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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘I need a drink!’ Eadmund rasped furiously, pulling against his bindings.

  They had tied him to the chair when he’d woken, given him another dose of tincture and left him to fall asleep. He had been weak and tired, and thankfully, had barely protested at all.

  Thorgils had gone for some air, and Jael was lying on Eadmund’s uncomfortable little bed, trying to find some sleep. Her mind had flitted about anxiously like a hungry bird, though, and she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes closed for long.

  She sat up, stretched and groaned, pain searing through her back.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Eadmund wondered, suddenly quiet as he noticed the discomfort she was in.

  ‘Fine,’ Jael frowned as she padded towards him, her feet numb in damp socks. ‘But I do owe Tarak a good beating.’

  ‘What did you say to make him do that to you?’ Eadmund wondered, forgetting his desperate need for a drink for a moment.

  Jael opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything that would make sense to him. She searched around for the tincture, trying to remember where she had placed it. The fire had burned down to nothing, and it was already dark outside, making it very hard to see. ‘He just doesn’t like me very much, I suppose,’ she mumbled. ‘But perhaps we will meet in the contest, and I can finally have a turn at him.’

  ‘You won’t be able to push him over that easily,’ Eadmund croaked. ‘He’s made of stone. He’s a tower that won’t go down unless you take away his foundations.’

  Jael removed the stopper from the bottle and walked towards Eadmund. ‘That’s true. I shall think on it. Now open your mouth so that we can get this over with.’

  Instead, Eadmund turned his head away. ‘That’s not the sort of drink I had in mind.’

  ‘I imagine so, but you won’t save yourself, or anyone else, if you don’t try this drink. Come on,’ she urged, careful to stand just out of his reach, in case he knocked the bottle out of her hand.

  ‘Where’s Thorgils?’

  ‘Eadmund,’ Jael said firmly. ‘Take the tincture. Please. I’d rather you opened your mouth on your own. I don’t want to knock you out and pour it down your throat myself.’

  He turned around and glared at her wildly, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. ‘I’ll take your fucking tincture, if, if you get me a cup of ale. Just one cup. It doesn’t even have to be big. A small cup of ale for one drink of tincture. That’s a fair trade, don’t you think?’ His voice was high with desperation.

  ‘No. No ale. No liquid. Nothing but the tincture.’

  ‘How do you even know it will work?! How do you know what it does?!’ He shook angrily against the ropes, banging his wrists up and down on the arms of the chair, growling in frustration. ‘I don’t feel any better, or any worse, just the same.’ He glared at her angrily, his teeth bared.

  Jael stoppered the tincture, placing it far away from him, and walked back to the bed. She grabbed the furs and pulled them over her aching back, facing the wall in silence.

  Eadmund’s eyes followed her, at first furious and then, when he realised she wasn’t coming back, desperate. He was so thirsty that his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. He could barely swallow. He needed some form of liquid in his throat, and if it wasn’t going to be ale… ‘Alright, I’ll take it.’

  Jael didn’t move.

  He bit his lip in frustration, his forehead creased, his toes tapping the floorboards beneath his feet. He’d lied to her; his whole body was vibrating with the need for ale. His head felt as though a giant tic was crawling around inside it, constantly biting at his thoughts. He wanted to reach his hands inside his head and scratch till he bled. Not one part of him wanted to go through with this anymore. He didn’t want to think about any of them; they could save themselves. He just needed ale, ale, ale, but right now he would take liquid in any form, just to feel some moisture in his throat.

  ‘Please, Jael.’

  Jael sighed and got up, wondering why she had been stupid enough to lie down again; Eadmund’s horrible little bed was not helping the pain in her back. ‘Alright, but if you’ve made me get up just to turn your head again, I will have to slap you hard.’

  She wandered over to the kitchen, which really was only a broken bench and one shelf, both covered in a thick mess of dust and cobwebs; it appeared that he hadn’t done much cooking there for a while. She found a stale-smelling cup and tipped in a couple of drops of tincture, deciding that it was better to keep the bottle well away from Eadmund. Jael could sense the desperation in his voice now, no matter how much he was trying to convince her otherwise.

  ‘Here.’ She held the cup up to his face, urging him to tilt his head.

  Eadmund glared at her for a moment, his jaw tensing, which was not the action of a man who was about to open it. He breathed loudly through his nose, fast, quick breaths, and watched, as Jael stepped away. ‘Alright, alright,’ he snapped and quickly tipped his head back, opening his mouth.

  She leaned forward and dribbled the liquid inside, shook the cup, and moved away as quickly as possible. The wind was starting to pick up outside; a breathless howl that crept its way around the walls. Jael sighed and grimaced, her stomach rumbling as she came to sit by the fire. She hoped Thorgils would be back soon, and that he’d bring some food.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Eadmund said faintly, trying to take his mind off the overwhelming desire to scream and rage at his wife, demanding she release him.

  ‘Helping you, you mean?’

  ‘Well, you may call it help,’ he muttered, his teeth chattering suddenly. ‘But it feels more like torture to mmmeeee.’

  ‘I think you have that wrong,’ Jael said sadly as she placed another log on the fire. ‘What you’ve been doing to yourself, all these years, that was the torture. This part is the help.’

  ‘Grrrrrrrr!’ Eadmund snapped, his eyes popping furiously. ‘You have no idea what this feels like! If you did, you’d rip these fucking ropes off me and give me something to drink!’

  ‘And then what?’

  Eadmund blinked.

  ‘What will you do then? Drink, and then drink some more and go wandering about, falling asleep, disappearing, while your brother slowly takes over Oss and then kills everyone you love?’

  Eadmund frowned, rattling his arms over and over. ‘My father is still king here, isn’t he? He’s in no hurry for anyone to take over, I’m sure of that.’

  ‘But he knows he is going to die soon, doesn’t he? Ivaar knows it too.’

  Eadmund was almost still, then. Jael could hear his breathing, shallow and ragged. His eyes lost their fire for a moment as he lingered on the thought of losing his father. ‘We have to destroy Ivaar,’ he whispered finally, feeling the clarity of that singular thought and trying to grasp hold of it.

  ‘We do, but first, we have to save you.’

  ‘I need you to approach her again,’ Ivaar insisted softly to the ample breasts he lay between. ‘You cannot enter her confidence if she doesn’t get to know you. You can’t give up without even trying. This time, just do it differently. Put her at ease more, become her friend.’

  Ayla tried not to sigh as she shivered beneath Ivaar’s sprawling body. She was freezing, wishing she could just tell him to grab the furs, but from experience, she knew not to interrupt him when he was talking; he liked the sound of his own voice far too much. ‘I’ll try again then, perhaps tomorrow,’ she said sadly. ‘I don’t think Eydis trusts anyone much, not when she can’t see them. It must be very hard for her.’

  Ivaar sat up, finally cold himself, and went to retrieve the furs which had been tossed off the bed. ‘I know, she’s always been ridiculously shy, but don’t you see,’ he said as he threw the furs over Ayla and climbed in under them, ‘you’re a dreamer! She doesn’t know any dreamers. She will want to get to know you. She won’t be able to ignore her curiosity. That will win her over, I’m certain of it.’

  Ayla opened her mouth to speak, but one look at his face made her
close it. She smiled tightly. ‘Of course, you’re right. She did look keen on that idea, I think.’

  ‘Good,’ Ivaar said as he lay one leg over hers, pushing himself firmly into her side, seeking her warmth, yawning repeatedly. ‘I need to know what she has seen. Dreamers don’t always reveal everything they see, do they Ayla, my love?’

  Ayla froze as she watched his eyes close, a sly smile lingering on his lips. Ivaar had a way of finding out anything he wanted to know. She was terrified that he would find a way into her dreams and discover the visions she hid from him.

  They lay Eadmund down onto the bed again, securely him as tightly as possible. He looked up at them furiously, hating them both. His arms smashed the bed repeatedly, trying to loosen the ropes, but he had little strength remaining and had to stop after only a short while.

  ‘I need to piss.’

  Jael looked at Thorgils. ‘It would be your turn, I think.’

  Thorgils squirmed. ‘I think it’s probably better that you do it, don’t you? You’re his wife, remember? You’re supposed to touch his cock. I’m not!’

  ‘Well, hurry up then. You’ll have to untie him and hold him over the bed,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ll find that fucking pot.’

  ‘I left it by the door,’ Thorgils called over his shoulder. ‘Follow the stink!’

  Jael shuddered and suddenly thought of Biddy, enjoying the warmth of the fire at the house, with the puppies, probably drinking some hot milk, while she shivered in this wind-tortured shack, helping her raving husband piss in a pot. Surely something was wrong with that?

  When Jael returned, Thorgils was having a battle with Eadmund, who appeared to have changed his mind and just wanted to run to the door. But Jael was in no mood to do this again in a hurry, so she crouched down and quickly lifted Eadmund’s tunic, grabbing hold of his flapping cock and shoving it into the pot. They’d had such a hard time managing this at first that he’d pissed his trousers, and they’d decided just a tunic would be easier from now on.

  She crouched there, half asleep, fed up, and in complete agony, trying to ignore what she was doing, thinking instead of the comfort of her perfectly soft but firm bed. She shook her head quickly, not wanting to think of firm things; that would surely not help matters.

  There was a gentle trickle, then an evil, rotting stench flooded the whole room. It was eye-watering, and Jael retched, getting up as soon as Eadmund had finished, rushing to the door and throwing the entire pot outside, desperate to take a deep breath of anything that wasn’t that smell.

  She heard Thorgils gagging behind her as he started pushing Eadmund back down onto the bed. Between them they fought him into submission and tightened the ropes, leaving their prisoner grumbling, yawning, and frowning at them as they moved away to sit by the fire.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Thorgils wondered. They had not spoken much since they had stumbled upon peace, but he had noticed that Jael was making a lot of strange faces.

  Jael looked up as snow started drifting down the smoke hole, sizzling the flames. She stretched her back. ‘Tarak.’

  Thorgils leaned forward, worried. ‘What did he do to you?’

  ‘He wanted to see if I could fly,’ Jael smiled wryly. ‘So he pushed me, as hard as he could, onto the ice. Just another reason to defeat the bastard. As if we needed more.’

  ‘But why? What did you say to him?’

  ‘Well...’ Jael mumbled. ‘I suppose I threatened him, taunted him, that sort of thing...’

  ‘And you thought it would end well, did you?’ Thorgils looked unimpressed. ‘You could have broken something! Ice is an unforgiving bitch.’

  ‘True, but it was worth it, and I don’t think I did.’

  ‘Worth it? How?’

  Jael smiled. ‘He doesn’t see me as any sort of threat now. Just a smart-mouthed woman he can push over. So, if I do come up against him in the contest, he will be overconfident about his chances. It might even up the odds.’

  Thorgils laughed, almost happy for the first time in days. He had missed Jael’s company and her crazy insistence on trying to out-think everybody. He leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘And what about Ivaar? How is that plan going?’

  ‘Ahhh, well, it’s going along at a steady pace, I suppose,’ she muttered, jiggling about on her stool, avoiding Thorgils’ enquiring glare. ‘He seems to like me well enough.’

  ‘Oh, does he now?’ Thorgils glare intensified. ‘And what does that mean?’

  Jael glanced over at Eadmund, but he appeared to be sleeping. ‘Well, he tried to kiss me.’

  ‘What?!’ Thorgils growled. ‘That bastard! What a shit. What a fucking shit!’ He stared at her. ‘I told you this would happen.’

  ‘Ha! I don’t believe you told me that would happen but stop fretting. Ivaar knows I’m not interested.’

  Thorgils gave her a doubt-filled look, and she gave him back a pair of determined eyebrows, and they were just about to pick up their argument again when Eadmund started shaking violently. His eyes were closed, and his body was jerking about with no control; he was having some sort of seizure. The only look Jael and Thorgils exchanged then was one of panic as they both raced to the bed.

  ‘Quick, untie the ropes!’ Jael urged as she raced to undo the ropes at his feet.

  Thorgils was frozen in fear as he watched Eadmund’s shuddering body; he didn’t move.

  ‘Thorgils!’ Jael yelled. ‘We have to turn him onto his side! You need to untie the ropes!’

  Eadmund’s head was banging into his pillow, his feet were hitting the end of the bed’s frame, and now his eyes were open, rolling about in his head. Thorgils suddenly woke out of his daze and raced to tear open the knots around his wrists. It wasn’t easy; they’d tied them very tight.

  ‘Let’s roll him over!’ Jael instructed as the ropes came undone, at last, her voice filled with anxiety. ‘I’ll lie behind him, and you come here and make sure he’s breathing.’

  Thorgils didn’t argue as he swapped places with Jael, who crawled up onto the bed, which was shaking and groaning under Eadmund’s jerking body, and her extra weight. It held, though, and she managed to grab hold of Eadmund and stop his arms flapping about. She could feel her heart thudding loudly against his moving back. She closed her eyes, begging Vidar to keep Eadmund safe.

  He couldn’t die. Not like this. She wouldn’t let him.

  42

  ‘Mother!’ Branwyn grabbed Edela by the shoulders and tried to wake her. ‘Mother! You’re having a bad dream! You need to wake up! Mother?’

  Edela sat up quickly, her eyes still closed, her breathing shallow. She frowned, trying not to wake fully until she had a firm hold on the threads of her dream.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Branwyn looked worried; her mother’s face was very pale.

  Edela remained silent as she tried to remember the fading visions. There had been a note, and a cup, and what else? Eadmund, that’s right; something was wrong with Eadmund. She blinked her eyes open, staring into Branwyn’s troubled face. Edela yawned and shivered as the chill of the room wrapped itself quickly around her; she looked keenly towards the fire.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m alright my dear,’ Edela groaned as she eased herself out of bed. Her hip clicked, and she felt the pain in it; the colder weather was making all her familiar aches worse, but there was no time to dwell on that now. ‘I’m just trying to keep my dreams afloat. They can disappear so quickly these days.’

  Branwyn grabbed the fur from her mother’s bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Here, warm yourself by the fire, and I’ll bring you something hot to drink.’

  Edela smiled gratefully and settled herself into the comfortable, fur-covered chair, closing her eyes, disappearing back into the darkness. She’d seen the two beheaded girls again, as though she was standing barely an arm’s length from them; just their heads, on the spikes. Two pairs of dead, glazed eyes staring into hers. A hooded figure had been crouching there, underneath the heads, with a
cup, catching some of the dripping blood. It had been so dark, but she remembered the flash of a knife as it tore off a clump of each girl’s long hair.

  Edela opened her eyes. It was an unpleasant dream to revisit, but she was glad for having retained it. She shook her head, cross with herself for forgetting those girls. What had happened to them was important, somehow. She needed to discover if anyone knew about them.

  ‘Here you are,’ Branwyn smiled as she handed her mother a cup of fragrant tea and sat down beside her. ‘Have you managed to remember your dreams, then?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ Edela croaked, still only half awake. ‘Some of them at least. It felt as though I hadn’t dreamed for many days, and then suddenly, there were so many at once. I’m sure most of them slipped away in the night, but I do remember dreaming about Eadmund. Something is wrong there.’

  ‘Jael’s Eadmund?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Edela murmured as she tried a sip of tea, but it was too hot. ‘His soul is far away from him, wandering lost. He must decide whether it is life or death he seeks because he can no longer have both at the same time.’

  Branwyn’s forehead creased; she didn’t understand what Edela was talking about at all. ‘What else did you see? Anything about the sword?’ She’d noticed how secretive her mother and Aleksander had become; anything they were uncovering was not being shared with her or Kormac.

  ‘The sword?’ Edela said distractedly. ‘No, but I did see something that confused me.’ She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. ‘Perhaps it is another clue... I saw a note. Someone wrote a note about us coming to Tuura all those years ago. They were alerting someone about our visit.’

  Branwyn swallowed. She hated to talk about that night; it had been the single worst moment of her life. She felt sick reliving it, but the thought of discovering the why of it all piqued her interest. ‘So, you were the reason they came? They wanted you or something you had?’ Branwyn frowned. ‘Then why kill Evva?’