Tulia, his hoarse voice suddenly loud.

  He was wet through, dripping. Confused.

  Tulia spun towards him, angry, but she felt it herself: a lightness.

  In the pitch-black night, everything suddenly felt lighter.

  The trees were no longer moving before them. The rampart walk felt solid beneath her feet.

  Something had changed.

  She
held her breath, eyes on Reinar, waiting to see what would happen next.

  13

  Sigurd felt confused as he made his way back to the hall; wet through, covered in mud, and irritated. Quickly running out of energy.

  And then he saw a flickering light, a warm glow seeping under a door, and he turned, limping towards it.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Mother spat, slapping Falla across the face, knocking her down to her knees. ‘What were you thinking, you stupid little bitch?’

  Falla scrambled back to her feet, ready to attack the old crone. She wasn’t about to be beaten like a nuisance dog. Like a weak wife. That was not who she was. Dark hair sweeping across her shuddering back, she curled her hands into fists.

  Mother gathered her senses quickly, her mind and body becoming one again. She threw off the wolf hood, leaving it on the ground, incensed, blood surging around her body; hot and angry and ready for violence.

  Falla dropped her shoulders, uncurling her fists, quickly realising that Mother was an enemy not worth making. She held her face, wincing. ‘It was an accident.’

  Mother spat on the flames. ‘I was not finished!’

  Falla could tell. ‘The noise surprised me. I... I got a fright.’ Her thoughts were cloaked in a haze, and they felt disordered, her tongue thick in her mouth. She didn’t feel as though she was making any sense. ‘I thought it was here. Behind me.’

  Mother glared at her, hand out as though she was grasping a cup. She stumbled back onto a stool, waiting. And hurrying to the water jug, Falla poured a cup of cool liquid, rushing it into Mother’s hand. ‘Open that door,’ Mother breathed, not wanting the door opened at all. But there was no point now.

  It was over.

  Falla opened the door, taking a long breath of cold air, feeling the rain on her face, wishing she was in bed with Lief’s giant arm around her, his heart beating steadily beneath her hand.