by A. E. Rayne
And then, Eddeth was watching her too.
The girl stopped singing, speaking directly to Eddeth herself. ‘I will watch him now,’ she breathed. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to him. I wouldn’t. He is beloved by Thenor, so don’t worry, I will watch him now.’
‘Eddeth?’ Eddeth had gone oddly still, and Ludo worried that she was falling asleep.
Eddeth’s eyes burst open, and she looked up at Ludo, grabbing his arm. ‘Oh!’
‘What? What did you see?’
‘I... don’t know, or do I?’ And tapping her tired head, Eddeth saw the pieces of the puzzle slot into place. ‘Sigurd’s found himself a dreamer! Oh yes, he has. A dreamer has hold of him!’
‘Is that bad?’
Eddeth sneezed all over Ludo, spluttering in surprise. ‘Sorry!’
‘Eddeth, is it bad?’
Eddeth dragged a damp cloth out of her sleeve, loudly blowing her nose. ‘Bad? For Sigurd? I don’t think so. We all know how much a Vilander likes a pretty dreamer! No, I don’t think we have to worry about Sigurd anymore. He’s landed on his feet there. Now we can think about Alys again and getting to Orvala. Sigurd will be safe with that woman. I feel it!’
‘It’s not safe for you to be here,’ Sigurd warned as Raf crept into his tent. He was pleased to see her, but despite all his smiles, Gudrum looked like the type of man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill a woman.
‘I have to check your wound,’ Raf insisted innocently, hands full of supplies. ‘It’s important. Tomorrow will tell us how things stand, but, in the meantime, I can’t let you die.’
Sigurd didn’t think he was about to die. His arm was a constant distraction, and at times, he wanted to moan with the deep, throbbing pain of it, but he didn’t feel feverish.
Raf pushed him back onto the bed, ignoring his protests. ‘I promised your friend that I’d care for you.’
‘What?’ Sigurd tried to sit up, but Raf kept him where he was, rolling down his bandage, sniffing the wound, which was long and deep, running from his wrist up to his elbow.
‘You were saved by the gods, I’m sure,’ Raf whispered. ‘For this wound should have taken your arm. Yet, here you sit, a two-armed man still.’ And unwrapping the bandage, she looked into his eyes, feelings of desire stirring. Blinking them away, she focused on the jar of salve. She would apply that to his wound, and then she would...
Sigurd grabbed her with his right hand. ‘My friend? Tell me. What friend?’ he insisted loudly, too loudly, and realising it, he let go of Raf as the tent flap rustled.
‘You alright, Raf?’ came a grunt from outside.
‘Fine!’ Raf called quickly, turning back to scowl at Sigurd. ‘Just fine!’
Sigurd gritted his teeth as the bandage touched the wound. ‘What friend?’ he hissed, desperate now.
‘A woman with big teeth.’
‘Eddeth? You saw Eddeth?’ Sigurd’s voice was just a breath.
‘She came to find you. She was looking for you.’
‘And what did you tell her?’ Raf’s black hair glimmered in the firelight, reminding him of Tulia. He blinked, not wanting to feel disloyal, though it was impossible with Raf sitting so close. Her cloak swamped her, and he wanted to slip his hands under it and wrap them around her waist. He yelped. ‘Ouch!’
Raf smiled. ‘I told her I’d look after you. That I’d keep you safe here, with me. And you needn’t worry, I will. But only if I keep myself safe too. Gudrum is a jealous man.’
Now the rustling tent flap opened, and in strode Gudrum, stooping low before straightening up with a smile. ‘You’re taking your time, girl. Bed’s getting cold without you.’
Raf turned around, heart thumping. ‘You want him to live, don’t you? Have both arms for his brother?’ And giggling nervously, she turned back to Sigurd, picking up the fresh bandages she’d brought in. ‘I won’t be long. You can go. I won’t be long.’
Gudrum stared at Sigurd, not wanting to go anywhere. ‘I’ll wait,’ he decided, taking a stool, dragging it to the fire.
‘Where are you heading tomorrow?’ Sigurd wondered, wanting to draw Gudrum’s attention away from a flustered Raf.
‘To a meeting place,’ Gudrum grinned. ‘For an ambitious man cannot hope to achieve anything on his own. All these years it’s taken me to learn that allies make you stronger. Allies make everything more possible.’
Sigurd was afraid to ask, but it was always better to be informed than lost in the dark. ‘And what do you and your allies have planned?’
Gudrum smiled, picking meat out of his teeth with a dirty fingernail. ‘Well, I can only speak for myself, but what do lords usually have plans for? Revenge, power, thrones! And with your brother’s gold, soon I’ll be rich enough to claim all three!’
31
‘The Goddesses of Fate have warned that what Thenor did will not stand! Alekka was always one land, not two, so what Thenor did will not stand!’ the woman with long white hair warned.
Alys watched her, thinking she looked familiar.
‘A time will come when we’ll be needed more than ever. Sought by men, both good and evil. By gods too! Soon they will all come, seeking our insight.’
‘But don’t the gods give us our dreams?’ wondered another woman, her face mostly hidden by a dark hood.
‘Some do, yes, but other gods seek to know more. They are thirsty for knowledge, hungry for clues. They walk amongst us, watching and helping us. Though sometimes, they become confused, losing hope, just as we do.’
‘And what will happen, Salma?’ a middle-aged woman called out. Her hood was back, revealing wild grey hair threaded with bones. ‘If what Thenor did is to be overturned, what will happen?’
Salma?
Alys blinked, stepping closer.
There were nine women gathered inside a stone circle, the ancient pillars towering above them, a full moon nestled amongst white-tipped clouds. The hooded figures were silent, faces in shadow, listening attentively.
‘We must be alert, always seeking out those ripples in the fabric that warn of danger approaching. The Bear Stone tells of the man who will unite Alekka. A dreamer saw his rise on the day of Eutresia’s doom, and we should not doubt her, sisters. He will come, but when?’ Salma shook her head. ‘That I can’t tell you. There are many lords in Alekka, both good and bad men, though I have no sense that he is here yet.’
‘But he will come,’ came a rasping voice as an ancient crone straightened up, throwing off her hood. ‘I see him as a dark-haired ghoul, face drenched in blood. A towering wretch of a man with a heart of pure evil. A grinning beast feeding on death and destruction! He will seek to unite Alekka, though he will soon become like those ancient kings before him. Drunk on power! Bathing in the meritless adulation of his people, who will foolishly aid his rise, dying to honour him, while he will be free to do as he chooses, fully liberated and without restraint! And what this man will do will be dark, I promise you! Darker than anything we’ve seen!’ The old woman staggered, and Salma hurried to her.
‘Ragnahild!’
‘I’m alright, I’m alright,’ Ragnahild grumbled, elbowing Salma away, revealing her face, one eye covered by a leather patch. ‘We have more important things to worry about than my end.’
‘You have seen your end?’ Salma asked.
‘Haven’t we all?’ Ragnahild laughed. ‘I have lived longer than I ever wished to, but there is still more to be done. Trouble continues to stir in the North, and therefore, the answers lie north too. I will visit the Brothers of Eutresia. Those sycophantic dolts may worship a dead goddess, praying for the rise of a tyrant king, but they have more wisdom than any of you realise. Great vaults of knowledge! Scrolls of texts! Dreams recorded over centuries! And, of course, they have the Bear Stone. We can only do so much with our dreams, only seek out so much with our eyes closed, my sisters, so I must venture north to find the answers we so urgently seek. Salma is right, what Thenor did will not stand, and he knows it better than anyone. He saved
our land, making many enemies in the process. Dangerous enemies, who have spent two thousand years plotting their revenge.’ Ragnahild inhaled sharply, her back aching. ‘We must do what we can to help him, for he chose to save Alekka, knowing what the consequences would be for him. But we are his Circle of Dreamers. We cannot let him down, even if we’re on our last legs, expending our last breaths!’ She coughed, stumbling against Salma, who slipped a hand around Ragnahild’s thick waist, urging her towards a stone seat.
Alys wasn’t sure that she was even breathing.
Ragnahild One Eye had been the most famous dreamer in Alekka’s history. They’d called her Thenor’s dreamer, believing that Thenor himself spoke to her.
Alys was afraid to blink, worried that the women would see her.
‘Eida, come to me,’ Ragnahild sighed, holding out an unsteady arm, watching as a younger woman hurried forward. ‘Bring me a cup of wine, something to fortify me, for we have a long night ahead of us, and I am an old woman now.’ She felt ready for her deathbed. And yet, there was so much to do.
‘Yes, Grandmother,’ the blonde-haired woman said, bobbing her head as she turned away, disappearing into the shadows.
And now Alys did blink.
Eida?
It was a surprise to find Alari waiting in her chamber, though she did like to turn up at the most inconvenient times, and Mirella was always left wondering if the goddess had found a way into her mind. She had spent years working to root out every symbol, every spell known to man and god alike, warding her mind against her. And yet, here was Alari again, interrupting her plans for dreaming.
The urgent need to dream was twitching Mirella’s arms now, and she knew that Tarl needed her. She found herself starting to panic, worried that he would make a mistake and give in to his temper; convincing herself that he needed her guidance, her calm and steady voice nudging him back on the right path.
‘You are enjoying your family reunion?’ Alari wondered, eye on the wooden bowl that sat proudly in the centre of Mirella’s table. Ash. The most magical of woods, Alari knew. She could see the symbol carved into the base of the shallow bowl. She felt its power. ‘You come from a long line of dreamers, Mirella, don’t you? And now you have two more following you. A magical line of women indeed!’
Mirella closed the door, and with some reluctance, she stepped towards Alari, who straightened up, swishing her long braid over her shoulder. ‘I am surprised to see you. Again.’
‘I have spoken to Eskvir. We have come to an... understanding. I thought you should know.’
Mirella was further surprised and slightly hesitant. ‘I am pleased to hear it.’
Alari looked anything but pleased. ‘Yes, I have come around to his plan, to your plan. I have taken a closer look at Tarl Brava, and though he is rather clumsy and brutish, he has a certain strength about him that will be needed to mould Alekka back into the kingdom it used to be. He is not a Vettel, of course, though I do see some... promise. With the right guidance, my guidance, he could become a high king of great standing one day.’
The one-eyed goddess spoke as though she was having to force the words to leave her tongue, and Mirella could sense how hard it was for Alari to admit defeat.
To her.
‘The Vettels had no future, I saw that. But the Bravas do, I promise.’
Alari bit her tongue, turning to the flames burning warmly in the stone hearth. ‘Perhaps. But he is reckless in a way that Jesper never was. Jesper had a strong mind, fixed on the throne, but Tarl Brava...’ She turned back around, seeing the discomfort in Mirella’s eyes. Enjoying it. ‘You are worried?’
Mirella didn’t trust Alari, though she could certainly use her help. ‘Tarl is a man. A lord. He wants to kill and conquer, not make conversation or friends. I should have gone with him. Guided him through what needs to be done.’
Alari frowned, coming forward now. ‘Reach out to him, then. Talk to him. He listens to you, doesn’t he? You are still in favour?’
Mirella stood at a crossroads, deciding which path to take. She saw her mother’s face and her great-grandmother’s, both of them skilled dreamers; wise women who had warned her never to trust Alari. The goddess had a reputation for playing deadly games she hated to lose. And yet, Mirella had done more than trust Alari over the years. She had befriended her and become allies with her, and now she didn’t know what to make of her at all.
‘I can go to him, guide him,’ Alari suggested. ‘If you can’t.’
‘No, I... can,’ Mirella insisted. ‘It’s always a delicate balance, though. Tarl wishes to be a king, making his own decisions, and his men must see him as a strong leader. They won’t follow a puppet dancing on my strings.’
Alari laughed. ‘They’ll follow whatever they believe to be true, Mirella. Whatever you tell them to think. Though you are not his wife and your presence hardly encourages anyone to keep their focus on Tarl as a ruler. Didn’t I always tell you that the most effective dreamers live in the shadows? Those who make a name for themselves never meet a good end. Trust me now, and step away. Loosen your hold on the man. Let him lead, with only gentle nudges from you. After all, you are no lord. No leader of an army.’
It was true, Mirella knew, but Alari didn’t understand how crucial it was to control every piece on her board.
Every single piece.
She nodded, smiling tightly, wanting to be alone. ‘It makes sense, of course, though it’s never easy to let go. I’m sure you know that.’
‘Ha!’ Alari smiled, blue eye gleaming. ‘I know all too well how difficult it is to let go, though we are the parents, Mirella, and we must not imprison our children. We must give them room to breathe, to fail and try again. If you suffocate Tarl, he will rebel. He will make reckless decisions in a desire to assert his independence.’
Mirella held her gaze. ‘Perhaps, though I know Tarl, and he is more focused when he has a clear idea of what is required. I may choose to retreat somewhat, but I cannot give him free rein. He is like a child at times with his need of me.’
‘Though you have given him the gift of a wise man, and perhaps now you should leave it up to Ulrick Dyre to keep him on the right path?’
Mirella sighed, her shoulders finally relaxing, not wanting to admit that Alari was offering wise counsel. ‘Perhaps.’
Alari smiled. ‘Good! Now, pour me some of that wine, and we can drink a toast to victory over Thenor and his little dog, Ake Bluefinn!’ Her smile widened as she took a seat in front of the fire. ‘Oh yes, I can almost taste victory now, can’t you, Mirella?’ She turned around, seeking the dreamer, who nodded with some uncertainty as she headed to the table for the wine jug.
‘Yes,’ Mirella said dully, her worry for Tarl flaring like a shooting star, despite Alari’s words. ‘Victory.’
Tarl Brava had a woman perched upon each knee.
He had brought along his two prettiest servants to keep him warm at night, though their smiles didn’t reach their eyes, Ulrick saw, watching from across the fire.
Tarl’s two friends, Alvear and Offa, stared at their lord with jealous scowls as he kissed one girl, then the other. Trying to take their attention away from that which they couldn’t enjoy themselves, they made conversation with Ulrick.
‘Do you know Gudrum?’ Alvear wondered. ‘Tarl says you’re a scout, a Vettel man, but perhaps you only know the South?’
Ulrick shrugged. ‘I know more of the South, that’s true. It’s where I’m from, where I grew up. I was in Stornas when Jorek Vettel came to the throne. My father was his scout, and when he died, I took his place. Barely a hair on my chin, and none on my balls, but suddenly I was travelling from one end of Alekka to the other, listening, talking, watching.’
‘How long ago was that, then?’
‘Coming up on forty years, I’d say. Longer than I can remember, that’s for sure. So yes, I know Alekka up and down, but this Gudrum? I couldn’t tell you much about him. From what I hear, he’s not Alekkan. Just a man who’s come looking for
a throne.’
Alvear grinned, nodding to his lord, who had stood, arms wrapped around the two young women, heading for his tent. ‘Well, you can see why they all want it, I suppose. All those women!’ He turned back to Ulrick with a sigh.
‘You think only lords and kings have women in their beds?’ Offa scoffed. ‘Brother! Maybe you should wash once and a while. Comb that bird’s nest of a beard. Tidy yourself up!’ And though Offa wasn’t the most handsome of the two men, he certainly seemed to care about his appearance, for he’d spent more time combing and braiding his beard than he had sharpening his weapons.
Alvear grumbled, doubting that a lack of grooming was the reason for his problems with women. ‘I think when we’re in Stornas, standing beside a high king, it won’t matter if we’re covered in slop. Women will be throwing themselves at us!’ He eyed Ulrick, who was running a whetstone down the blade of his old sword. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Ulrick didn’t know anymore. ‘Once I met my wife, my eyes never drifted to another.’
Neither brother believed him.
‘Never?’ Offa snorted. ‘Never?’
Ulrick looked up at him, not even a hint of a smile in his eyes now. ‘Not once. I believe in the luck of a good woman above all things. You treat her well, and you’ll always have a warm and welcome bed.’ He thought of his snarling, angry wife, trying to soften the image in his mind, not wanting to see Bergit that way. Though after everything that had happened, he was struggling to feel the same deep affection for her. ‘You want to be happy in life? Then find a good woman, an honest woman, and treat her like a queen. That’s what my father told me. Treat her like a queen, and one day, perhaps, she’ll help you become a king.’ He thought of Mirella, who had tried and failed to make Jesper Vettel the King of Alekka, and now she was trying to help Tarl Brava.
And closing his eyes, listening to a woman shrieking in the distance, Ulrick wondered what he wanted to do.