by A. E. Rayne
But which boxes, Meena wondered, letting her mind wander. The Book of Darkness was in there, she knew, locked in an iron chest.
But the ring?
She had not seen what Draguta had done with that.
And when she found it...
Meena swallowed, sweat pooling along her upper lip. She wiped it away, thinking about how quickly night would come. Once they stopped and set up camp, she would have an opportunity to find out where it was.
Edela had been visiting Kayla and Aedan, taking some time away from the hall and the worries of trying to outmanoeuvre dangerous dreamers and the dark magic of their ancient books. Biddy’s urgent face at the door had her on her toes, though, racing back through the square.
And when she arrived in Marcus’ chamber, Hanna was sobbing, holding her father’s hand. Entorp and Derwa stood at the foot of the bed, silent. Edela took one look at their faces, and her shoulders dropped.
Hanna’s tears flowed with even greater force as she looked at the old dreamer. ‘Someone has to do something. Please! Edela? Someone has to do something!’ Letting go of Marcus’ hand, she rubbed the tears out of her eyes, reaching for Edela. ‘Please!’
Edela grasped her hands. ‘Let me see. Let me see.’ And she allowed Hanna to lead her to the bed where Marcus lay. She caught Derwa’s eyes and saw the resignation in them. And when she reached out a hand to Marcus’ head, she felt that he was slipping away. ‘Hanna,’ Edela soothed, squeezing her hand, trying to get her attention. ‘Come here now, and say goodbye. Tell him everything. Do it now.’
Hanna looked horrified, shocked. ‘But... I...’
Edela pushed her forward and slipped out of the way, leaving Hanna to take Marcus’ hand again.
‘I love you,’ Hanna sobbed. ‘I wish... I wish we had... I wish...’ She couldn’t go on, not believing that any of it could be real. ‘I don’t blame you. I love you.’ And she threw herself onto her father’s chest, wrapping her arms around him, wanting to hold onto him, to keep him with her. ‘Please don’t go. Please! No!’
Biddy came into the room with Berard who watched as Hanna suddenly stopped crying, standing up, realising that her father had stopped breathing.
She was in shock. She didn’t know what to do.
‘Hanna.’ Berard’s voice was soft, and she turned towards it, seeing him, bursting into tears again as he hurried towards her.
‘Berard!’
‘Oh, Hanna, I’m so sorry for you,’ Berard murmured, his arm around her back as she leaned towards him, seeking comfort. ‘So very sorry.’
They followed a babbling stream throughout the afternoon, Jael keeping her eyes on Fyr in the distance, looking back occasionally to check on Ayla and Astrid’s wagon whose wheels were squeaking and creaking behind her.
Raymon had left his men to ride beside Jael, and she was debating what to say to him. Getta and Garren Maas had been lovers. Or perhaps that was only in Garren’s head? She didn’t know, but Garren had insisted that Getta supported his rebellion against her husband. It was something Raymon needed to know.
But not now.
She heard her father’s voice booming in her ears, warning her away.
Their father’s voice.
‘Getta’s not a Furyck.’ Jael couldn’t help herself. She wanted to say something.
Something truthful.
Raymon was surprised. ‘She’s not?’
‘Lothar wasn’t a Furyck. The elderman told me. A dreamer told him. My grandmother had a lover. Lothar’s father.’
‘Oh, that explains a lot. Getta was quiet after we came back from Rissna... about you.’ Raymon looked awkward. ‘Before we left, she was different, angry. I... thought it was just about what had happened in the forest. But perhaps it was more?’
Jael was suddenly focused on Tig who threw up his head, snorting. She glanced around, scanning the trees, listening for anything out of the ordinary. ‘I don’t imagine what happened in the forest helped, but what I told her about Lothar wouldn’t have helped either. I just thought you should know.’
Raymon nodded, though he didn’t say anything.
Jael’s attention wandered.
‘Though likely she was upset about you killing Garren too.’
Jael froze, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
‘They were... close,’ Raymon almost whispered, ‘before we were married. I know that. I suspect it never stopped. Perhaps she was even involved in what he did?’ He looked at Jael, wanting to see some confirmation of his fears.
Not wanting to see a confirmation of his fears.
Jael tried to mask her feelings. ‘She’s your wife. Mother of your son. If you love her, that’s a good thing. You need to think about getting back to her. There’ll be plenty of time to talk about everything then.’
Raymon was almost relieved, wanting to put all thoughts of his wife behind him for now. He needed to concentrate on what was coming. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t stand any chance of making it back to his son.
Hearing a thunder of hooves, Jael turned around as Thorgils pulled his horse in beside her, an attempt at a smile on his face. ‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing, just wanted to stretch out our legs,’ he grinned, patting his chestnut mare. ‘Thought you might like that salt fish now?’ And handing Jael a hard sliver of fish, he gave her a wink before spinning his horse around and thundering back down the line, splattering mud all over her.
‘It’s hard to keep up with him,’ Jael smiled, wiping her face, relieved to have seen a sign of life in Thorgils’ eyes.
Marcus’ death cast a shadow over the fort. There had been so much grief to cope with, but the loss of the Elderman of Tuura affected them all.
Hanna didn’t notice as she stood by Berard who was handing out slices of apple to Halla, Valder, and Lucina Dragos who were orphans, just as she was an orphan now.
It hurt too much to cry. Her throat was sore, her eyes ached, and she wanted to fall down and sleep until the pain went away, but she stood there, beside Berard, listening to the chatter of the children as they munched on their apple slices.
‘Here,’ Biddy said, handing her a cup of ale. ‘Something to drink.’
Hanna took the cup, though she felt sick. She wondered how many cups it would take before she stopped feeling anything at all. ‘Thank you.’
‘All gone!’ Berard exclaimed, holding up his hand. ‘Why don’t you go outside, see if you can find your cousins?’
None of the children looked excited by that idea. Halla shoved the last piece of apple in her mouth with one hand and grabbed Hanna’s hand with the other, squeezing hard.
Hanna blinked, looking down at the little girl, remembering Karsten’s offer. And suddenly, the desire to run away from Brekka and Tuura and the memories of her father was overwhelming. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, turning to Berard. ‘When you go home. If you go home. Karsten asked me to come and help with the children. I will. I’ll come with you.’
Berard looked surprised, glancing down at his tiny niece who was now leaning against Hanna, hoping to be picked up. ‘You will?’
Hanna thought about Aleksander, but he was not hers and never would be. She knew that now. Tears stung her eyes, and she wanted to run back into the chamber where Derwa and Entorp were preparing her father’s body for his pyre, but Halla had her hand and Berard reached out and took the other.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I will.’
Meena wished she’d been left behind with Amma. She thought of how it would feel to be alone in the castle. Alone but for the quiet and amenable servants who would bring her food and then leave her in peace. Who would make her bed and wash her clothes. Perhaps even brush her hair which was a wild bush of matted knots, slightly limp in the heat, sticking to her neck, making her feel even hotter.
She frowned, wondering about Else and Dragmall, hoping they were safe. Though, she realised, glancing around, no one was safe now. Draguta was leading them all to their deaths. Perhaps Jaeger and Eadmund too? They continued to
ride up ahead in silence, side by side to please Draguta, ignoring each other, Briggit and Draguta behind them, chatting occasionally. And Meena was left to ride further back with Evaine, who had gotten her horse under some control now, though she refused to even look at her cousin. She kept her eyes ahead, sometimes looking up at the jagged red cliffs, muttering to herself.
‘Wine!’ Draguta declared, turning around. ‘Don’t you think it’s time for wine, Briggit?’
Briggit nodded, her bronzed face shining with sweat. The heat was growing more unbearable, though Draguta didn’t appear affected. Her skin remained pale and luminescent, not a hint of sun touching it.
Brill was quickly turning her pony around, heading for the first wagon as Draguta called for Eadmund and Jaeger to stop. They all needed a drink and somewhere to shelter from the intense beating of the sun, but there wasn’t even a cloud and on this long, straight and narrow path, no tree either.
Handing her reins to Ballack, Brill dropped down from her pony and hurried into the long covered wagon, returning quickly with two silver goblets of wine.
Draguta stretched out her elegant neck, reaching for one of the goblets. ‘Take some to my kings,’ she ordered ‘I’m sure they are just as parched.’ She made no mention of the equally perspiring Meena and Evaine as she turned back to Briggit. ‘We must think of something to entertain ourselves with on this tedious journey. I want to keep our friends on their toes. We cannot let them think that we’ve forgotten about them, can we? No, that will simply not do!’
Briggit lifted an eyebrow, excited by the thought of it.
Meena didn’t like wine, but she would have drunk from a puddle at that moment, watching Brill hurry past her with two more goblets; red liquid slopping over silver rims. Her mouth dropped open, and she could taste the dust in her throat.
Draguta turned around to glare at her. ‘Close that gaping mouth. I do not wish to look inside it!’
Meena wanted to scream. She blinked, surprised by the rush of anger that pulsed inside her melting body, surging towards her temples. Holding her breath, she waited for Draguta to spin around and glare at her some more.
But she didn’t.
Dragmall and Else’s journey had been beset by problems. Everything appeared to be conspiring against them making any progress. Their most recent mishap had been an issue with a wheel that had stranded them in a tiny village dug into the side of a mountain for nearly two days.
Dragmall was beside himself at the delay, frantic to get going again, because he’d had a dream. He had been up at dawn, urging the wheelwright to finish his repairs, and now, as the sun was heading for its peak, they were well on their way again, leaving the village of Gamla far behind.
‘If only I’d known you were a dreamer,’ Else grinned, bouncing along on the seat next to Dragmall, trying not to bite her tongue as she nibbled on a flatbread. ‘I’d have come to you for some advice years ago, and not ended up in Draguta’s clutches!’ She frowned suddenly. ‘Why did you stay in Hest? Did you not see what was coming?’
Dragmall looked uncomfortable, his attention on the path ahead. Their wagon was wide, and the path appeared to be narrowing to a rather challenging degree. He had travelled this way before but not for years, and rockslides had changed the landscape over time. Many of the paths were new, dug around those which had fallen away or been blocked by boulders, but none were as wide as the older ones, he was sure.
He was starting to worry that they would have to abandon the wagon, and if that happened, they would most assuredly not arrive in time.
‘I did not see everything, Else. I would have intervened if I had. But I always knew that the shield would be required one day. I knew that I must keep myself safe, able to help when the time came. And returning to Helsabor would have been too dangerous. There are no volkas left there anymore.’
‘No. And no Followers now that Draguta has captured them.’
‘Well, I doubt anyone will cry about that.’
‘And what was this dream you had last night, then?’ Else wondered suddenly. ‘Something good, I hope? Something about Meena?’
‘It was.’ Dragmall gave Else his first smile of the day, and he was pleased to see how happy it made her.
‘Really? Is she alright?’ Else almost stood up. ‘Is she safe?’
Dragmall shrugged, sweltering in his cloak, though better to be sweltering, he’d decided, than burned to a crisp as Else was. Even his hood was up, trying to hide his face from the scorching sun. ‘I don’t think Meena will be safe while Draguta lives. But she is alive, riding with her, I saw that.’
Else slumped backwards, relieved. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased, Dragmall. So pleased!’
‘Yes, but now we must get to her.’
‘Must we?’
‘Mmmm, Meena is on her way to the Vale of the Gods. And that, my dear Else, is where we must head, and quickly!’
Else shivered, biting her lip as a wheel hit a rock. ‘The Vale of the Gods?’ She’d heard stories about that sacred place. A place where the gods had waged their battles.
Few humans ever went there.
Until now.
41
Nagging thoughts were not just nagging thoughts for dreamers.
Edela knew that.
They were lost memories that needed to be reclaimed. And not reclaiming them was starting to become a bad habit. It was age. And weakness. Both of those things were true. The exhaustion of terror and panic. Worry too.
But there was no time for any of it. She had to find a way through. Back to the place where her dreams were waiting for her.
If only she could get more sleep.
Ontine and Eydis had been dreaming, and some of what they had seen was helpful, but Edela was struggling to make herself fall asleep. She wondered if Draguta was doing something to her?
Keeping her away from her dreams?
Biddy crawled back under her fur, lying opposite Edela. ‘What are you doing awake?’ she whispered, conscious of how late it was. Bodies were strewn around the circle in the hall, sleeping foot to head, elbow to back: Branwyn and Hanna; Gant and Gisila; Kayla and Aedan and their daughter; Derwa, Alaric, and, of course, Ido and Vella who remained alert, heads popping up occasionally, hearing an odd noise.
‘Trying to go to sleep,’ Edela whispered back irritably. ‘Or it could be that stew. I don’t think onions agree with me anymore.’
Biddy smiled, closing her eyes which felt heavy, just like the rest of her aching body. ‘Sounds about right. Freya’s getting too heavy-handed with the onions. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.’
Edela closed her own eyes, imagining how that would go. Freya had always ruled the kitchen with a whip of a tongue. Even Jael was afraid of her.
Sighing deeply and trying to stop thinking about food, Edela pulled her hands to her chest, curling into a ball, wanting to feel the sense of security that had eluded her for so long; the confidence that the answers were waiting to be discovered in her dreams. And then sighing, she opened her eyes.
Wide awake.
‘It’s not cold!’ Karsten snorted, heading for his tent, watching Jael shiver by her own. ‘How are you cold?’
Thorgils had drunk more ale than his legs could handle, and he wobbled, slapping Karsten on the back. ‘You’ve never met a colder woman than Jael Furyck. Some say she’s made of fire, but I think ice runs in those veins!’ And he stumbled into his tent, Karsten’s smile flashing in the moonlight as he followed him inside.
‘You can have my fur,’ Fyn offered. ‘I’m not cold.’
Jael was starting to feel as though she was imagining the drop in temperature. Or perhaps she was ill? ‘You’re sure it’s not cold?’
Aleksander laughed. ‘Take Fyn’s fur and go to bed. I’ll take first watch tonight. You try and stay warm.’
Jael glowered at them both, not wanting to feel like an old woman, but she grabbed the fur Fyn had retrieved from the tent he was sharing with Axl, and draped it over her shoulders. Turning around, she wa
tched Tig’s head drooping by her tent, Sky just as still beside him. They were inside her circle. She had made one that encompassed their four tents; Raymon’s tent as well.
‘Goodnight, Jael!’
Jael lifted a hand to Ayla and Astrid who were heading for their wagon. Ayla had made her own circle for all the wagons, including hers and Astrid’s. After what Draguta had done to Andala, they didn’t want to lose their food stores.
There was still too much of the journey ahead of them to risk that.
They had camped for the night in another crumbling village. Hest was full of them, it seemed; each one clinging more precariously to the familiar red cliffs than the one before. Eadmund was looking forward to seeing something resembling a tree. A bush. Some grass.
He yawned, trying to get comfortable in his cot bed, happy to be alone.
Draguta had relented and let him leave Berrick behind, but she had brought Evaine, who had been far more irritating than his fussing steward ever was; riding beside him, trying to draw his attention to her appearance, constantly needing to be helped with her horse. Well, the last part was true, he realised. Evaine couldn’t ride, and her poor horse looked ready to bolt.
He wondered if he should just let it.
Eadmund rolled over again, trying to smile, but he couldn’t. He felt empty of everything but the need to keep going.
There were chanting voices rising outside his tent. Part of him felt curious, but most of him was tired, and all of him was so bound to Draguta that he knew he had no right to know what was going on.
