by Kim Wilkins
With a shout of triumph, she pounded the last bone ring to dust, then kicked the rest of the creature off the shelf. Bones landed on the ground and tried to clatter against each other, but weakly. They could not form. Then they went still.
Twenty-three to go.
She reached for another. Other hands came up to grasp her arms, pull her down. She dug her toes into the rock and yanked backwards, one skeleton in each hand this time. She sat on one while she went to work on the other, wisely starting with the big rings in the middle of its back to disable it quickly. By the fourth skeleton, she had worked out which parts of the spine she had to destroy to make the thing unable to re-form itself.
Still, it was hard, slow work, periodically interrupted by having to cast off wily creatures who managed to clamber up onto the outcrop near her. It reminded her of the summer she had apprenticed with the town smith – she had been sixteen and determined to build the muscles in her arms and back, which were not naturally as strong in women as in men. Long, hot, endless days of pushing and pulling and squeezing and hammering. She would return home – unable to distinguish where the aching stopped and where she began – to take a long bath and sleep like the dead, only to be resurrected early to do it all again.
When she was smithing, though, she wasn’t also trying to fight off a skeleton army determined to kill her.
Bluebell had no idea how long passed in the cave. Time blurred into one hot, aching moment, where she pushed her body well past its limits. She recognised a moment where there were more immobilised skeletons than live ones, but it registered on her dimly. Right down to the second last one, the other was still trying to come for her, as if unaware that all its colleagues were gone. It found her spear and shuffled towards the outcrop, poking and jabbing it at her blindly above its head. Bluebell caught the end of the spear easily and wrenched it upwards, shaking off the skeleton and freeing her to finish destroying the one in front of her. Then she clambered down. The last live one had taken to the other side of the cave. She walked among the bodies. Here and there, a hand still clutched or a foot still twitched. She grasped the final skeleton by the top of its spine and with the last strength she had in her, smashed it against the cave wall. Bones popped off and scattered, until all she had left in her hands was a spine. She lay it on the floor. The other bones were finding their way back towards it, but she took her mace and she pounded it and pounded it. Shards of bone flew. She crushed the spine to dust.
Then she fell back, exhausted. Her ears rang in the new silence, and a flash of bright light seemed to have burned itself into her eyes. She could see it even when they were closed.
Within moments, the door to the cave creaked open.
‘You have passed the test,’ said Finol.
Bluebell didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t open her mouth, although she dearly wanted to tell Finol and Gagel what she thought of their fucking test.
‘We invite you and your entire war band for a feast tonight to celebrate.’
If she’d had a shred of energy remaining in her body, Bluebell would have smiled.
Gagel brought Bluebell back from her first test while the morning was still cool. Ash could see Bluebell was holding herself upright only through pride. She carried her helm in one hand, her shield in the other. Her face was grazed and bruised, her lip was swollen. But as she and the giant approached the camp, Bluebell held her helm aloft to indicate she had passed her test of strength, and everyone cheered and clapped. Hyld ran up to greet her, tail wagging furiously. Gagel, enchanted by the dog, went down on one knee to stroke her. Hyld turned upside down, exposing her belly to be rubbed.
‘Whore,’ Bluebell muttered to the dog, and let loose a grim laugh.
Ash ran to Bluebell’s side as the steward took her helm and helped her off with her byrnie. Bluebell winced at having to raise her arms.
‘What happened?’ Ash answered.
‘I passed the test, of course,’ Bluebell said. Then quieter, ‘I will tell you soon. I need you to help me bathe and dress my injuries.’
Bluebell’s hearthband had gathered, the other soldiers forming a loose half-circle behind them.
‘Tonight,’ Bluebell announced, ‘we will be feasting in the hall of the giants!’
A murmur went around and Gagel looked up. ‘I will show you the hidden entrance to our home, so Hyld doesn’t have to climb across the rocks.’
‘Hidden entrance?’ Bluebell said, a tinge of anger in her voice.
‘There’s a tunnel,’ Gagel said. ‘Come.’
Bluebell waved to Sal and Frida. ‘You go with him. I need Ash to look at these wounds.’
Gagel beckoned and Sal and Frida followed him. Frida seemed particularly tiny next to him. They moved away a few steps, then Gagel turned and said, ‘Make sure she comes.’
Ash assumed he was going to point at the dog, whom he was clearly enamoured of, but instead he pointed at Ash.
‘Me?’ Ash said.
Gagel nodded once, then turned away and kept walking towards the beach with Sal and Frida.
‘Why does he want me there?’ Ash asked.
‘Why is any of this happening?’ Bluebell muttered, divesting herself of weapons and handing them to her steward. Finally she stepped out of her belt, kicked off her shoes and walked towards the water.
‘It will be cold, Bluebell. I could heat you up some water and sponge you clean.’
But Bluebell did not change course. Ash followed her down to the water and waited at the edge of the sand while Bluebell waded in and then threw herself backwards into the sea.
She disappeared under the surface, then a moment later emerged, letting free a long, tired, ‘Fuuuuuck.’
‘Come out of the water,’ Ash said. ‘Let me help you into dry clothes and put something on those grazes. You can tell me everything and then rest for a while.’
Bluebell dragged herself out of the water and followed Ash to their tent.
Ash stayed with Bluebell, who periodically dozed and periodically woke to complain about aching ribs and fill in more of the story of her morning battle.
‘I do not understand why I have to prove myself,’ Bluebell grumped over a lunch of thin fish stew. ‘They told me themselves I have inherited giant blood. Of course I am strong.’
‘Does that mean I have giant blood too?’ Ash asked. She had always been too soft in the joints to lift a sword.
‘Father had it. Withowind said the fair hair is an indicator.’ Bluebell tugged on the rough plait Ash had given her to keep her hair out of the scrapes and scratches on her neck.
Ash immediately burst into laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ Bluebell asked.
‘Ivy!’ Ash laughed. ‘Ivy has fair hair.’
Bluebell did not laugh. She shook her head and said, ‘That comes from Mother’s side. Uncle Robert had fair hair, when he was young.’
‘How can you be sure? Perhaps we should put a sword in her hands?’
‘Oh, Ivy can handle a sword.’ Now Bluebell started to laugh. ‘As long as it’s not made of steel.’
‘You are cruel to her, Bluebell,’ Ash reproached, but with a smile on her face. ‘But perhaps it does explain Willow’s strength. Her hair is not dark like mine and Rose’s.’
‘Nor is it as fair as mine,’ Bluebell said. ‘Again, let’s blame Uncle Robert. He raised the pair of them, and both have been a grand disappointment.’ She put her bowl aside and settled back in her blankets. ‘I’d like to see Willow smash an army of skeletons,’ she huffed. ‘She is not my equal.’
‘No, Bluebell, not by any measure,’ Ash said fondly.
Weather blew in that afternoon, lashing rain. The sea roared and night came early. Ash thought about the white hall she had seen, wondered if it would be there again now, only visible in cloud.
Bluebell was itching to move about after a day at rest, so she called for Sal and Frida, who came huddled under moleskins.
‘Gather everyone and we will make for the feast. You know wh
ere to go?’
Frida nodded. ‘A sea cave that leads to a long passage. Sal and I have already walked it today. There appears to be no danger to you or your sister, my lord.’
‘Let us make our way then,’ Bluebell said.
Within minutes, the group had been assembled. Sal and Frida leading at the rear, then Bluebell, Ash and Hyld, the rest of the hearthband, and the soldiers and stewards. Fourteen in all, heads down in the rain, making their way along the wet shore to a cave that smelled of fish and seaweed. Sal and Ash had explored this cave on their first day in the Brencis. They had certainly not seen the entrance to the long passageway that stretched ahead of them, up two rocky steps from the sand. The giants knew how to hide.
Ash’s hemline was soaked, her shoes squelching, as they proceeded down the passageway, though it was a relief to be out of the insistent rain. She hoped for a big fire to dry out by.
The passageway was not lit by torches. Rather, strange bulbous stones protruded from the walls, glowing phosphorescent blue-white. Enough light to see by, but not enough to create shadows. At length, as the sound of the sea and the rain dwindled behind them, they came upon a great door, twelve feet high. On either side, glowing rocks illuminated its golden fittings, its exquisite carvings. Ancient, familiar patterns; interlocking swirls that were visible on the very oldest ruins in Thyrsland.
Bluebell pushed to the front, lifted her hand and thumped loudly on the door.
A moment later, the giant named Gagel was there, kneeling to rub Hyld’s ears and telling them to go in.
They crossed a round chamber with many doors leading off it, and through a second open door into a large, firelit area, laid out like a mead hall. A fire roared at either end, and both had huge spitted steaks roasting above the flames. The air was thick with smoke. The soldiers filed in around Ash and took their places on long benches at tables set with cups and knives and plates, eyes on the vast ceiling above, which was crisscrossed with carved beams and hung with armour and weapons on golden chains. But then the other giants entered the room, and all eyes turned to them.
Bluebell had described them to Ash, but had not captured the feeling of being in their presence. In particular, the two who wore gold circlets – Withowind and Wermod – drew her attention. It seemed she drew theirs, as Withowind sought Ash out with her gaze and inclined her head … was it deferentially? Ash had the odd sensation that she was ignorant of some important fact about herself that this woman knew.
Gagel and Finol came in behind them, rolling barrels that they set upright and opened. ‘Mead!’ called Finol. ‘Bring a cup and take your fill!’
Bluebell brushed past Ash. ‘Giant mead!’ she called, and a general cheer went up. The silent awe was crowded out by the sounds of movement, drinking, laughing, talking. Ash stood a little longer taking it all in, then found a seat at a bench with Bluebell and Sal, who had already agreed to a drinking game.
‘This mead is very strong,’ Frida said, ever cautious.
Ash took a sip of Bluebell’s and handed the cup back, deciding she would forgo it lest it burn out her guts.
‘Not fair!’ Sal declared, in high spirits. ‘You had help drinking that first.’
Bluebell downed the rest and said, ‘Let’s start the game on the second then.’
Ash watched, a little alarmed at the rate the mead was being consumed all around her. Sal, especially, seemed determined to chase oblivion. Within an hour he had beaten Bluebell so comprehensively that she surrendered. Ash had known Sal many years, and he had been much more moderate at feasts before the horror he had witnessed at Willow’s hand. He wasn’t the first soldier to be scarred somewhere in his tenderest part by what he’d seen.
The two giants that looked similar – Bluebell called them Knapsack and Knapsack, but Ash wasn’t foolish enough to believe that was their names – began to bring out the plates of roasted meat.
Ash cut off a chunk and speared it on the end of her knife, bringing it to her lips. Sweet, savoury, tender. ‘What is this?’ she asked.
‘Whale,’ one of the Knapsacks said with a gentle smile.
‘I caught it!’ Gagel declared in high spirits. ‘I caught it especially!’
Bluebell’s eyes rounded. She met Ash’s gaze and mouthed the words, ‘He caught a whale.’
Ash laughed. It took a lot to impress Bluebell, even while drunk.
The beautiful female giant, Withowind, brought Ash a cup of mead and sat it at her elbow. ‘To wash down the meal,’ she said, before moving off again to circulate the room, playing the lady of the hall to perfection. Every man in the room was in love with her already, and most of the women.
The evening wore on. The room grew hot and close, and Ash’s shoes did not dry but they were at least warm. One of the Knapsacks brought out a harp and Ash was astonished to see him or her play it with their large fingers. The sound that emerged was sublime, and it rang around the room and escaped up above the roof beams to gather there with the smoke. At the next table to her, Gagel sat with Hyld on his lap, feeding her endless morsels of whale. Bluebell had either not noticed or did not care: no doubt Hyld would be throwing some of it up inside the tent tonight. Ash missed Sighere fiercely. How he would love to see such wonders. The thought of Sighere made her melancholy; he could no longer be hers to miss. Her heart had to be a stone.
As everyone grew drunk around her, one of the giants crouched next to Ash and, again, gave her a deferential nod. ‘Princess Ash,’ they said.
‘Hello.’ Don’t call him or her Knapsack. ‘I do not know your name.’
‘I am Nepsed.’ She indicated the harpist. ‘Cammoc is my husband.’
Ash committed herself to learning the difference between them, so she could address them properly. ‘It is a pleasure to know you. Thank you for inviting us to your hall.’
Nepsed smiled. Her eye teeth were long, almost wolfish; her top lip bowed deeply. Ash tried to memorise the details. ‘You are very welcome,’ she said. ‘Are you not bored? Shall I tell a story?’
‘I am sure the gathered company would love to hear a story.’
‘But would you?’
‘I am not special.’
Nepsed shook her head, laughing softly. ‘Oh, you are.’
‘Did somebody say story?’ This was Bluebell, leaning across the table. ‘Dear Nepsec, tell us a story.’
‘Nepsed,’ the giant corrected her with a disapproving frown.
‘Your wife is playing the harp so beautifully,’ Bluebell slurred. ‘Stories go with music.’
‘Husband,’ Ash said.
Nepsed stood and as she did, Cammoc stopped playing. Some unspoken sign passed between them, and then the music started again, quiet, expectant. Nepsed began to speak.
‘Once there was a fisherman named Halbjorn,’ she said. ‘He was wily and strong, but there was one wilier and stronger.’
She proceeded to tell a story about a whale who made it his life’s work to take revenge on Halbjorn for an imagined insult: ruining his livelihood, scaring away his friends and, in a grim turn, eventually killing his family. But Halbjorn would not be beaten, and the story ended with an elaborate plot by Halbjorn to capture the whale and bring it on land, kill it and sell the meat for a pile of gold.
As the last word of the story rang out, so too did the last chord of the quiet music. There was a pause, a breath, and then the lively harp music began again and a general cheer of appreciation for Nepsed. Bluebell stood, clapping and calling out, then was pulled unevenly down by Sal.
Nepsed approached Ash once more and held out her big hand. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘Withowind needs to speak to you.’
‘To me?’
Nepsed nodded, and Ash took her warm hand and allowed herself to be led away.
Withowind and Wermod sat at the back wall of the room on a riser made of stone smooth as glass. As she approached, Wermod stood and invited her to take his seat. She did so, and the other giants left her alone with Withowind. Ash sought out Bluebell with
her eyes, but Bluebell was deep in conversation with Sal. The brothers, Hroth and Hregen, had taken to their feet and were engaging in a drunken jig to Cammoc’s music. Gagel stood watching them, roaring with laughter, Hyld still sniffing around him for more food.
‘Are you enjoying your evening, Ash?’ Withowind asked.
Ash turned her attention to the beautiful giant. Her hair glimmered like snow. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘We live a simple life here. Your arrival is … exciting.’
‘In a good way?’
‘All things can be seen as good or bad, depending on how we see them,’ she said, with a slight shrug. ‘You do not know where you are, do you?’
‘In the hall? Or the island?’
Withowind smiled. ‘You do not know where the island is.’
Ash understood the answer was not ‘a few miles off the coast of Thyrsland’. She shook her head.
‘We guard the gate to Meregard,’ Withowind said.
‘Meregard? The home of the gods?’
Withowind nodded. ‘You have seen the white hall.’
Ash caught her breath. ‘That’s …’
‘We called you here, Ash. You ignored us for a very long time.’ She laughed lightly, teasingly.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. My powers were …’
‘I can explain more another time. When it is quieter. When you have been across.’
‘Across where?’
‘To Meregard.’
‘I …’
‘Next time you see the white hall, Ash, you must go in.’
‘Why?’
Withowind’s hand reached for hers, enclosed it fully and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Because they are waiting for you.’
Twenty-four
Rain set in after Rowan had defeated the hag, and clung to all the roundhouses and the woods around the hill. The gloomy days wore on and Rowan did not leave the house, not even when Heath tried to shame her for not attending training. She was done with him. She had seen the joy he took in lecturing her over risking Maewyn’s life to catch the hag. He revelled in her having done something so dangerous, so obviously in need of correction. Rowan’s rage had become painfully intense and the only way to deal with it was to refuse to feel it. To stop listening, stop caring. So every morning when he called for her to get out of bed, she ignored him. And, because he secretly preferred her not to be around his army, he did not try all that hard to get her up.