by A. E. Rayne
Magnus wished that Leonid was slightly less dramatic. He grabbed his arm, leaning towards his ear. ‘They might have good hearing, Leonid. You should whisper.’ He remembered Lotta, who couldn’t whisper either, and he felt sad. ‘I found the woman, you know. The one Long Beard was taking my sister to.’
‘Oh?’ Leonid was eager to take his mind off his aching nose and his empty belly, and the looming promise of certain death. ‘Did you see your sister, then?’
‘No. They’re not here yet, but she hoped they would be soon. He’s one of Hakon Vettel’s men, she said. One of his most valued warriors.’
Leonid swallowed. ‘Well, that can’t be good, Magnus, for he’s a cruel lord. A cruel lord indeed.’ Tears welled in his eyes, and he dropped his head forward, not wanting to cry, knowing how badly it would block his nose again.
‘What happened? Leonid? What did he do?’
‘To me? Nothing,’ Leonid sighed, lifting his head. ‘But he... killed my father. Him and his men. Raped my mother, then killed her too. They tore through our village like wildfire when they came down from Orbo.’ Now Leonid couldn’t stop his tears. ‘I was in the forest with my younger brothers. My mother, she...’ He started sobbing, just thinking about it. ‘She sent us berry picking. She was going to make a cake for my father’s birthday. It would have been a surprise. He liked cake.’ And then his nose blocked and he couldn’t breathe.
‘I’m sorry.’ Magnus felt like crying himself. ‘I’m very sorry for you, Leonid. What happened to your brothers?’
Leonid lifted his head. ‘They’re still there. We made a pyre, tidied things up, got back to work. My father was the village silversmith. A very skilled man indeed. He taught me everything he knew, so I carried on. This was a few years ago now. But my brothers are young, only eleven and thirteen. They’ll be on their own, wondering why I haven’t returned. I look after them, you see. Feed them, keep them clothed and warm.’ He became anxious again, shuffling around fretfully. ‘What was I thinking, getting into an argument with that man? What was I thinking!’
‘Shut your fucking mouth!’ came a grumbling voice. ‘Or you won’t be doing any thinking soon!’
Leonid clamped his lips together, grateful for Magnus’ sympathy.
Wondering if he was ever going to see his brothers again.
16
Darkness had fallen rapidly, and not waiting to find anywhere more suitable, they had camped amongst the trees. It wasn’t really a clearing, and shelters and fires had been erected haphazardly in clumps where they could find enough space amongst the tangled tree roots. It was snowing again, and even Ivan was losing his smile.
He turned to Alys, who shivered behind him in the dark. He had taken her away into the trees, wanting to talk privately. And though he could sense her desire to leave, he hurried on. ‘My cousin is... not feeling himself, I think. Since the battle. Since his wound. He thinks Eddeth’s a dreamer.’ Ivan peered at Alys. ‘Is she a dreamer?’ He wasn’t sure what he wanted to be true.
Alys shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, she’s not, but she has good instincts, and a way with herbs, as you’ve seen. And maggots,’ she grinned. It helped to have Ivan on their side, Alys knew. Hakon wasn’t right, and she could sense a darkness around him, as though it was trying to consume him.
There was no one for Ivan to talk to. He couldn’t share his concerns with Lief, and despite his closeness to his men, he would not speak to them about Hakon.
He couldn’t.
But Alys?
Ivan sighed, shoulders tense. He turned, hearing a shout as a shelter fell down, two men arguing over whose fault it was. ‘Hakon thinks the gods have abandoned him. Us. The Vettels.’
‘Abandoned you?’
‘The gods choose the Kings of Alekka, and if they no longer want my family on the throne?’ Ivan shuddered, feeling oddly lost. ‘It’s all we’ve known. All we heard about from our fathers. All we’ve fought for since we were boys.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And if those men hear about it, what will happen then?’ He blinked, realising what he’d just revealed to a complete stranger. Grabbing her arm, Ivan pulled Alys close. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Not a soul.’
‘I... I wouldn’t.’ Alys could sense the change in him. She could hear his thoughts stampeding around his head. He was afraid. Afraid he’d done the wrong thing, trusting her. ‘But, Ivan, I...’ Alys didn’t want to help the Vettels, but she needed to find a way to extract herself from this mess before anyone found out that she was a dreamer.
And then an explosion of noise as a flock of birds took off all at once, shattering the silence, a flurry of dark feathers flapping into the dusk sky.
‘What was that?’ Ivan shoved Alys behind him, hand slipping inside his cloak, head swivelling. ‘Where are they going?’
The echo of the birds’ grating cries reverberated around the forest, and Alys turned, trying to hear anything else, hoping to sense what was out there. The tree canopy above their heads, dark with shadows, shook angrily as though disrupted by a furious storm.
And then nothing.
Ivan’s breath smoked around his face as he turned back to Alys, trying to smile. ‘At least it’s not the vatyr!’ he laughed, though his eyes blinked rapidly, full of fear. ‘What were you going to say before?’
‘Just that your cousin has been through a lot. When something happens to our body, it can also affect our mind.’ She smiled, wanting to encourage him to take her back to the camp. ‘He needs time to feel like himself again.’
Ivan sighed, knowing that was true. ‘And in the meantime? What if the gods send more evil spirits after us?’
Alys was worried about that too, but she kept her smile going. ‘We can only cope with what’s before us, not try to imagine the future, for that is in the hands of the gods.’
Sigurd saw Tulia’s face as Ilene bent to kiss him.
He had no idea why Ilene was kissing him, except that she’d wanted to kiss him, and he was too drunk to see that it was a bad idea.
Was it a bad idea?
Ilene was lonely and sad, he was broken-hearted and rudderless, and she had a way about her that made it almost impossible to resist doing what she wanted. So he hadn’t resisted, and now he lay beneath her, in his bed, seeing Tulia’s face. He felt confused and sad, his attention wandering to Alys, wondering why she hadn’t seen what would happen to Tulia.
Wondering why she hadn’t warned her...
Ilene appeared to be enjoying herself, Sigurd thought groggily, feeling like a horse being ridden at pace. She was not like Tulia, though Tulia had very much liked to sit on top of him too. She’d been like a sleek cat, wild and exotic, leaving him breathless. Ilene was like a bear, angry and aggressive, and Sigurd found himself becoming more distracted by the moment.
‘Sigurd?’ Bending forward, Ilene kissed him again, finally sensing his unease. ‘What is it?’ He was handsome, she thought. The lord’s brother. And with all the trouble brewing in Alekka, there was always a good chance that a lord’s brother would one day become the lord himself.
And every lord most certainly needed a wife.
‘I...’ Sigurd didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think, so, gripping the back of Ilene’s head, he pulled her to him, kissing her roughly, wanting respite from all the faces and the voices and the soul-crushing regrets most of all.
And closing his eyes, he flipped Ilene over, desperate to make the pain go away.
Reinar heard them through the wall.
He glanced at Elin, who sat before him, sipping her wine, eyes on the flames.
She looked sad.
Sensing her husband watching her, Elin lifted her head. ‘Sigurd’s moved on rather quickly.’
‘Not moved on. He’s trying to feel better.’
‘Sounds like he’s feeling rather good right now.’
Reinar grinned as the rhythmic noises became impossible to ignore, the headboard banging against the wall now. ‘Not sure Gerda will be. No doubt she’ll be lying in bed with
a pillow over her head. Just her luck that Liara’s finally quiet.’
Elin laughed. ‘Poor Gerda!’ Her laugh faded quickly, though, her sadness returning. ‘It’s so strange without Tulia. Without Torvig. Ottby doesn’t feel the same anymore.’
‘No, it doesn’t. And more missing besides.’
Leaving her cup on the table, Elin clasped Reinar’s hand. ‘When will we leave? For Slussfall?’
‘Seven days, I hope, depending on how quickly we can organise ourselves. We can’t give the Vettels time to settle in. We want to hit them hard before they’ve had time to recover.’
‘Did they lose a lot of men?’
‘They did. We had a pile of bodies to burn. But not just men. They left behind siege towers and catapults. Oxen. Weapons. Tents. Horses. Even servants. They ran out of here like Thenor himself was chasing them.’ Reinar pulled Elin to her feet, not wanting to talk about the Vettels anymore. ‘Perhaps we should head for bed?’
‘You think we can sleep through that?’
‘They sound almost finished to me, and no, I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all.’
Elin smiled, wrapping her arms around Reinar’s waist, tipping back her head as he bent down to kiss her. He was like hugging a tree, a fur-covered tree, with the tenderest lips. And feeling them on hers, Elin closed her eyes, smiling.
Ivan had hurried away to talk to his men, and Alys had headed back into the trees, wanting to escape, but not from the camp – she couldn’t leave Eddeth and Stina behind – just from the noise and distractions. Someone was out there, hiding in the darkness, taunting her. She trembled as she walked, one hand out, trying not to lose her balance.
Someone was out there, watching her, and she needed to know who it was.
Stopping, Alys placed her hands on a tree trunk, trying to calm her mind. She thought of the trees in Ottby’s forest, symbols hidden by their roots. She thought too of Valera’s Tree, and Valera herself.
That goddess had helped her kill an evil dreamer.
But could she help her now?
Closing her eyes, Alys listened, thoughts blurring into crashing waves of terror, her heart beating faster. She saw horses stampeding through the forest, heard the urgent cries of birds above her head, the screams of men in pain, the tall figure of that god turning away from her, chuckling.
And eyes bursting open, Alys couldn’t catch her breath.
Rikkard had been in and out of the tent so many times that Hakon finally bellowed at him to go away. The boy had left him a cup of ale, a plate of berries, a selection of nuts, and pieces of what might have been venison. Some cheese too.
Though he wasn’t hungry.
He thought of Mother, looking at the empty tree stump before him, almost seeing her sitting there, growling at him. Scolding him.
Helping him.
She had always been helping herself, he knew, but as long as it got him where he wanted to be, he hadn’t cared.
And now, without her?
He felt blind, worried about the attack on the camp, unable to see what was coming next, thinking about Slussfall.
In pain.
‘Alys!’ Stina exclaimed, squeezing her hand. ‘You’re frozen solid! Come to the fire!’ She tugged Alys along, quickly realising that their fire was almost out, assaulted by snow. Eddeth didn’t appear to notice as she hopped about, stirring the stew. She had added some ale and herbs from her saddlebag, a few of the mushrooms she’d foraged for too. And despite Stina feeling slightly put out that Eddeth had elbowed her out of the way and taken over, she had to admit that it smelled more enticing now. ‘Sit,’ she ordered. ‘Stay there, and I’ll get you a bowl.’
Alys wasn’t hungry.
She was still hearing voices.
Women’s voices. More than one.
It was as though they were hiding from her, sneaking behind one tree, rushing to the next. Playing. Alys blinked, remembering what Eddeth had said about the gods being like children.
Stina was talking to her, but she sounded so far away.
Eddeth turned her face up to the blizzard, mouth open, letting the snow settle on her tongue. She spun around, swallowing it, eyes bright above the dying flames.
And Alys heard Valera’s voice, as though it was coming from Eddeth herself. ‘The wolf did not kill you, Alys, but the boar might. Watch yourself now, for you are in danger, and here, I cannot protect you. I cannot protect you from Hakon Vettel and what he might do if he finds out the truth...’
‘Eat!’ Eddeth ordered, sounding like herself again, shoving a bowl of steaming stew at a shivering Alys. ‘After that day, we all need something hot in our bellies!’ She didn’t even wait before hurrying back for her own bowl.
The boar.
Alys slowly turned her head, seeking out Hakon’s tent, his red banners fluttering from spears dug into the frozen ground, threatening to fly away; the angry boar’s jaw open, teeth exposed.
She thought of Magnus and Lotta, trying to picture their faces.
She could feel her heartbeat slow, the warmth of the bowl thawing her frozen fingers, the shout from Eddeth as she burned her tongue.
And swallowing, Alys dug her spoon into the thick stew, still looking at Hakon’s tent, knowing that more than anything, she needed to find a dream.
The baby cried so often that Agnette was sure she was only sleeping for moments at a time. There was no chance to feel rested, no chance to dream. She peered at Bjarni, who was staring at the rafters, listening to his daughter’s ear-piercing wail.
‘I need her to cry herself to sleep,’ Agnette whispered in his ear.
‘Do you, though?’ Bjarni wasn’t convinced it was a strategy that would result in him getting much sleep before dawn came to start another day. ‘She’s upset. Hungry.’
‘She’s tired, can’t you hear?’ Agnette had been looking after children since she was a child herself. She had good instincts, though being so tired, she was beginning to doubt herself.
Bjarni didn’t need to know that, though.
‘Well, I’m tired, so perhaps I should cry too?’ he grumbled, feeling cross.
Agnette snuggled up to him, enjoying how much closer she could get to her husband without her enormous belly getting in the way. ‘You can cry, I wouldn’t blame you.’ She smiled, closing her eyes, trying to imagine that Liara was a bird flying above the hall. A raven. A tired raven, just wanting to find shelter, somewhere to sleep undisturbed.
‘How are you sleeping through that?’ Bjarni wondered, peering at Agnette.
She kept her eyes closed, certain that she could sleep through a battle. ‘Well, in a few hours she’ll be hungry again, so I have to at least pretend. Wouldn’t hurt you to try.’
Bjarni was surprised that she remained so perfectly still, her eyes closed. ‘You’re sure we shouldn’t pick her up?’ he whispered as the wailing intensified, tugging at his heartstrings. ‘Something might be wrong.’
‘You do remember training your old dogs, don’t you? Babies are no different.’
‘You think we should put her out in the barn too?’
Agnette smiled. ‘Go to sleep, Bjarni Sansgard. That Ilene looks like the sort of woman who might wake Sigurd up and have another go at him. This might be our only chance!’
Bjarni wriggled down in the bed, shuffling closer to Agnette, clasping her hand in his. And, weary body sinking into the mattress, he closed his eyes.
‘Soon, you’ll miss this. When Liara is too busy to even look at us, or talk to us. Don’t wish it all away just yet...’
Bjarni smiled, squeezing her hand, letting the not-at-all-soothing cries of his daughter lull him to sleep.
‘When you were a baby, I used to rub your back,’ came the familiar voice. ‘It was the only way you’d fall asleep. I tried to get you to suck your thumb. Your mother liked to suck her thumb, but not you, Alys, you liked to scream.’ The woman chuckled softly.
Alys crept closer, into the bedchamber.
Her bedchamber.
The s
hadowy figure stood over the crib. Alys could see the glow of a lamp behind her.
‘You were always mine. Mine to love and care for. Mine to keep safe. But, in the end, I couldn’t. I tried so hard, my darling girl, but I couldn’t. And now you’re lost. Trapped. And they’re all coming for you.’
Alys stepped closer, reaching out a hand, wanting to touch the woman, to turn her around.
And then Eddeth shoved a hand over her mouth, waking her up, lifting a finger to her lips. Alys nodded, still half asleep, heart racing as Eddeth took her hand away, motioning for Alys to follow her. They were sleeping near the servants, and they had to shuffle around the maze of women, trying not to topple over, which was challenging for Eddeth, who had terrible balance. Eventually, they made it into some space. And blowing on her hands, trying to warm them up, Eddeth headed for the trees, Alys following after her.
The snow had stopped, though it had settled deeply, and Alys was quickly conscious that her boots were submerged in it. ‘What is it?’ she asked, shuddering with cold.
‘You tell me!’ Eddeth hissed. ‘You’re the one calling out in your sleep. You’re the one saying something’s coming!’
‘Did I?’
They froze, eyes on each other, hearing that familiar drumming again.
Not drumming, Alys realised, quickly blinking herself awake.
It wasn’t drumming this time.
It sounded like hooves...
17
Hakon groaned, his sleep disturbed by unbearable pain and nightmares so dark that he was desperate to wake up. And then the mournful call of a horn echoed in the distance, and he jerked awake, gripping his fur, conscious that Rikkard was moving around, trying to light a lamp.
Njall burst into the tent, breath smoke pumping. ‘Get up, my lord! Hurry! Something’s coming!’
