Winter's Fury (The Furyck Saga: Book One)

by A. E. Rayne

  Aleksander sipped on a cup of cold ale and sighed. It was a relief to finally stop. It had been a steady days ride, and they’d made reasonable enough progress. Edela was hardier than he’d imagined possible, for a woman of her age. He had watched her nodding head and her weary eyes but hadn’t heard any groans or complaints as she had trailed behind him throughout the day.

  Camping in the snow was not going to be easy, though. Aleksander had hoped to find a cave before nightfall, in fact, he had one in mind that he used regularly, but they hadn’t travelled far enough to make it there before the sun started sinking. So, instead, he had made a camp for them in a sheltered grove of trees, a little way off the main road. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

  He had dug out an area of snow to form a pit for them to lie their bundles of furs into and unpacked the tent he had brought along. With Edela’s help, they had joined the wooden poles together, secured them into the ground, and to each other, and slipped a thick, linen tent over the frame. It would be enough to keep out the worst of the night, and hopefully, give Edela a restorative sleep.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to do the same again tomorrow?’ Aleksander wondered anxiously as they both leaned into the first flames of the fire, desperate for warmth after a day that had left them both numb.

  ‘Of course!’ she insisted resolutely. ‘I am old, but not weak. I can sit on a horse for many more hours if I have to, and I will do so again tomorrow. As long as there’s a hot fire and a warm bed at the end of each day, that will be enough to keep me going,’ she smiled with tired eyes. ‘This is too important to worry about a few aches and pains. I’m an old woman... I’ll have them anyway!’

  Aleksander sighed, relieved. She sounded determined, although he did still wonder if they should have taken a cart. The strain on the horses, the lack of a clear road to follow in the snow, and the worry about getting stuck, had all played a part in his decision to simply go on horses and hope for the best. But he wasn’t sure how Edela was going to feel, having to get up tomorrow and do it all over again. ‘Well, get as much sleep as you can. You will need more strength for tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t think sleep will be a problem,’ she cackled, her smile still bright, despite the trials of the day. ‘I’m sure I will sleep deeper than I have in my whole life!’

  ‘Good. Maybe you will have another dream to help us, too?’

  Edela’s face paled, despite the warm glow of the fire. She stood, trying not to give in to the intense pains shooting through her aching limbs.

  ‘We need to know more,’ she sighed, grimacing. ‘That I do know. But my dreams have been so terrifying lately. I would rather stay awake than sink back into that dark pit again.’

  ‘I know. It must be hard to see those things and feel as though you are in it, living through it.’

  ‘It is, of course, but still, I’m being shown them for a reason. The gods think I can help Jael.’ She looked wistful, wondering how Jael was faring on Oss. She missed her granddaughter’s fiery company more than she ever let on. ‘I have a feeling there is so much more hiding in the shadows. I’m just not sure I want to peek inside.’

  Aleksander got up to help her to bed. He snatched at her fur to stop it from falling into the fire. ‘Well, you’re not alone out here, at least. I can’t come into your dreams and save you, but I’ll be waiting here if you need me.’ He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and eased her down onto her bed.

  ‘You’re a good man, Aleksander,’ Edela said with a yawn. ‘And tomorrow we can talk all about Amma on our ride, and perhaps you will finally tell me why you think Jael is coming back to you?’

  Aleksander blinked at her; he wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Eadmund hadn’t made eye contact with her once; he hadn’t even turned her way. It felt very strange after their conversation at the Pit, which had been their friendliest one so far. Strange also, because they were sitting next to each other, eating their evening meal in the hall, their bodies almost touching.

  Eadmund was drinking, but not excessively, Jael noticed. He wasn’t talking, to anyone at all. His father appeared to have given up on him and was speaking with Morac instead. Jael had been talking to Eydis, but she had left for bed.

  Thorgils saw the empty space and took it. ‘Eirik’s going to announce the groups for the contest tonight.’

  ‘So he said.’

  Thorgils looked unimpressed by her lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’s important to get into the right group, to see which one of us has a chance. You know,’ he whispered, moving closer to her, ‘with Tarak.’

  They both looked over at Tarak then, who must have sensed their attention, for he stared straight back at them. They looked quickly away.

  ‘We’re not ready,’ Jael said bluntly. ‘Neither of us are.’

  ‘Well, speak for yourself!’ Thorgils scoffed. ‘My sword arm’s never been in such fine shape. And thanks to you, I’ve gotten more in control of this.’ He tapped his head. ‘Stronger with my technique, too. Surely you’re being hard on yourself there? I’m not saying you could defeat Tarak, or even me, but you don’t look that bad. I doubt there are many out there who could beat you.’

  Jael barely acknowledged Thorgils’ words. She felt agitated being in the same room with Tarak, feeling his eyes on her; his very presence made her skin crawl. She had tried to avoid him ever since her talk with Fyn. She had worked hard to stop herself thinking about him, or being around him, but it was near impossible; he was loud, large, and always showing off somewhere nearby. Whenever she heard or saw him, she thought of Fyn; Fyn crying, Fyn as a little boy, Fyn being raped, and that made her so wild that she had to bite down hard on her tongue to stop herself from doing something rash. So far, she had managed it, but only just.

  ‘If I were training with my old partner now,’ she said, her voice softening as she saw a glimpse of Aleksander’s face for the first time in days. ‘He would have won every fight against me. Easily. That’s how I know I’m not ready for Tarak. I’m nowhere near sharp enough.’

  ‘He was good then, this partner of yours?’

  ‘Not as good as me, but close,’ Jael smiled sadly. ‘We had trained together since we were children, so we learned the same techniques over and over again. My father brought in warriors from every kingdom to teach us. We learned everything together, practised it together. Constantly. It’s strange to fight without him.’

  The look on Jael’s face told Thorgils more than her words; he could understand that sort of sorrow. ‘And yet, you were beaten by a nothing sort of Osslander named Thorgils!’ he laughed, trying to cheer her up. ‘So, either I’m better than I thought, or you were having a bad day,’ he winked at her.

  Torstan grabbed Thorgils’ attention then, and Jael was once again reminded of her silent husband. Was it Evaine? Had she told him? It would certainly explain his silence. He wouldn’t know what to do if that were the case. In truth, she didn’t know what to do. And more importantly, what would Eirik do?

  Jael reached out and touched Eadmund’s arm, then retracted her hand quickly, immediately regretting her rash show of affection.

  Eadmund looked around, surprised; he had almost forgotten she was there. He stared down at his arm, wondering if he had just imagined her touch.

  Jael tried to smile, but it was awkward and only half-formed, so it came across as more of a grimace. ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ she mumbled as he looked away again.

  Eadmund drank from his cup, not looking back at her. ‘I have some things on my mind.’

  ‘Ahhh, woman troubles, is it?’ she smiled lightly, trying to be friendly, wondering at the same time why she felt such an urge to be friendly.

  Eadmund’s tongue tangled inside his mouth and he ended up gaping at her, no words forming at all. ‘I...’

  ‘Or, were you thinking that you must come around and look at that horse of yours before Thorgils takes her home to live with him and his mother? He does love that horse, and she loves him, so no dou
bt you were planning to bring her a carrot to try and lure her away. It won’t be easy, their bond is a strong one, but she does like a good carrot.’ The words kept tumbling out of her mouth, as much as Jael wanted to stuff them back inside. ‘Perhaps you were thinking that you should act fast, so tomorrow would be the best time?’

  Eadmund’s mouth hung open some more, but the look in her eye was warm and inviting; in fact, everything about her was inviting, now that he considered it. She was sitting close to him, her body turned in his direction, her head inclined his way, her eyes staring into his.

  Eadmund put his cup down on the table but didn’t take his eyes off her. He suddenly forgot about Evaine, pregnant Evaine, and the problem of the baby that he had been eye-deep in all evening long. He forgot about everything except those eyes, which were deep-green and not at all harsh and judgemental right now. They were almost concerned, certainly friendly, and definitely open to him. He didn’t look away. ‘I... yes, I do believe that is just what I was thinking. About the horse, and tomorrow. It would be good to come. Over. To see the horse.’ He felt flustered, clumsy with his words.

  ‘Good. I’ll make sure I’m back by mid-morning,’ Jael said, enjoying flummoxing him, but then realised, she felt just as flummoxed herself. She looked away, grabbing her cup, hiding her heated face in it.

  ‘Back? Are you going somewhere?’ Eadmund broke his trance to take a deep breath and a long drink.

  ‘I like to ride, every morning,’ Jael mumbled between sips of ale. ‘Tig’s a moody horse. It’s best to keep him well exercised and happy. He’s more likely to do as he’s told then.’

  Eadmund smiled. He didn’t know what to say, or what had just happened; he felt better, though, less alone. Maybe Eydis was right, after all, maybe he did need someone to save him. And maybe it was going to be Jael.

  Eirik stood up to quiet the hall, which had been low-humming with anticipation all evening. They hushed easily for him tonight, for most were waiting to hear which group they would be in for the contest. Eirik was in a particularly good mood as he surveyed his warriors. The plan to keep everyone eye-bright and focused, had, for the most part, worked, and he’d been pleased to see how full the Pit had been, in the best and worst conditions that winter had thrown at Oss so far.

  The first part of the Freeze had gone better than he could have imagined. Eadmund had pulled himself out of his ale-soaked ditch. He had a Furyck wife now, and soon their sons would run around their old grandfather’s legs, if there was time. He hoped he had time; he would like to see that. He looked wistfully down at Eadmund, remembering him as a scrawny little boy, whose golden hair was always being braided by his beautiful mother; she had loved it too much to ever cut it off. Eirik felt a yearning then, for Eskild, his second wife, who he had loved so passionately. He was wandering too far away from the hall, he knew, so he inhaled a deep, ale-rich breath to bring him back to the present. There was no point in looking behind him; he still had much to do before his time was at an end and Vidar came to take him to his hall.

  ‘Right, I have the list!’ Eirik bellowed, holding a piece of parchment high for everyone to see. ‘Morac and I have taken your names and placed you into four groups. Your opponent will be drawn before you fight. After four rounds of fighting, we’ll drop down to two groups, who will fight until we are left with just two men standing!’ Eirik didn’t mean to, but he stared at Tarak, whose scarred face rippled with confidence. ‘And of course, those two will fight for the champion’s honour!’

  Thorgils clapped Jael on the back, whistling loudly, joining in the chorus of cheering Osslanders. Jael wasn’t sure how he was going to contain his excitement over the next few weeks; it was already boiling over.

  As Eirik started to read out the names, Jael noticed that Eadmund was looking around the hall, staring at each warrior in turn. ‘Assessing your competition?’ she wondered quietly.

  Eadmund blinked, caught out. ‘No, no, not me. I’m not in the contest. Not this time.’

  ‘Makes sense. Best to wait until you’re ready. There’s no point getting squashed by Tarak for no good reason.’

  ‘Mmmm, I have a memory of him trying that the last time we fought. I suppose it makes up for his lack of skill with a sword.’

  Jael heard her name mentioned but wasn’t especially interested.

  Thorgils was, though. ‘You’re with Torstan! Ha! Look at his face!’

  He was right, Jael saw, as she caught Torstan’s eye. He was suffering the jeers of his friends as they slapped his back and pointed at Jael, clutching their bellies and laughing. Torstan had trained with Jael twice, and both times she had defeated him harshly, to the amusement of many in the Pit. He didn’t look pleased at all.

  ‘At least you and I are not in the same group,’ Thorgils sighed, relieved. ‘I wouldn’t want to humiliate you any further.’

  Eadmund laughed loudly at the look on Jael’s face. She smiled at him, feeling relaxed, almost enjoying herself as she looked around the hall. These men were genuinely happy, she saw, Eirik too. He stood up there, proudly reading out the names of his warriors, basking in the glow of their victory dreams as they sat around the fire, which warmed them from the bitter winter, hiding just outside the hall’s thick, wooden doors.

  Jael took another sip from her cup and felt her shoulders sink slowly down. Eadmund had turned her way and was toasting Thorgils, who appeared to have landed in an easy enough group, or so he said. Eadmund’s leg was resting against hers under the table. Jael felt a twist in her stomach as her body responded to his, but she didn’t flinch, and she didn’t move away. She saw Aleksander’s face and felt the rebuke it in.

  ‘You will have it hard, Jael. Your group has a couple of good men in it,’ Thorgils said, attempting a sympathetic smile; his eyes alive with thoughts of facing Tarak. ‘But we have a few weeks to get ready, and even though I haven’t trained with anyone who wasn’t a piece of shit, no offence meant Eadmund, I’m sure I can give you just as good a beating as your old partner!’

  Eadmund saw Jael’s smile slip. She recovered it quickly enough, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘Perhaps we should go our separate ways now?’ she suggested. ‘We might meet each other in the final, and we wouldn’t want to give away all our secrets, would we?’

  Thorgils scratched his beard; she had a fair point. He considered it, then bent his head low towards her ear. ‘The only thing that truly matters to me is that one of us beats that giant turd. And if I can’t stop him, then it will be up to you. We both need to enter that Pit with the best we have. So, let’s help each other. No games. Let’s spend the next few weeks out of sight from everyone else. We can go and train at Fyn’s. Perhaps together we can cook up a few surprises for whoever we’re drawn against.’

  He sat back, one bushy, red eyebrow raised in her direction and Jael nodded, reflecting the fierce determination she saw in his eyes.

  ‘Agreed,’ she whispered. ‘But Thorgils, if that is what you really want, then I’ll have to stop being so easy on you!’

  His face broke into a lop-sided grin, and she shared in it. For all that she missed Aleksander, for all that she needed him to make her better, what she did have now was Thorgils and Fyn, and somehow, they would have to be enough.

  She turned around to speak to Eadmund, but he had gone.

  ‘Aleksander! Aleksander! Wake up!’

  Edela shook the sleeping lump with both arms, trying to rouse him out of his nightmare. He had been wailing, tossing about loudly enough to wake her. She tried again, shaking herself as much as him. It was bone-numbing inside the tent, and she was desperate to crawl back under her frozen pile of furs.

  ‘What?!’ Aleksander yelled suddenly, sitting up in surprise, reaching instinctively for his knife, which he always kept under his pillow.

  ‘Sssshhh, it’s me, Edela. You’ve had a nightmare.’ Tired of bending over inside their little tent, she sunk down by his legs, listening to the gentle crackle of frost on his furs. The
moon was full enough for her to make out his face; it shone with sweat, ghostly pale. He was shaking.

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ he chattered. ‘Get back to your bed before you freeze.’

  He made a move to get up and help her, but Edela put her arm out to stop him. ‘You keep warm, I’m alright, it’s not that far,’ she chortled as she heaved herself up and over to her own bed, wondering at the wisdom of taking this trip in the deep winter. She lay down, feeling aches in many new places as she tried to get comfortable; her body was telling her off, loudly. ‘What was your nightmare about?’ she wondered as she jiggled her arms and legs, trying to warm herself up.

  Aleksander crept out of his bed and prodded the fire to see if there was any life in it; there was, just. Wrapping a fur around his shoulders, he grabbed a handful of dry twigs and leaves that he had collected earlier and made a little nest around the glowing embers. They didn’t catch. ‘It was about my parents,’ he murmured, feeling about for his tinderbox. ‘Watching them get killed again.’

  ‘Of course,’ Edela mumbled from under her furs. ‘I imagined that going back to Tuura would bring those terrible memories up. I’m so sorry for you, truly sorry for what happened.’

  Aleksander struck his firesteel on the flint, half his mind still lost in his dream, still hearing the screams of his mother as she lay over his father’s dead body, before she too was slaughtered before his 10-year-old eyes. His memories before that night were forever coloured by their traumatic loss. He only felt sadness when he looked back now. They had been good parents, he thought, good to each other, and he knew he had been loved, but when they died, all of that had been replaced by a sense of loss, and emptiness and nothing else.

  Aleksander blew on the burning touchwood and carried it carefully to the little nest he had made, his hands shaking with cold. It smoked, then burst into flame. ‘I’ll never understand why it happened. What reason there was for any of it.’ His voice sounded lost and far away. ‘Why did those men attack us? Why did they kill my parents? Why didn’t you see it coming?’ he sighed sadly as he blew on the struggling flames.