by A. E. Rayne
Eirik frowned. ‘Is it me?’
Eadmund laughed. ‘I think so.’
‘Hmmm, I did not realise so many of my lords needed hand-holding before the battle.’
‘They don’t like Jael.’
Eirik glared at Ivaar. ‘So I hear.’
‘Don’t look at me, Father,’ Ivaar said indignantly. ‘The lords’ feelings for Jael Furyck are not new. She has been killing Islanders for many years. They have no wish to see her on the throne of Oss.’
‘Well, then,’ Eirik murmured. ‘Perhaps it is time I look for new lords? Ones prepared to embrace the future that I’m choosing for the islands. I am happy to discuss removing any who don’t agree with me, or my choice of commander.’ He took the goblet of wine a servant offered him, inhaling its sweet, fruity scent; Rexon Boas really did have the best wine he had ever tasted. ‘And that includes you, Ivaar.’ He stared at his son, all humour gone. ‘You may wish me dead, and your brother, maybe even Jael. But none of us will survive Haaron’s fleet if we do not follow one leader into battle. If you continue to stir up trouble or sow any more seeds of rebellion in my lords’ heads before we take to our ships, then you will no longer be Lord of Kalfa, do you understand? You will be Lord of the Nothing,’ he spat. ‘And I shall send Thorgils to Kalfa myself, to inform your wife of your tragic loss.’ He glared at Ivaar, his old eyes hard and bitter. ‘I am sure he would enjoy that enormously.’
Ivaar stood there, shaking with fury, his lips thin and white as they clamped together, his hands at his sides, pulsing against his legs. He nodded his head. ‘As you wish, Father,’ he muttered, at last, feeling the thud of his heart, like the angry beat of a drum inside his chest.
Eirik didn’t move as he watched his eldest son walk stiffly away. Perhaps he had been harsh? Said too much? But he would not let Ivaar destroy Oss or their chance of victory, however slim it might be.
Ayla’s head had barely touched the pillow before she was lurching back up, gagging for air.
She sat there, trembling in the darkness, listening to the frantic rhythm of her breathing, her eyes flicking around as pieces of her dream flashed before them. Panting, she tried to think of what to do.
What could she do?
And then she saw Eydis’ face.
‘Are you alright?’ Jael wondered as Eadmund stumbled. He didn’t look drunk, but Torstan had muttered that maybe she should go and check on him, before hurrying Thorgils away for a quiet word.
‘I just slipped,’ he said crossly, looking to leave.
Jael reached out and gripped his arm, imploring him to come back to her with her eyes, but his would not meet hers.
‘I just slipped,’ he said again, resisting the urge to shake her off and walk away; he didn’t need her fussing. ‘The floor is thick with ale. And not mine. I’ve only had a couple of cups. No need to worry.’
Jael looked worried.
She was just about to try and get his evasive eyes to focus on hers when two men burst through the doors of the hall, forcing their way through the crowd of men and women gathered around the fires, their dirty cloaks flapping behind them.
Rexon, sitting next to Lothar at the high table, was suddenly alert and on his feet, striding to the fire to meet the men. His scouts.
‘My lord.’ The two men bowed their heads quickly.
‘You have news?’ Rexon asked, his voice suddenly loud in the hushed hall.
‘Yes, lord,’ the older of the two men said breathlessly. ‘Haaron’s sons are on the march with a large army. Well over 1000 men, I would say. They should be at the pass in a day.’
A surprised murmur swept around the hall. This was much earlier than they had anticipated and would likely put an end to their plans for trapping the Hestians in the pass.
‘And Haaron?’ Lothar bellowed. ‘You saw him?’
‘No, my lord,’ the older man replied, shaking his head. ‘But Haegen and Karsten Dragos were there, leading their forces.’
Lothar frowned and glanced at Osbert. He had his heart set on defeating Haaron, but where was he?
‘Perhaps he has gone to Skorro?’ Osbert wondered, reading the perturbed expression on his father’s face. ‘To command their fleet?’
Lothar frowned, swallowing a lump of overcooked chicken. ‘Well, perhaps that is a good sign? Perhaps he fears what we are about to deliver to both his doors?’ He wasn’t feeling the confidence of his words, though.
‘We will need to leave in the morning, my lord,’ Rexon said as he turned to his king. ‘If we are to have any hope of reaching them before they get through the pass, we cannot delay.’
‘Mmmm,’ Lothar nodded, looking for Eirik, who was trying to find his way back to the high table. ‘I would say so.’
‘Therefore, lord,’ Rexon continued. ‘We must hold our ritual now. There will be no time tomorrow.’
Lothar farted and sighed, flicking his hand dismissively. ‘Go ahead, then,’ he muttered, then turned to address the hall. ‘I suggest we all say our goodbyes this evening! Ensure your swords and spears are sharp, your ships are loaded, and your bellies are full. And whatever you do, stay away from those sick men! We are going to need all of you to defeat Haaron and his sons!’
Rexon hurried to organise food and ale for his worn scouts, as Eirik and the island lords joined Lothar and Osbert.
Eadmund turned to Jael. ‘We should go. You don’t want to be left out of that discussion.’ And without waiting for her, he made his way through the crowd towards his father.
Jael hesitated, unsettled by Eadmund’s strange behaviour.
Aleksander stopped beside her. ‘I imagine that Eirik will need you up there to keep those old goats in line,’ he grinned. ‘Come on.’
Jael looked at his familiar face. It felt good to be seen. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she smiled back and followed him through the crowd, the aching hole in her heart growing wider and wider.
Ayla rummaged desperately inside the chest.
She had placed a lamp beside her on the table in Isaura’s private chamber. It was not enough light to see by, not really, not inside a dark, iron chest. The night was stormy, and the moon was only visible in occasional flashes. She sighed impatiently, frustrated, but at last her fingers touched hair. Gripping hold of it, Ayla yanked the doll out of the chest and held it to the flame. It was the right one. She smiled and turned to leave.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Ayla gasped, jumping in surprise. ‘I, I...’ She didn’t know what to say.
Isaura walked towards her, frowning, holding her own burning lamp. As she came closer, she saw the wooden doll Ayla held in her hand. Selene’s doll. ‘What are you doing, Ayla? Why do you want my daughter’s doll? Do you mean her harm?’
Ayla swallowed, shaking her head. ‘No, I don’t,’ she insisted. ‘Never. It’s just that I... need it.’
‘For what?’ Isaura’s whole body was tense, her eyes suspicious.
Ayla didn’t have time to convince Isaura of a story; there was barely enough time for the truth. ‘I had a dream.’
They gathered by Alfnir’s Tree, Saala’s oldest tree. Ancient and mysterious, it had drawn Brekkans to seek its luck and protection for centuries. The Tree of the Oster Gods, they called it.
The moon was waxing, illuminating Rexon as he strode through the middle of his men, holding the sacrificial copper bowl; walking towards the stone at the foot of the tree where his volka, Huba, stood, waiting.
Jael frowned. She glanced at Aleksander, and he turned to her, sensing and sharing in her discomfort. They could hear the horse as he was brought forward. Jael thought of Tig. She thought of her father. This was a ritual he had carried out as king. He had taught it to Rexon.
It was older than any of them.
Jael wanted no part of it though. Furia did not need a horse to die to endow her luck upon them, Jael was sure. How could a warrior, a Brekkan warrior especially, wish for the death of a such a noble creature? Her father had said it showed the ultimat
e sacrifice; that a Brekkan would give up one of their beloved horses to honour Furia. Jael shook her head, choosing to disagree.
Aleksander wanted to reach out and grab her hand. He had always hated it as much as she did. He could hear the anxious terror in the horse as he skittered, pulling against the man who dragged him forward.
But Rexon was like Ranuf. Like Gant. They believed that the gods would only bless them if they spilt blood before the tree; whether it was Alfnir’s Tree in Saala or Furia’s Tree in Andala.
A sacrifice needed to be made.
Jael turned her eyes to the ground, not wanting to see it. Eadmund was beside her, looking on. Thorgils beside him. She wanted to leave.
The volka was chanting, the horse whinnying.
She couldn’t look.
The horse screamed.
They heard the blood as it gushed into the bowl, the horse’s body as it slumped to the earth.
Jael felt the sudden loss and closed her eyes, imagining his spirit running free as the volka started to cry and wail imploring to Vidar, to his daughter, Furia. Dipping his wooden stick into the bowl, he walked through the gathered men, flicking them with blood, blessing them with the luck they would all need for the coming battle.
Lothar mumbled loudly throughout the volka’s cry, which made Rexon irate and distracted everyone present. Both Gant and Gisila turned towards him, imploringly, but he was oblivious as he yawned and scratched and farted, not bothering to worry whether Furia would look favourably on him at all.
Lothar had no need for her luck.
He felt confident enough in his own.
They had hurried to Ayla’s cottage and were now crouching around the small fire. It was a cold, wild evening, snow still on the ground, but neither woman noticed their shivering; they were too intent on what they had to do.
‘You need to bang the drum, Isaura,’ Ayla said in a hushed voice. She stared into Isaura’s worried eyes. ‘Slowly and rhythmically. Don’t stop. I will leave you and go into my trance, but I need you to keep drumming, so that I may stay there.’
Isaura, on her knees, nodded. She held the drum awkwardly, never having used such a thing before. It was a simple enough instrument – a wooden frame with rawhide tightly pulled over it – but Isaura felt all at sea. ‘Like this?’ she wondered nervously, tapping the skin with her palm.
‘Yes, that will be fine,’ Ayla murmured distractedly, checking that she was ready. She had placed candles around the circle she had drawn, in blood that had been mixed with hair from the doll. Ayla had remembered that Eydis had given the doll as a gift to Selene; a doll made with Eydis’ own raven-like hair.
Ayla unwrapped her small bundle of herbs and plants, inhaled slowly, and threw them onto the flames. She turned to Isaura. ‘Start drumming.’
‘Your uncle is ready for his bed, I think,’ Eirik whispered to Jael.
Jael rolled her eyes. Lothar was ready for his pyre, she thought to herself. If only the gods would send the message that Brekka was ready for a new king. Surely, in their wisdom, they could see the destruction Lothar Furyck was causing to the first kingdom of Osterland. ‘I’m sure he is,’ she whispered back. ‘But I don’t imagine my mother wants him in her bed until he is completely unconscious.’ She nodded towards Gisila who looked thoroughly miserable, trying to push her slumped husband away from her.
‘Ha!’ Eirik sniggered as he handed his empty cup to a passing servant. ‘The poor woman. I can only imagine...’
Jael’s eyes met Eadmund’s, and he looked away, back to Thorgils and Fyn; no cup in his hand, which was something at least. Thorgils winked at Jael, trying to cheer her up.
‘Tell me he’s not slipping away again,’ Eirik said, suddenly serious, his eyes on Eadmund. ‘Back to that place.’ He turned to Jael. ‘Has the tincture stopped working?’
Jael shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But something is wrong?’
‘Yes.’
Eirik sighed.
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Jael insisted. ‘You never need to worry about Eadmund. Whatever has happened to him, I can fix it. I just need to get this battle with Haaron out of my way first.’ She smiled at Eirik with more confidence than she felt.
Eirik looked into those fiercely determined green eyes and relaxed his shoulders. ‘Well, Jael, I told you that I had faith in you, so I can hardly give up on you now, can I? Not when you’re about to show me all that you can do.’ He smiled and looked towards his lords, his men, Lothar and his son. ‘You must not let any of them get the better of you, with their words or their doubts, because I believe in you and you’re my commander. My heir. Don’t you forget that,’ he said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘And you have a job to do. For me.’ And kissing her on the cheek, he walked away, through the crowd, back to those lords, those men, that king and his son.
Jael watched him go, standing just a little bit taller. He was right. She shook her head. He was right.
She had a job to do.
18
‘Sleep well,’ Amma smiled as she headed for the door. She was desperate to see Axl one last time before he left. They had arranged to meet amongst the trees, just outside the gates, but she needed to ensure that Eydis was safely tucked in bed first.
‘You’re not staying?’ Eydis asked anxiously from her bed.
‘No, I...’ Amma stalled, guilt flooding her veins as she caught a glimpse of Eydis’ worried face in the faint glow of the brazier. ‘I will not be long, I promise. The servants are just outside the door. And Jael will be here soon,’ she said reassuringly.
‘Alright,’ Eydis sighed, not feeling that reassured, but lying down anyway. ‘Goodnight.’
Amma slipped through the door, closing it quietly after her. She turned around with a jump.
‘Where are you off to then?’
‘Ahhh, I, ahhh,’ Amma stumbled, nervous under Jael’s interrogating glare.
‘You’re leaving Eydis? Alone in there?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to be long,’ Amma insisted, her eyes sweeping the rugs on the floor. ‘And she’s not really alone, with the servants here.’
Jael had to admit that she was right. Eydis had her servant, Boelle, and Gunni was there too. Jael could see them preparing for bed, whispering to each other as they banked the fire. ‘But where are you going? This late? By yourself?’ Her cousin’s face was so coloured with guilt that Jael knew she was hiding something.
Amma didn’t see what she could do but tell the truth. Jael’s eyes told her that she was not in the mood to receive anything else. ‘I’m going to say goodbye to Axl.’
Jael frowned, puzzled, but Amma looked at her with such feeling that realisation dawned quickly. ‘Oh.’
Amma shrugged guiltily, a small smile on her face. ‘Yes.’
‘Does anyone know?’
‘A few people,’ Amma mumbled.
‘But if Lothar or Osbert find out...’
‘Yes, I know,’ Amma sighed, dropping her head. ‘We know what will happen.’
‘Then hurry, and say goodbye to him,’ Jael urged. ‘But be quick and don’t be seen. Your father will not take it well if he discovers you sneaking about with Axl. Not tonight.’
Amma nodded and hurried out of the house, hoping that Axl would still be waiting for her.
Jael watched her go, smiling to herself, for she had suddenly realised why Axl seemed so grown up.
He had fallen in love.
Varna groaned as she sat, her breath hissing out of her from the sheer pain of bending in such an unnatural way. She was far too old to be sitting on the floor. Her bones were barely covered, and her ancient muscles would not flex, but she could not stay on the bed, nor a chair, not for what she planned to do. ‘You will drum for me,’ she instructed with a growl, batting away Meena’s attempts to help her get comfortable. ‘Do not think of stopping. Not till I return.’
‘Yes, Grandmother,’ Meena mumbled, shaking as she knelt beside her. It was cold on the flag
stones, and the fire in front of them was barely burning, giving off little heat. Meena gripped her drum – the instrument she had used to help her grandmother since she was a little girl – and waited, swallowing repeatedly as saliva flooded her mouth.
Varna leaned forward, grimacing at the discomfort, shuffling around until she found the most bearable position. She picked up the plants, herbs, and bones Meena had gathered, and a torn piece of clothing they had taken from Jaeger’s room. And, throwing them all into the fire, she sat back, her eyes closed.
Meena started drumming, looking on in horror as the plants and cloth sucked all life out of the fire. She watched, her drumming hesitant and sporadic as she waited to see what would happen.
‘What are you doing?’ Varna snarled, wrenching one eye open.
The flames emerged from under their heavy load then, crackling and bursting into life.
‘I’m sorry,’ Meena whispered and started to drum steadily.
Varna took a deep breath, closing her eyes again, turning towards the flames, inhaling the acrid smoke.
Meena wrinkled her nose, trying to push the smoke out of it. She knew better than to gag; that would only incur her grandmother’s wrath again. Quickly closing her eyes, she let the smoke take her away too, calming her nerves, easing her shoulders down from her ears, steadying her hand as it tapped the drum.
And together they drifted away in search of answers.
A sky that was wide and pale blue dwarfed Eydis as she skipped along the edge of the cliffs towards Oss’ harbour; its dark shards of stone, sharp against the beautiful sky. She stopped suddenly, surprised to see Ayla running towards her.
‘Ayla!’ Eydis smiled.
But Ayla’s face was serious as she reached Eydis, and suddenly the sky darkened around them both; threatening storm clouds swamping the light.
‘Eydis!’ Ayla grabbed her arms, out of breath. ‘Eydis, listen to me!’ She stopped, trying to calm herself down. ‘Your father,’ she gasped. ‘He is about to die! You must hurry. You must hurry, Eydis. Wake up, Eydis! He is about to die now!’