Queens of the Sea

by Kim Wilkins

  ‘Stand back,’ Ash cried and the flames returned, climbed higher and higher. More than the little bonfire should be able to generate.

  Bluebell stumbled back as the heat hit her face.

  Then, again, they were gone. Not extinguished. Evaporated. There, then not there.

  ‘Ash …’

  Fire again. A low, comforting fire. Ash sat down on the sand, tugged at Bluebell’s hand to make her do the same.

  ‘It’s back,’ Ash said.

  ‘Your magic? All of it?’

  Instead of saying yes, Ash made the flames leap high again.

  Bluebell’s pulse began to speed. ‘And if all of Blicstowe was on fire …’

  ‘I would do my best,’ Ash said. ‘I believe I could contain it, or at least minimise the damage. Blicstowe is a big place.’

  Bluebell stared at Ash. The firelight made her skin look warm, where usually it was so pale she could see the blue of her veins.

  ‘There is one other thing,’ Ash said, and for the first time this evening her eyes weren’t bright, as though a cloud had passed over them. ‘I am afraid that my ability waned when I fell in love.’

  ‘I see. Then you cannot be in love, Ash, because the fate of our homeland depends upon you.’

  ‘I know. I can turn my heart.’

  Bluebell shifted over so that she sat close enough to slide her arm around Ash. ‘I am sorry. I would have seen the two of you married. As happy as …’ Thoughts of Snowy froze her words.

  Ash remained silent. Waves continued to break on the shore, the fire continued to pop and crackle. Bluebell watched the sea and saved no part of her mind nor heart for anyone’s lost love, because here now she had the means to imagine Blicstowe returned to her. Willow could set fire to everything and Ash would simply extinguish it. Bluebell planned the best vantage point. The north tower? She would have to send a team to take it, and to protect Ash while she performed her duty. The plan unfolded in her mind. The light leached out of the sky.

  Of course Willow would think of some other horror. Rounding up civilians in the town square and killing them slowly, perhaps. The siege would have to be quick, and the mighty walls of Blicstowe were built to withstand sieges. Should she sail tomorrow without the giants? Damn them. Damn them for being so good at hiding. To come here in the hopes they were real was one type of desperation. But to know they were here and not find them was entirely another.

  She raised her eyes to ask Ash her advice, but Ash’s gaze was above her head, fixed on something, her mouth a little O of shock.

  Bluebell was on her feet, sword in hand, in a second. Then she saw. Trudging up over the ridge, a club in one hand, and a dead water creature over his shoulder, was a nine-foot-high man.

  Not a man. A giant.

  Bluebell’s sword arm wavered, the tip of the Widowsmith falling a little. But then she squared herself again, and whistled for Hyld. Ash scrambled up and behind Bluebell. Bluebell felt her sister’s body tense, as she too prepared for potential battle.

  The giant drew closer, his face grim. Were he ordinary sized, Bluebell might call him stocky. Broad across the shoulders, arms thick, neck and face wide. A mess of tangled, overgrown curls crowned his head. When he was ten yards away, he stopped and flung the dead creature onto the sand with a whump. A cloud of sand went up.

  Bluebell waited.

  ‘Stop killing our guard dogs!’ he shouted, then turned and stalked away.

  Twenty-two

  Having finally found a giant, Bluebell was not about to let him get away.

  ‘Hoy!’ she cried, running up the shore and onto the grass, sword still unsheathed. ‘Hoy! I need to talk to you.’

  ‘All in good time,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘I do not have good time. I have no time.’

  But he kept moving.

  She redoubled her speed, thighs burning and finally, in desperation, grasped the bogle axe from her belt with her left hand and threw it so it landed in the ground a few feet ahead of him.

  Now he stopped and turned, fury on his brow. ‘We do not respond to threats.’

  She hurried to catch up, placed the axe back on her belt. ‘I wasn’t aiming to hit you,’ she said. ‘If I was, it would have ended up in your back.’

  ‘You keep your magic charm to yourself,’ he said.

  They were within sight of the camp now, and Bluebell heard the ring of mail as her thanes and soldiers rose and began to approach the giant. Aware that she had probably already seemed too bellicose, she put up a hand to still them.

  The giant planted his feet firmly and leaned on his club. ‘Put away the sword,’ he said.

  Bluebell reluctantly sheathed the Widowsmith. She was used to being taller than most people; only Snowy had an inch on her. To have to tilt her chin so high to look in the giant’s face robbed her of her usual advantage. She squared her shoulders, but felt small and feminine, possibly for the first time in her life. Up close she could see his club was carved of an oak bough, topped with an iron ball. His fair hair was coarse, his nose broad and freckled.

  She spread her hands and tried a smile. ‘We can be friends.’

  ‘I was quite fond of those water monsters.’

  Bluebell didn’t point out that both had tried to kill her. ‘I am Bluebell. What is your name?’

  ‘Gagel is my name. I know yours.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘We know more about you than you could imagine.’

  ‘We?’ There were more of them, then. She allowed herself to imagine an army of giants, all the size of this fellow, under her command. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Six. Three. It’s the same thing.’

  ‘Sixty-three?’ she said hopefully.

  He shook his head. ‘You would see six of us, but we are only three.’

  Bluebell gritted her teeth. She lost patience quickly with those who spoke in riddles. Also, three really wasn’t a lot of giants. ‘Are you their leader?’

  Here he shook his head decisively. ‘Wermod and Withowind.’

  ‘Would Wormwood and Windy-Wind be willing to speak to me?’

  ‘Wermod and Withowind,’ he corrected, with a touch of impatience. ‘I will ask them.’

  ‘When? Now? Can I come with you? Where do you live?’

  He reached out his big hand and pressed an immense index finger across her lips; the tip poked at her right nostril. In that small movement, she felt his strength and power. While her pride was mortally wounded at being treated as though she were a small child, her heart leapt at the idea of three of them or six of them – or even one of them – joining her army to take back Blicstowe.

  ‘Meet me here at dawn,’ he said, removing his finger and turning away.

  ‘Can I come with you now?’

  ‘No. And don’t follow me.’

  But she was already following him. ‘I won’t lose you now,’ she called.

  ‘My word is good.’ Now he began to run, long, lithe steps that belied his weight and density.

  ‘Wait!’ Bluebell ran too, aware that her thanes and her dog were now in her train, spurred on by her urgent shouting. Up over the ridge and down again.

  ‘Stay back,’ he called, ‘or I will not return.’

  Bluebell skidded to a halt. A few moments later, her hearthband joined her and she had to wrench Hyld’s collar to stop the dog from following the giant. Ash was at her side, then, and Bluebell shook her head in frustration. ‘We should hunt him down.’

  ‘No,’ Ash said. ‘We want him to be our ally, not our prey.’

  Hyld barked madly, and Bluebell dropped to her knees to put her arms around the dog and soothe her. When she looked up, she saw that Gagel had stopped and was smiling at Hyld.

  He pointed at Bluebell. ‘Very well. You and the dog can come. But not the others.’

  Bluebell stood, slapped Ash twice on the shoulder, and began to run, Hyld at her heels. Gagel resumed walking and within a few seconds Bluebell had caught up to him.

&n
bsp; ‘What made you change your mind?’ she asked, as they tipped over the ridge and out towards the stony plain in the centre of the island.

  ‘What’s your dog’s name?’

  ‘Hyld.’

  ‘We like dogs. We haven’t seen one for a long time.’

  Bluebell reached down and gave Hyld a light, grateful pat.

  Gagel’s slow stride was huge, meaning Bluebell had to walk briskly to match its pace. ‘I know we are being followed,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, at least two of my thanes will be behind us. It is our protocol. They cannot lose their king.’

  He shrugged. ‘They cannot come into our home uninvited.’

  ‘I will keep them out.’

  Gagel let loose a loud laugh. It cracked against Bluebell’s ears. ‘We can keep them out,’ he said.

  Bluebell fell silent, concentrating on keeping up. She followed him between two pools in the ring around the plain. Where he stepped lightly, she scrabbled over rocks. She could see the outline of his thigh muscles through his trousers when he raised his foot to stride, and they were huge and dense. Hyld struggled and slid back on one of the short climbs, and Gagel turned to her and scooped her up.

  ‘Good dog,’ he said.

  Hyld growled behind her teeth.

  ‘Behave, Hyld,’ Bluebell said. ‘Let the nice giant carry you.’

  Like a child with a puppy, Gagel pressed Hyld awkwardly against his chest, barely containing his smile.

  ‘She smells good,’ he said.

  ‘That would be a first. She must have taken herself for a swim in the sea.’

  ‘I’ll carry you, good dog,’ Gagel said, and kept moving out over the rocks. Bluebell followed another quarter mile until finally he stopped, gently released Hyld, and said, ‘Here we are.’

  Bluebell looked around. They stood in the middle of the stony plain, surrounded only by rocks and brave spiky grass. Her stomach cramped. There was going to be magic, wasn’t there? She really only liked magic when it was on her side.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Home.’ He bent over and grasped the edge of a huge slab of rock. At least fifteen feet across and nearly as wide, a foot thick and jagged at the edge. With unnatural ease, he flipped it up and laid it down beside an opening into the ground.

  Bluebell stared at the rock slab he had moved. Although his size had helped, it was his strength that had astonished her. Pound for pound, a nine-foot man could not have moved it. Perhaps not even a twenty-foot man, on his own. Desperate hope flared in every limb. She needed them. In battle, they would be unstoppable.

  ‘After you,’ he said.

  Bluebell glanced around but couldn’t see any of her thanes, although they were very good at hiding.

  ‘They’re gone,’ he said. ‘Nobody can see our home if we don’t want them to.’

  She turned her attention to the opening in the ground. A wide staircase led downwards. The flicker of firelight. The smell of baking fish. Bluebell put her foot on the first step and began to descend, Gagel at her shoulder and Hyld a few steps behind, whining cautiously. Down she went, down and down, as the staircase turned gently to the right and still she went down, deep into the heart of the island.

  At the bottom she found herself in an antechamber, lit by one low torch. But already she could see the walls were not the rough natural walls of a cave. Rather, they were gleaming black, carved with designs she could not make out. Ahead of her was a door built of light-coloured wood, set at all four corners and the centre with dark green jewels, each the size of a human heart. She had only seen such a jewel once before, in Tolan’s hall, and it had been less than a third the size. Ocean emeralds; the rarest of gems.

  Gagel moved in front of her and opened the door. ‘I invite you in, Bluebell of Ælmesse,’ he said. ‘Daughter of the Storm King, granddaughter of Alfred Godeye, triple-blessed by the Horse God, and far descendant of the eoten.’

  Bluebell only half-heard his long salutation, because her speech had been robbed by the sight in front of her. The room was circular, with doors leading off at regular intervals. Every door was set with precious gems and was at least ten feet high. Torches in ornate gold sconces lit the room. The ceiling was perhaps fifteen feet above her head, but she could not see it distinctly so perhaps it was further. Above each door was a large shelf, stacked with gold and jewelled objects, like the war booty Bluebell kept in her hall, but more ancient and more precious, catching the firelight. The walls were more of the glassy black stone, and long thin lines of carvings traversed them in wave-like patterns: intricate and symmetrical, leaves and wings and spear tips. Bluebell had seen designs like this before, worn almost smooth from weather on the ruins behind Blicstowe.

  But while her eyes longed to admire the beauty and the riches in the room, her arrival had stopped a conversation between five other giants.

  ‘Greetings,’ she managed, but then Hyld arrived and at once they descended on the dog, cooing and fighting for her attention. Hyld was not so disoriented that she couldn’t appreciate being patted and scratched by twelve huge hands, so Bluebell took the few moments to measure them all with her eyes.

  Each giant stood between eight and nine feet high. Three were male, including Gagel, and three were women; all were fair. Gagel was the stockiest, and one of the female giants the lithest, with long silky hair the colour of snow falling down her back. Like Gagel, they were all dressed in pale woollen trousers and tunics. The lithe female and one of the males, the tallest, wore the palest clothes, and were adorned with gold bracelets and pins.

  The lithe female looked up and smiled at Bluebell, and it was the most beautiful thing Bluebell had ever seen. She fell instantly in love. Shook herself. Realised the woman had cast a glamour and scowled at her.

  ‘None of that,’ she said.

  The woman smiled again, and this time it was genuine and Bluebell knew she couldn’t dislike giants if giants loved dogs so much.

  ‘I am Withowind,’ the woman said, and extended a long, elegant hand for Bluebell to grasp.

  Bluebell did so, noting the soft silkiness of Withowind’s skin, and realised she was still a little bit in love with her.

  ‘This is my husband, Wermod, who is our lord.’

  At this, the tallest man presented himself. He bent his head in a little bow, but was so much taller than Bluebell that the gesture could not be in any way submissive. ‘My lord, king of Ælmesse. You are welcome among the eoten.’ Then he let loose a little laugh; it was almost girlish. ‘Thank you for bringing the pup.’

  Bluebell glanced at Hyld, who hadn’t been pup sized even when she was a pup. Hyld was clearly enjoying being lap dog rather than war dog, curled up on Gagel’s knee on the floor. Wermod had used the same word Gagel had used – eoten.

  ‘Here is Gagel’s wife, Finol,’ Withowind continued, indicating a stout woman with similar coarse gold hair to Gagel. ‘And our final pair are Nepsed and Cammoc.’

  Bluebell nodded at the other two, unsure which name belonged to whom. Unsure, in fact, if they were a male and female pair. They were similar enough in shape and stature, dressed in loose clothes, both soft-faced but broad-wristed. She whistled for Hyld, who was at her side in seconds, muscular and alert again.

  Wermod said, ‘Ohhh,’ in the tone of a child divested of a toy.

  ‘While it is my deepest pleasure to meet each of you,’ Bluebell said, ‘I am not here for pleasure.’

  Withowind turned and gracefully moved to a carved stool in the centre of the room. ‘We know why you are here,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘And will you help me?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Wermod said, his giddiness all evaporated now, his voice more kingly. ‘You ask a great deal of the eoten.’

  ‘What does that mean? What is that word?’ Bluebell asked.

  The others had settled around the room now, either on thick woven rugs on the floor, or on carved recesses between the doors. Only Bluebell stood.

  ‘Sit down,’ Withowind s
aid.

  Bluebell shook her head. ‘I have no time for sitting down.’

  Gagel and Finol exchanged glances and laughed. Finol said, ‘I like her.’

  ‘We are eoten,’ Wermod told her. ‘You call us giants, but we are not giants. We are … eoten. Somewhere between gods and men.’

  Bluebell turned her eyes to Gagel, remembering what he had said earlier. ‘You said …’

  ‘Yes, you have eoten blood in you,’ Finol answered for him. ‘It’s why you’re so strong.’

  ‘Going back many generations,’ either Nepsed or Cammoc said, in a superior voice. ‘All histories are complex.’

  Blubebell couldn’t stop herself grinning. Giant blood. She could imagine the stories now. Bluebell the Fierce, blood of giants. ‘My father’s side?’

  ‘The fair hair,’ Withowind said, touching her own head. ‘Eoten.’

  ‘Eoten,’ Bluebell said, trying their word on her tongue. ‘So, if we are blood, does that mean you will help me?’

  Wermod leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together between them. ‘If we helped, it would be for reasons other than our blood,’ he said.

  ‘My reputation?’

  Wermod and Withowind exchanged a glance.

  ‘I was tricked into losing Blicstowe,’ Bluebell said. ‘You cannot judge me for the ways of the Ærfolc.’

  ‘Thyrsland is our land,’ one of the indistinguishable giants said. ‘We will do what we have to for it. However, your worth is in question.’

  Bluebell’s pride flared to furious life. She wanted to pull out her weapon and demand he say that again at the tip of her blade. But she held her tongue and steadied her hands. They were all much, much bigger than her.

  Instead she said, ‘If you want peace in Thyrsland, you must help me take back Blicstowe.’ Her voice became animated. ‘Who else would you give your support to? The trimartyrs? Tolan or Wengest, that pair of pious dicks? Maybe Renward, or that no-chin Wulfgar? Surely you could not think Willow’s or Hakon’s worth greater than mine?’

  Nepsed and Cammoc chuckled, amused by the way her indignant words tumbled out on top of each other. She had figured out which one was female by the curve of breasts under her tunic. Apart from that, they might well have been twins. Bluebell decided she didn’t like either of them.