by A. E. Rayne
‘They’ll expect some things, I’m sure,’ Hakon grinned. ‘And we’ll have plenty to show them, won’t we? Now, come on, Ivan, this is our last night. Our last chance to toast to our success tomorrow. Stop sucking your thumb and let’s have a drink!’
Ivan could barely raise a smile, but he nodded. ‘That’s the best thing you’ve said all day.’
Hakon laughed, slapping him on the back, eager to get to his tent.
Already thinking about taking off Reinar Vilander’s head.
Winter led Alys away from the square.
She was certain now that the cat was trying to show her something.
To take her somewhere.
Night had fallen over the fort like a black curtain, stars shimmering, a moon full and ringed in yellow glowing high above her head, as Alys crept down the narrow alley between two rows of rundown cottages. Here, it appeared, was where the poorer folks of Ottby lived; the servants and slaves who had little say over their own miserable lives, and no resources with which to change them.
The stink down here was intense, Alys thought, trying not to gag. It smelled as though every latrine in Ottby had been built in the same place. Eyes watering, she blinked, realising that Winter was no longer in front of her.
‘Where you going?’ came a sharp voice.
And turning to her left, Alys saw a toothless old woman watching her from a doorway; another face at the window beside her, peering out just as curiously. Shadowy and dark though it may have been, Alys could tell that they looked filthy. Famished.
‘I’m just looking for my cat.’
The old woman laughed. ‘Likely someone’s tooken it already. Had it for their supper!’
Alys hurried on, not wanting to fall even further behind.
The smoke was getting stronger; she could hear more voices now, louder, rougher. And turning the corner, Alys swallowed, wondering if Winter had merely been running away.
‘Are you lost, dreamer?’
Alys spun around, recognising the voice, shivers running up her arms. ‘No. I’m looking for my cat.’
‘You have a cat? Well, you are making yourself at home, aren’t you?’ Torvig sneered, coming closer.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alys asked, backing away. The alley was narrow and dark, and she felt frightened. The moon shone down on Torvig’s head, distorting his face with shadows, making it look gruesome. Menacing.
She wondered if it was a distortion at all.
‘Me? Well, that would be none of your business. Though, being a dreamer, isn’t that something you should already know?’ Torvig stepped forward, until he was close enough to touch her, and reaching out a hand, he grabbed her arm. ‘Why don’t I help you back to the hall? You do seem very lost.’
Alys tried to move, but his grip was firm. She felt hot all over, panic flooding her body as Torvig leaned his face down to hers. ‘Reinar will be expecting me!’ she blurted out, trying to pull away from him. ‘He’ll wonder where I am!’
It was the wrong thing to say, and Torvig laughed. ‘Reinar’s on the wall. Will be for hours yet. He won’t be expecting you. No one will be.’ And keeping one hand wrapped around Alys’ arm, he raised his other hand to her face. ‘No one will miss you at all.’
Alys was immediately back in Ullaberg, in her cottage, Arnon before her, towering over her, eyes aflame with anger, and she couldn’t move.
She needed to run, but she couldn’t move.
Her heart beat faster, her ears buzzing.
‘Alys?’
Alys turned her head. ‘Ludo!’
Ludo was there quickly, but Torvig had already dropped Alys’ arm, stepping away from her.
‘Appears the dreamer got herself a little lost down here. Not quite the place for it,’ Torvig laughed, moving around Ludo, ready to leave. ‘Reinar really should clear this shit heap out once and for all.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘Since you’re here, though, you may as well help her find her cat.’ And bobbing his head at Alys, Torvig slipped around the corner.
‘Alys?’ Ludo stared down at her. ‘Are you alright?’
But Alys wasn’t listening, for she had seen a flash of white fur. And body trembling, she ran away from Ludo, towards the cat. ‘Yes! Fine! I’m fine!’
Winter led her towards an outbuilding.
The moon shone brightly overhead, and Alys could see a plough, which appeared to be in pieces; some tools, rusty and abandoned. The straw reeked, and she was reluctant to step inside, but Winter had sat down now, staring at her.
‘What have you got there?’ she wondered, unsure whether to feel foolish or intrigued. She was chasing a cat, believing it had something to show her. Something important.
A cat?
Alys approached it cautiously, one hand out in front of her, feet shuffling through the straw with trepidation, not wanting to stand on something sharp.
The cat bounced away, revealing... hay bales.
Alys turned to scowl at Winter, who stared at her from a distance now. He didn’t budge, and so she ventured forward, hands in the hay, rummaging around.
They weren’t hay bales, Alys realised quickly, just clumps of hay covering something. She pulled them away, throwing them onto the straw, staring at a small iron chest. It was not large, but it did look ancient. And placing a hand on its lid, Alys felt a jolt, as though something familiar existed inside.
Shaking her head, she tried to focus. The night was cold, and her teeth were chattering, and she was suddenly worried that Torvig might not have gone away.
Swallowing, Alys lifted the lid, listening to it creak, both relieved and surprised when it opened. She glanced around, conscious of how loud the creak had sounded. But Alys couldn’t see anyone. She couldn’t hear anyone either. And turning back, she reached into the chest, running her hands around, grabbing hold of something.
Rocking back on her heels, she lifted up what appeared to be a cloak.
She dug back inside the chest, confused. The cloak was black, hooded, and long. It didn’t appear extraordinary in any way, and Alys felt a profound sense of disappointment sink her hopes. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but whatever it was, it was most certainly not a smelly old cloak.
Turning back to the cat, she was surprised to see him come forward, sitting beside her now, watching her.
Perhaps he just wanted some milk?
She folded the cloak, ready to stuff it back inside the chest, but Winter jumped up at it, catching his claws in the fabric, snatching it out of Alys’ hand.
Alys’ surprise quickly turned to amazement as she looked down at the cloak Winter had pulled open, seeing the tiny symbols embroidered across its lining.
41
Alys placed the cloak over the end of the bed. The chamber in the hall was bright and surprisingly large for a room not in use. The bed was generous in size – enough for two people to enjoy – and she turned to Eddeth with a smile. ‘You should sleep in the bed too.’
Eddeth had her eyes closed, lying on the floor, a pillow beneath her head, fur pulled up to her chin, exposing her bare feet. ‘I don’t like wriggling.’
Alys tried not to laugh. ‘You’ve never shared a bed with anyone, then? You never had a husband?’
Eddeth opened one eye. ‘Oh, I had three.’
‘Three?’
Eddeth closed her eye again, scowling. ‘Useless sods, all of them. I gave up after number three ran off with my neighbour. Never been happier!’
Alys stared at her, wondering what it would feel like to be happy.
Wondering if she knew.
‘That cloak is special,’ Eddeth murmured, her body entering a slumberous state. She sighed deeply. ‘So special. And tomorrow, I’ll show you how.’
Alys sat down on the bed, watching her for a time, then turning to the cloak, she lifted it open, running her fingers over the stitching. Alys was transfixed. The tiny symbols were so fine it was as though they had been woven with spiderwebs.
And yawning now, she slipped into t
he bed, rolling onto her side, closing her eyes, trying not to think about Reinar.
Reinar knew that standing still would only make him colder. The brazier in front of him had burned down, and he couldn’t feel any heat from it at all.
Yet he didn’t move.
He stared at the dark lump of forest in the distance, trying to imagine what Hakon Vettel was doing; wondering if he was sleeping or creeping through the trees with his men, preparing their assault. Reinar smiled, doubting he could even move a frozen arm to reach for his sword if he was.
He was tired and his eyes hurt, but the thought of traipsing back through the fort only to lie in his empty bed all alone wasn’t appealing. Thinking about his bed reminded him of his wife, and he wondered if she was safe. Agnette had been worried about what she would do; worried that she would hurt herself. Reinar hoped she wouldn’t, though he couldn’t blame Elin for feeling drowned in grief. Sometimes it was hard to keep it at bay. He knew that himself. But he was the Lord of Ottby, responsible for the safety of all those who called the fortress their home. Responsible for his family and his friends too. For holding the bridge to Stornas, and keeping Alekka safe from those who sought it harm.
He was not the only man grieving, but his grieving was for another day.
Reinar closed his eyes, feeling the cold night rattling his bones.
Seeing Alys’ face.
Her nose felt like a block of ice.
Alys had slipped her hand out of her woolly mitten, feeling around, checking that it was still there, attached to her face.
‘Put that back on!’ her mother scolded with a smile. ‘Here.’ And taking her hand from around Alys’ back, she tugged the mitten back on. ‘Whatever happened to the other blue mitten?’ she wondered softly. ‘Now you don’t match at all. One blue, one green. Like the sea.’ And wrapping her arm around Alys again, she resettled the furs, pulling her closer.
Alys didn’t know where they were going, but she lay her head against her mother’s arm, watching the trees rush overhead like shadows. It was so quiet, she thought, just the sound of hooves drumming against the snow, the sleigh whooshing beneath her.
They were being taken somewhere.
A man had sent the sleigh, Alys remembered.
‘We must be careful,’ her mother warned, tucking her in close. ‘So careful, my darling. The wolf is always lurking. Waiting. Watching.’ Her eyes were on the trees, blurring before her, wondering what was out there, watching them.
‘What wolf?’ Alys wanted to know. She wriggled, eager to sit up. She was small, five years old. She couldn’t see over the edge of the sleigh.
But she wanted to.
‘What wolf?’ she panicked, heart racing now.
‘The one sent to kill you.’
Alys swallowed, everything going dark, her mother lost, all warmth gone now. She didn’t know where she was, just floating, feet dangling, drifting in the darkness. Moving now, up and up, a slow, torturous climb, before falling, tumbling down in a rush.
She felt sick; waves of darkness not letting her go.
Then a light, like sun hitting the water, glinting before her, and she was on a ship, bare feet touching wooden boards.
He was laughing, pointing to the village in the distance, happy. He wrapped an arm around Alys’ back. ‘Now we’re free!’ The arm was like ice. It was strong and hard. Alys was not free. The arm held her tightly.
She was not free at all.
‘Come to me, my love.’
And turning, feeling the arm release, Alys saw Arnon standing before her. He was younger; no scars on his face. His hair was longer, lighter. He looked at her with desire and need, and she walked towards him, unable to stop.
Tears fell from her eyes, but she knew she had to go to him.
Her children.
She had to go to him.
They were standing in front of a bed. Not their old cottage. Another place they had first taken together. Barely the size of a chamber.
Arnon was grinning, slipping off his tunic, wriggling it over his head. ‘Come on,’ he laughed, throwing it on the floor. ‘We can try out the bed. I won’t hurt you, I promise. You’ll like it.’ He pulled back the furs, patting the mattress, turning back to her. ‘Come on!’
Alys froze, eyes on the enormous wolf tattoo curling over his torso, up to his neck.
‘Beware the wolf, my darling,’ her mother whispered, ‘for it was sent to kill you.’
Torvig relieved Reinar, who was too tired and cold to do much more than grunt in passing. He rubbed his eyes as he walked back to the hall, finally ready to fall into his bed, but not for long. He knew that a little sleep would help him think clearly, though he almost doubted he could.
He saw the familiar shadow of Tulia just ahead, and hearing footsteps, she turned around, waiting for him.
‘Sigurd’s up on the wall?’
Tulia nodded. She could barely speak, too cold to stand around talking for long, so she started walking towards the hall again. ‘Who took over from you?’
‘Torvig.’ Reinar heard her growl. ‘You don’t have to like him, but he’s on our side. Not our enemy. Sometimes I think you forget that.’
Tiredness made it harder for Tulia to speak with care. ‘Sometimes, I think you choose not to see what’s right in front of you.’
Reinar stopped, hand out. ‘Meaning?’
Tulia shook her head, waking herself up. ‘We need sleep. Both of us. There’s no point starting something now.’
‘About Torvig?’
And then Tulia couldn’t stop herself. ‘You don’t see what everyone else does. How he really is. You must be one of only a handful of people who can even stand to be around him, Reinar. No one knows why.’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose they do –’
Reinar cut her off. ‘You’re right, no point starting something now. Best we sleep on it. I can’t even hold my eyes open.’ He felt irritable, tired of people complaining about Torvig, though most didn’t usually do it to his face. ‘Hakon will be at the walls soon. Torvig shouldn’t be on either of our minds, Tulia.’ And he stepped away from her before he said any more.
Tulia watched him go, too tired to be annoyed. She looked around, eyes on the tall inner wall, thinking about what Alys had said. Wondering why she’d been screaming in her dream.
Trying to imagine what dawn would bring.
It was still dark when Lotta heard the first sounds of movement outside.
She lay on the ground, on her side, staring at the tent flap, listening to horses stirring, boots crunching frost-covered earth. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, and she saw a glimpse of Magnus, lying next to two men. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to see who the men were, wanting to know if Magnus was safe. But she saw nothing more.
Feeling tears coming, she opened her eyes, trying to blink them away.
Mother had muttered loudly for most of the night, as though she was talking to someone, and Lotta had struggled to fall asleep. She felt sick, and her throat hurt, which worried her, though likely it was only from all that stinking smoke.
The tent flap opened slowly, the familiar face of Ulrick Dyre peeking inside. Lotta closed her eyes quickly, not wanting him to find her awake.
He froze, barely breathing, eyes on the tiny bundle on the floor, ears alert to any movement. The old woman lay on a cot bed; he saw the enormous mound of her in one corner. Lotta lay nearer the entrance, and if he could just...
‘Ulrick!’ Ivan hissed from behind him. ‘That’s not going to end well for you!’
Ulrick spun around, letting the tent flap drop. In the darkness, Ivan was just a shadow, but an annoying one. He sighed. ‘I suppose not, but you can’t expect me to just walk away from the girl. I found her. She’s mine.’
Ivan headed to the nearest fire, hands out, yawning. ‘If I were you, I’d forget you ever saw her. Don’t tangle with that dreamer. I’ve seen what she can do. You take something of hers, you’ll live to regret it.’ Ivan tripped over
a rock, just keeping to his feet. ‘Or possibly, you won’t live at all. She’s not in a very good mood from what I hear.’
Ulrick followed him to the fire, shuddering with cold. He felt as though his beard had frozen in the night. His limbs certainly had, and he walked stiffly, not wanting to hear Ivan’s advice.
Hakon waited with Lief, both of them jiggling legs, trying to warm themselves up. Falla fussed around the fire, begrudgingly stirring a cauldron of porridge, wishing she was still in bed.
No one wanted porridge.
‘Ale would be good,’ Lief said to his wife. ‘Feels like my tongue’s frozen to the roof of my mouth!’
Hakon grinned. ‘Feels like my balls have frozen to my leg!’
Ivan’s foul mood had been soothed by sleep and the warm company of his servant, whose naked body had draped over him like a fur all night. He smiled, looking forward to returning to her to celebrate their victory. ‘You should have kept them moving last night,’ he smirked. ‘I’m sure there were many willing takers to warm them up!’
Hakon laughed, pleased to hear Ivan sound like Ivan again. He took a cup of ale from Falla, ready for another three.
‘Let’s be quick about it,’ Ivan said, turning to his horse. ‘I want to go before they’re awake and waiting. Before the sun reveals everything.’
Eddeth didn’t want to disturb Alys, who she’d heard tossing and turning for much of the night, but she was fascinated by the cloak. She had lit the lamps early, though they were not bright, both of them emitting just a dark-orange glow. The floor creaked as she moved towards the bed, hand out, wanting to touch it, to run her fingers over the delicate symbols embroidered inside.
