by A. E. Rayne
Alaric felt sick.
It wasn’t just the terrible stink of the salve that Entorp kept rubbing on Edela. It was the jarring sight of his dear friend in such a state of decline. She looked barely present. It was as though she was sinking straight through the pillow her head lay against.
He glanced around at Branwyn, who sat talking to Gisila and Biddy by the fire, sipping on tea, nibbling on the poppy seed cake that Berta had just made.
‘Do you think that she’ll recover?’ Alaric asked Entorp. They knew each other from years ago, although Alaric had always found Entorp a little strange and reclusive. Still, if his foul-smelling salve could save Edela...
‘Derwa seems to think that it’s up to Edela,’ Entorp said quietly. ‘Although, we are hoping that this will give her a little push in the right direction.’
Alaric screwed up his nose as he inhaled the smell. ‘Well, I think if anything could wake her up, it would be that salve!’ His eyes started watering.
‘Alaric, come and have a piece of cake,’ Branwyn smiled kindly. ‘It’s still warm. And it certainly smells better over here!’ She was feeling encouraged after Derwa’s recent visit and although there was no obvious improvement in Edela, just knowing that Derwa and Entorp were working so hard made her rest a little easier.
Alaric eyed the cake, and squeezing Edela’s hand, he left her to sit on a stool near the ladies. He nodded at Biddy, who he’d been introduced to earlier, and eagerly took the plate she offered him.
‘I wonder if Jael is out in that storm?’ Gisila asked, unusually worried about her daughter. She felt so unsettled being in Tuura; haunted by the reminder of how she hadn’t been able to protect Jael all those years ago. ‘It sounds as though it’s getting heavy out there.’
‘No, she’s in the fort,’ Alaric said through a mouthful of warm cake. ‘She nearly knocked me over with her giant horse, which is how I came to find out about Edela.’
‘Oh.’ Gisila looked relieved. ‘That’s good. And Fyn and Eydis? What’s happened to them?’
Biddy sat forward and reached for her cup of fennel tea. ‘Fyn took Eydis to Aedan’s after Derwa left. I think everyone wanted to escape that stink!’ She smiled at Entorp, who dipped into his jar of salve and started applying it to Edela’s chest.
‘I think Mother will raise herself off that bed soon just to make you stop covering her with that stuff!’ Branwyn laughed.
Alaric chuckled, trying not to inhale. ‘I wouldn’t blame her!’
Branwyn leaned towards Alaric. ‘Have you heard anything about Marcus? What he wants with Jael, perhaps? She wouldn’t say much, just that he was unhelpful and rude. Which is unsurprising.’
Alaric looked uncomfortable. ‘Me?’ He shook his head firmly. ‘No, no. I don’t know a thing.’ But his eyes darted to the right, and he started blinking rapidly.
‘Alaric?’ Branwyn narrowed her gaze. ‘If you know something...’
Jael had brought a torch into the secret room. It revealed more than she had seen the day before. Symbols were carved into the wooden walls, around the door frames, on the backs of both doors.
Over the chest.
Symbols to keep out the dreamers.
Jael held onto the torch with one hand and unlocked the chest with the other. There was nothing inside it, apart from the book. She took it out, laying it open on a hay bale, wrinkling her nose at the musty odour that escaped its crackling pages. It was filled with symbols, scrawls, and sketches; many of them crossed out, then rewritten. Notes, scribbles, splotches of ink. Jael had no idea what she was looking for, though.
She couldn’t understand any of it.
Slipping the book back into the chest, she locked it and stood up as thunder boomed overhead. Oss’ stormy weather appeared to have followed them to Tuura. The spring sun which had offered so much promise only weeks ago, had gone into hiding.
Her hand jerked suddenly to Toothpick as she heard a key in the door behind her. Spinning around, she was relieved to see that it was only Marcus. Her shoulders relaxed, her hand resting by her side.
Marcus smiled awkwardly at her.
Jael peered at his grim face in the torchlight and didn’t know if she could trust him. But, she supposed, in order to help Edela, she had to trust someone.
‘How is your grandmother?’ Marcus asked, shaking the rain from his cloak.
‘The same. That I can see, at least.’
‘And have you had any dreams?’
‘Not about anything to do with my grandmother.’
She was not forthcoming, and Marcus didn’t push her. ‘You need to find a way to save your husband,’ he said. ‘He is important.’
‘So you said,’ Jael muttered. She kept seeing images of Evaine, naked, writhing over Eadmund, hoping that it was just her imagination, rather than some sort of dreamer’s vision about what was happening on Oss. ‘Although, you didn’t say why.’
‘You are Furia’s daughter,’ Marcus said. ‘The only female born in the Furyck line.’
Jael wrinkled her forehead. ‘No, I have two cousins. Lothar’s daughters, Amma and Getta.’
Marcus smiled knowingly. ‘Well, Lothar wasn’t actually a Furyck,’ he murmured, walking towards the hay bales.
Jael’s eyes widened as she followed him. ‘What?’
‘His mother, she...’ he squirmed, not wishing to speak of such things. ‘She fell in love with a merchant from Tingor when your father was a boy. He visited Andala every year until his death, waiting until her husband was away, from what I heard. Only dreamers knew the truth. Your grandmother didn’t tell a soul.’
A smile played around Jael’s mouth. ‘So, I am Furia’s only daughter then?’
‘You are.’
‘But Eadmund?’
‘Eadmund,’ Marcus sighed as he sat down. ‘Eadmund is Esk’s son.’
‘Esk?’ Jael was surprised. ‘The Tuuran God of War?’
Marcus nodded. ‘The gods are powerless against the Book of Darkness. Raemus made it so. Once the prophecy was revealed, once a dreamer had seen what would come, the Tuuran gods sought the Oster gods help. They came together to plan a way to end any chance of Raemus’ return.’
‘By doing what?’
‘They created three things to stop the woman from bringing Raemus back. The sword, the shield, and the third thing... well, we don’t know what that was. That part of the prophecy was never recorded.’
Jael looked puzzled. ‘The shield?’
‘The sword was passed down, kept safe for you, as was the shield for Eadmund.’
‘But why doesn’t he have it? Or even know about it?’
‘Eadmund was certainly marked as Esk’s son, but he was not quite what anyone had hoped for,’ Marcus said, trying to be diplomatic. ‘The dreamers could see what would become of him. They determined that it was best if he remained in the dark.’
‘Oh.’
‘He still has some way to go, I think you would agree, before he is ready to play his role.’
Jael couldn’t argue with that. ‘But does someone know where this shield is? For when it’s time? For when he’s ready?’
‘Yes, I believe that there is no reason to worry. When it’s time, the shield will be revealed to Eadmund. If he’s ready.’
Edela’s daughters had their mother’s determination, that was obvious, and Alaric realised that there was nothing he could do but tell them what he knew.
Which was not much. Mostly gossip. But even gossip could be unsettling.
‘Well, I have heard a rumour that Marcus...’ his voice ran away to nothing as he lost all confidence in what he was saying. He glanced towards the door, certain he could hear footsteps.
‘That Marcus?’ Branwyn prompted, leaning forward, forgetting all about her cake.
‘Well,’ Alaric swallowed. ‘That Marcus has had dreamers killed.’
‘What?’ Gisila looked mortified. ‘What for? Why?’
‘They say he’s a member of The Following.’
Gisila
and Branwyn stared at each other, confused.
Biddy and Entorp looked at each other, horrified.
17
Ayla was hit with such a jolt that she lurched straight off the sea chest, stumbling down the deck as the ship tilted forward, before the waves curled the prow back up again, knocking her in the opposite direction.
Bram was quickly at her side, his big arms firm around her shoulders as an enormous wave crashed over the gunwale, drenching them both. ‘Where were you going?’ he laughed hoarsely, helping her back to the chest.
Ayla didn’t know him. She blinked desperately in the darkness as the bitter wind whipped rain across her face. She tried to swallow, panicking because she couldn’t. She didn’t know him, but he was all she had now.
All Bruno had too.
‘Ivaar!’ she cried, spinning around, fear tightening every muscle in her shaking body. ‘Ivaar is here!’
Her eyes were so wide with terror that Bram shivered. ‘You’re a dreamer?’ he asked, running a hand through his wet beard.
Ayla nodded.
The ship rolled again, and Ayla slid across the chest. Almost off it.
‘Here!’ Bram called, grabbing a rope from the stern prow. ‘Keep hold of this!’ He stumbled behind her, losing his balance as the ship rocked, his hands gripping the prow, searching for any sign that they were being followed. It must have only been early evening, but the sky was already dark with storm, and the sea was so wild that he couldn’t make out a thing.
He blinked.
Or could he?
‘Eadmund,’ Evaine murmured. ‘Leave him. Tanja is there for a reason.’ She was naked and not inclined to suddenly lose all of Eadmund’s warmth as he shrugged on his tunic and turned around to smile at her, before disappearing out of the bedchamber and into the room next door.
Eadmund had wanted to keep Sigmund with them, but Evaine had insisted that it would be less disturbing for the baby to sleep with Tanja. He was so used to her company now that he would not settle without his wet nurse beside him.
And, not knowing babies, and being eager to spend his nights between Evaine’s moist thighs, Eadmund had relented. But the sound of his son was impossible to resist, no matter how alluring Evaine was proving.
He returned, clutching the baby to his chest, smiling.
Evaine was not. ‘He’s hungry,’ she grumbled, jumping at another rumble of thunder overhead. The storm had been intensifying all afternoon, and the hall had cleared out early; everyone leaving to secure their homes and livestock. ‘I cannot feed him.’
‘No,’ Eadmund supposed, ignoring her grumbles. ‘I’ll take him back to Tanja. Soon.’ He sat on the edge of the bed listening to his grizzling son, who calmed as he wriggled against his father’s shoulder. His head turned expectantly towards Eadmund’s face, mouth open, looking for milk.
Eadmund smiled, feeling more confident now as he held Sigmund close.
It was a strange situation, he thought, and the looks he had been getting as he walked around the fort told him that everyone agreed. But he felt content having Evaine and Sigmund in the hall with him.
He didn’t know how long Jael would be away, or what would happen when she returned. But he was certain that he wasn’t about to give up Evaine and Sigmund.
Not now.
Bram couldn’t see Ice Breaker ahead of them, but he could see a ship following them now. They were not far from Oss, he was sure, but not as close as he’d like to be.
His broad shoulders felt like twisted knots as he stumbled towards the dreamer, who sat on his chest, shivering, drenched, wind-whipped and anxious, much like the rest of them.
‘You think it’s Ivaar?’ he asked, gripping Ayla’s arms before his words were picked up and thrown away by the wind. He couldn’t make out the ship at all, nor any of its crew. It was just a shadow in the distance, surging closer, then sinking back.
But it was definitely there now. The occasional snap of lightning revealed the truth of that. There was no doubt that the ship was following them.
Ayla barely nodded, her face still with fear. Only her eyes moved about with any speed.
‘What else?’ Bram asked desperately, pulling her closer, wishing he had a wooden house to shield in like Ice Breaker; somewhere to speak without the wind getting in the way; without the booms of thunder or the rush of waves that tipped the ship up and down. ‘Is there anything else you know? Anything you’ve seen? Anything?’ he cried.
Ayla blinked rain out of her eyes, trying to recall her dream. It had been brief but so shocking. Fleeting images flashed before her in a jumble. They didn’t make sense. ‘Brothers,’ she said, frowning. ‘Three ships. Three brothers. A dreamer. They had a dreamer... in Alekka. More ships.’ She stopped and frowned. ‘More than three. More men. But not here.’ Her wet curls clung to her face, and she brushed them away, trying to see him.
Bram nibbled on his hairy lip, considering things.
They had reefed the sail as soon as the storm picked up, trying to keep the ship tightly controlled. He glanced at his helmsman – his best friend, Snorri – crouching over the tiller as it shuddered against him. ‘Snorri! Let’s shake out the sail!’ he called over the noise of the storm.
Snorri’s eyes bulged. ‘In this shit?’ he grumbled crossly, his hands shaking as he tried to control the jerking tiller. ‘You’ve gone mad, Bram Svanter! Madder than normal, anyways!’ Snorri was as old as Bram; his helmsman since they had first left Oss as young men. Bram had gotten them all out of more dire situations than he could count. He trusted Bram with his life. But this?
Bram wasn’t looking for opinions, though. He was the leader of this group of men; their lord, for want of a better word. Every man on Red Ned followed him. And he, in turn, kept them all safe.
And one look at the dreamer’s terrified face told him that if they didn’t pick up their speed, they would not be safe for long.
Jael wanted to talk to Fyn. Or Aleksander.
Or Edela.
There was so much that Marcus had said, but so much he had left unsaid as he rushed away again, leaving her with a mounting list of troubling questions. But Edela lay in bed with her eyes closed, Aleksander would soon be in Andala with Axl, and Fyn... well, she could only look at him across the table and keep her thoughts to herself.
Whether she trusted Marcus or not, he was making an elaborate show of protecting them both from Tuura’s dreamers. He seemed genuinely afraid and had gone to great lengths to hide their conversations.
‘Jael?’ Kormac asked again. ‘Can I pour you another cup of mead?’
They were all staring at her and Jael blinked, realising that she must have drifted away. ‘No, thank you,’ she mumbled.
‘Do you think the elderman will call you to the temple again?’ Gisila asked as she chopped her omelette into small pieces. Despite her worry over Edela, her appetite was slowly starting to return.
Jael shook her head and glanced at Eydis, who appeared to be listening eagerly. ‘No, I don’t imagine so. He had no interest in helping us at all.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ Branwyn grumbled. ‘We’ve never had such a reclusive elderman. He seems to have little interest in anyone at all.’
Kormac frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ he said patiently. ‘But Tuura has certainly become a strange place to be lately.’
‘More than strange,’ Branwyn insisted. ‘I’ve been telling you for years that we should move to Andala!’
Kormac squirmed, familiar with how that conversation went.
Jael looked at Biddy and Entorp, who both appeared to be avoiding her eyes as they sat around the table that was almost big enough for all of them. ‘Well, perhaps with Axl as king it will be the right time?’ She shivered suddenly, thinking of Axl. Worried for Axl. It was as though the storm had blown straight through the door. She could almost feel the wind chilling her spine.
Something was wrong.
‘Are you alright, Jael?’ Eydis asked, sensing her unease.
‘Yes, fine,’ she said quietly, trying to shake away her unsettling thoughts. ‘Just listening to that storm outside. I wouldn’t like to be crossing the Nebbar Straights in that wind.’
‘Thorgils!’ Villas screamed over the rushing torrent of rain. ‘What are they doing?’ He pointed behind him.
Thorgils felt a twinge in his back as he turned, and a sudden tension in his throat. He swallowed as he struggled through the wind towards Villas, whose left hand had hurried back to join his right on the tiller that was vibrating relentlessly against his waist. It was like trying to control a horse in the heat of anger, and his shoulder had gone numb with the effort of keeping the wooden stick where he wanted it.
‘Doing?’ Thorgils wondered, staring at the dark wall of waves rising behind them. ‘What do you mean?’ He squinted but couldn’t see anything. He looked back to Villas, confused.
‘Keep looking!’ Villas growled impatiently.
And then, Thorgils saw it. A great white flash in the darkness.
Bram’s sail. White with a thick, orange stripe, right down the middle.
That was a full sail.
They were getting closer and quickly.
Thorgils clenched his hands into fists, frowning, almost losing his footing as the waves crashed over him. ‘Shake out the sail!’ he bellowed at Villas, spitting out a mouthful of sea. ‘Shake out the sail now!’
Meena had remained in Jaeger’s chamber all day.
Egil had grown so tired of her tapping that he had left in the afternoon, returning in the early evening to prepare the chamber for his master.
Darkness had fallen some time ago, and Jaeger had not returned.
Egil had brought his own supper up from the kitchen, enjoying a leg of pork with a full goblet of wine, yet he offered nothing to Meena. He wouldn’t even look her way.
Eventually, Meena had taken herself to bed.