Night of the Shadow Moon

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘What’s your name?’ Jael called. ‘I’d like to know the name of the man I’m about to defeat.’

  Apart from her men, who smiled and nudged each other, the crowd remained mostly serious which unsettled Jael even further. No one in this place seemed alive at all; certainly not the soldiers and temple guards who were there in numbers now, watching on silently.

  ‘Baccus,’ he growled and swept his sword towards hers, cracking the wooden blades together.

  Jael stepped back quickly, lunging to the side, rapping him on the waist. He didn’t blink as he charged her, slashing his sword from side to side with speed, trying to get past hers. Jael skidded, digging her feet into the mud, standing and swaying as she parried his blows, feeling the immense power behind them; his determination to defeat her.

  He was quickly pushing her back with his sheer strength; the power behind his sword doubling anything she could offer in return.

  Jael gritted her teeth and spun away, out of his reach, kicking him in the hip, changing her angle, smacking her leg across his waist. He turned to smile at her, not troubled in the slightest.

  Jael frowned, trying to think, but Baccus was quickly in her face again.

  Aedan leaned towards Fyn. ‘Baccus is a real prick,’ he muttered. ‘I hope my cousin knows what she’s doing.’

  Fyn nodded confidently, not taking his eyes off Jael. ‘She does, don’t worry.’

  Jael jabbed her sword at Baccus’ stomach, but he jerked away, feinted left, slipped to the right and punched her straight in the eye.

  Jael’s head snapped back, shock flooding her body, taking away any pain she should have felt at that moment. She stumbled backwards, shaking her head, cursing herself for being so slow, for taking him too lightly, for not having any ideas at all.

  What was wrong with her?

  She straightened up quickly as Baccus charged, her ears ringing, black patches flashing in front of her eyes, or at least the one eye that was still open. She shook her head again, trying to clear her vision as she brought her blade up to block his.

  Fyn frowned, his shoulders tensing.

  Kormac squeezed through the crowd to join his sons. ‘What is she doing fighting Baccus?’ he wondered. ‘He’s a real prick.’

  Aedan laughed.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Jael,’ Fyn tried to assure him. ‘I’ve seen her defeat men much bigger and stronger than that.’ But he felt odd, wanting to take back his words, not wishing to tempt the gods, who were surely always listening to fools like him making such grand predictions.

  Baccus wasn’t giving Jael any time to come up with better ideas. He hacked his sword towards her face, putting all his weight behind it. Jael jumped back. She couldn’t even see out of the one eye that was open. Everything was a muddy haze; the ringing turning to a loud buzzing in her ears now.

  She dropped to the ground, sweeping her leg towards his ankles.

  She still kept knives down her boots, tucked into her socks.

  Baccus was surprised by the sharp crack on his ankle bone. He stumbled, grimacing. Jael was up and skipping backwards as he righted himself, both of them shaking their heads now; Jael, blinking quickly, still trying to see, gripped her sword tighter, finally waking up.

  Aron elbowed Aedan. ‘That was good!’

  Kormac didn’t smile. ‘He doesn’t look bothered, though. And I’m not sure that Jael can even see.’

  Fyn thought that Kormac was right. Jael looked shaken.

  Baccus strode towards her. ‘Where’s the book?’ he hissed, baring his teeth. ‘I know you’ve hidden it somewhere.’

  ‘Book?’ Jael looked bemused, though with only one eye open that was hard to pull off. ‘I don’t know anything about a book.’ She lunged, slicing her sword towards his throat.

  She wasn’t fast.

  She didn’t mean to be.

  Baccus easily slapped her blade away, turning his over the top of hers, pushing it down.

  Jael slid underneath it, behind him, reversing her sword, slamming the wooden hilt into his lower back. Baccus staggered forward, and Jael spun around quickly, kicking him over. He lost his footing in the mud, falling, his face splashing into a puddle. Jael jumped onto his back, jamming her boot against his shoulder, her sword against his neck.

  Fight over.

  Jael’s cousins gasped, turning to smile at Fyn, who sighed in relief.

  But Baccus was not finished.

  He reached behind himself, snatching at Jael’s ankle, pulling her off her feet, down to the ground, onto her back, rolling over the top of her, wrapping his hands around her throat.

  Fyn lurched forward, but the soldier standing next to him stuck out an arm to hold him back.

  ‘You’ll not enter the ring!’ he growled as more soldiers flocked to him, forming a barricade.

  Fyn glanced at Kormac, panic in his eyes. More soldiers and guards surged through the crowd, forcing their way up to the railings, surrounding the training ring.

  Keeping everyone out.

  Jael could feel Baccus’ breath, warm and sour, all over her face. Her one open eye could see clearly now. He was not a man ready to be beaten at all.

  His weight took all the air out of her lungs.

  His hands took all the breath out of her throat.

  She thought of Tarak. Of how close he had come to killing her.

  There was no Eadmund to save her now.

  26

  ‘When will Ivaar come?’ Evaine wondered irritably. She had grown impatient with everyone’s attention being claimed by the impending attack. Nibbling around the outside of a flatbread, she tried to catch Eadmund’s eye, but he had turned his head towards the fire as if she wasn’t even there. ‘What is it?’ Evaine wondered. She put down the flatbread, which was tough and surely stale, and walked around to Eadmund, squeezing herself onto his knee. ‘Has something happened?’

  Eadmund felt as though he couldn’t breathe. The hair on his arms was lifting in warning. Something was wrong. He was no dreamer, but his whole body felt on edge. Even his throat had tightened.

  Something was wrong.

  Fyn panicked, trying to force his way through the soldiers, catching glimpses of Jael’s boots banging on the ground, her legs kicking helplessly under Baccus’ giant frame.

  She couldn’t move her arms. Couldn’t reach for her sword.

  He was strangling her. His eyes were chillingly blank. His hands squeezed harder and harder around her throat, but his face betrayed no effort at all. He wasn’t going to stop, Jael could tell.

  He would kill her.

  Fyn drew his sword, but the soldiers quickly shoved him back, blocking his path. ‘Jael!’ he cried desperately. ‘Jael! Somebody help!’

  Beorn was beside him, sword out, trying to find a way through, his men rushing to his side.

  ‘You would let him kill a queen? In a training match?’ Kormac called loudly, desperate to do something; trying to spur the crowd into action. He spun around urgently, imploring the Tuurans, and the soldiers who were blocking Jael’s men from getting through. ‘For what reason? Are we murderers here? Will we do nothing to stop this? She is a queen!’

  Jael stopped moving.

  Her legs stilled beneath Baccus, her eyes closed.

  ‘Jael!’ Fyn cried helplessly. ‘Jael!’

  Baccus released his hands, slowly pushing himself away from Jael’s chest. She quickly brought her leg up to her hand, slid the knife out of her boot and slammed the blade into the base of his throat, drawing it out again just as quickly. He fell off her in shock, grabbing his neck and Jael was scrambling to her feet, knife in one hand, Toothpick swiftly in the other, trying to breathe, crouching, daring him to come for her again.

  But Baccus staggered sideways, blood gushing down his tunic as he stumbled to the ground. The soldiers and guards flooded the ring; an angry mass of red and black uniforms. The guards raced to Baccus, the soldiers to Jael.

  Jael held Toothpick out, keeping them at bay. ‘He tried to k
ill me!’ she croaked, her voice barely there as she spun, watching as the soldiers crept forward. She coughed, trying not to vomit. ‘Everyone saw that! You will take me to your elderman now!’

  Fyn, Beorn, and the Osslanders were in the ring, trying to reach Jael through the swarm of soldiers. Aedan and Aron drew their own swords, preparing to follow them, but Kormac held them back. Jael would have to handle this on her own now.

  He pulled his sons away, urging them back to the house.

  Isaura blanched at the sight of Evaine sitting on Eadmund’s lap.

  She was an unpleasant, manipulative girl and Isaura wished that she’d stayed in the house. But Thorgils had suggested that Ayla would enjoy some company, so he had dropped Isaura and the children at the hall, then hurried away to take Eadmund’s horse for a ride.

  Something was wrong, Isaura knew, but Thorgils wasn’t telling her anything. Not yet. It would take some time before they grew used to each other again, she knew.

  She hoped they would. Hoped there would be time.

  That Ivaar wouldn’t ruin it all.

  ‘The children look tired,’ Ayla said distractedly.

  Mads was grizzling, Leya was sulking; Annet and Selene just looked numb as they peered around the hall, not knowing what to do with themselves.

  Isaura sighed. ‘I’m happy with tired, though,’ she decided. ‘When we were on that ship...’ She felt instantly sick, remembering the enormous waves, the spectre of the stone spires as they lurched out of the darkness. ‘I didn’t think that we’d survive. We were preparing for the worst, but suddenly that storm just disappeared.’

  Ayla could feel the pain in her thigh, and she adjusted herself on the bench, ignoring Isaura, worrying about Bruno, then smiling at Bram as he entered the hall.

  Isaura turned to follow her gaze, relieved to see someone who could hopefully make sense of everything.

  ‘So, how is he then?’ Bram wondered as he sat down with a thump. ‘Or, more to the point, where is he? I haven’t seen him all day, and there’s much to discuss.’ He reached for the jug that sat in the middle of the table, filling a cup, disappointed to discover that it contained only water.

  Isaura looked at Bram, her face blank. ‘Thorgils?’

  He could see that she had no idea what he was talking about. He took a drink and sighed. ‘Odda died in the night.’

  Isaura looked shocked. ‘Oh.’

  ‘He didn’t say a word. Hasn’t said a word to me yet, but we need to start thinking about a pyre.’ Bram’s eyes lifted as a hall door opened and Runa walked in. He smiled. ‘Perhaps I can find someone else to help me get things underway while we wait for my nephew. Give him some time.’

  Isaura nodded blankly, feeling the sudden urge to take a horse and find Thorgils, but she had no idea where he might have gone.

  Jael strode across the grand chamber towards the black-robed man who stood waiting before the Fire of Light, flanked by a cluster of red-breasted guards.

  There was no sign of Marcus.

  Perhaps they had simply removed the pretence now, Jael thought as she tried to blink her right eye open. Gotten rid of Marcus entirely? But would they be able to find the book?

  ‘Your guard tried to kill me,’ she rasped loudly as she came to a stop. ‘Why is that? Is Tuura an enemy to the Slave Islands now? An enemy to Brekka? To try and kill a queen?’ She shook her ringing head. ‘That would be a declaration of war! My brother and my husband would come for you with all their ships, all their men. Is that what your dreamers are advising you to do? Start a war?’ She was furious, her anger overflowing like boiling water.

  Gerod was quickly on the front foot, incensed by her arrogance. ‘Tried to kill you? In a fight you willingly participated in?’ He laughed, and it echoed high up to the rafters. ‘But surely you are not that naive? With all the experience you have? To think that there are no risks involved in fighting a skilled warrior? A man who is bigger, stronger, better than you? It seems to me that you simply failed in your judgement. What else was Baccus supposed to do but try to win the fight? Was that not the point?’

  Jael was unnerved by how quickly he had turned the truth upside down. She smiled coldly. There was no joy to be found here, she realised. No answers at all. And, if The Following controlled the elders, the dreamers, the temple, the soldiers... well, they were all in about as much trouble as they could possibly be. ‘As you say, perhaps it was just a misunderstanding. But I would think it always advisable not to try and kill a queen if you don’t want to turn your neighbours into enemies. Not until you’re ready to go to war, at least.’ Jael didn’t take her one eye off Gerod’s pale, shining face.

  Gerod’s eyes widened as he glared at her. It was a look so intense that Jael could tell that he was imagining killing her. Slowly. He was dangerous, she knew, and he had done something with Marcus. And now, without Hanna, there was no one who could help him.

  No one but her.

  ‘I shall heed your advice, my lady,’ Gerod said smoothly, walking up to Jael, pointing her back towards the doors. ‘But for now, I think it best that you return to your family and have that eye seen to.’

  ‘And what of the elderman?’ Jael asked as she walked back to the doors. ‘When shall I see him again? He promised to meet with me soon. There is more I need to know.’

  ‘Know?’ Gerod shook his head, bemused. ‘As far as I’m aware, and from what the elderman told me, you know everything you need to know. There is nothing more to be found here. As soon as your grandmother is recovered, it would be best that you return to your husband. I’m sure that he is spending every waking moment thinking about you.’ He smiled, guiding Jael quickly through the open door.

  Jael stopped, turning around, determined to say something more, but Gerod quickly slammed the door in her battered face.

  It felt good to be back on Oss, Isaura decided as she walked to the house, the children running ahead of her in the lightly falling rain, and yet she did not want to get comfortable, to make assumptions. For, if Ivaar took the fort it would not feel good to be back at all.

  He would kill Thorgils. Perhaps her too.

  At least, she thought to herself, he would never hurt the children.

  The children stopped just before they reached the house. They saw Thorgils waiting for them by the door, and none of them wanted him to be there at all. They missed their island and their home, but most of all, they missed their father.

  Mads burst into violent tears, throwing himself to the ground before scrambling back to his mother, who lifted him into her arms, wincing at the ear piercing sound she knew so well.

  ‘You have a way with children,’ she laughed, trying to make Thorgils smile.

  Thorgils didn’t smile.

  ‘Selene, Annet, take your sister into the house,’ Isaura said firmly. ‘Get your cloaks off and ask Selda to dry them by the fire.’ The girls hesitated, eyeing Thorgils with scowls, but one look at their mother and they grabbed Leya’s hands and pulled her towards the door.

  Thorgils felt even worse. Any thoughts he might have had of a new, happy family had only been a dream, he realised.

  This was Ivaar’s family.

  Not his.

  He shrugged and walked towards Isaura who was pulling Mads’ hood up to keep the rain off his little, blonde head. ‘You think it’s the beard?’ Thorgils asked seriously. ‘Perhaps it’s too big and scary?’ He opened his eyes wide at Mads who howled even louder.

  Isaura wasn’t sure what to do. She cooed in Mads’ ear, trying to calm him but every time he looked at Thorgils he cried even louder.

  Thorgils held out a filthy thumb, pushing it towards Mads, who ignored it, and turned his head away, resting it on his mother’s shoulder. ‘Well, perhaps it’s a sign from the gods that I should stop avoiding things and get back to Odda’s.’ His voice caught then, tears in his eyes.

  Dropping his head, he tried to move past Isaura.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said gently. ‘You’re not alone now. I�
�m here.’

  Somehow, Thorgils heard her over her son’s grizzling, and he stopped, thinking that those were the nicest words he’d ever heard. He turned and reached for her hand. It was wet but soft and comforting, and he squeezed it and smiled at her wailing son who had turned his head around again to see what was happening.

  Accidentally catching Thorgils’ eye, Mads quickly twisted his head as far away from him as possible.

  And this time, Thorgils laughed.

  ‘Jael!’

  Biddy hurried to the door as Jael stepped inside. It was only just after midday, she was sure, but with the window blocked over it was dark and oppressive in the house.

  Kormac was there with Aedan and Aron, who weren’t going back to the smithy until they knew how Jael was. And she didn’t look good.

  Biddy fussed around Jael, trying to remove her cloak, shaking her head at the bruises around her neck, grimacing as she peered at her swollen eye. The puppies rushed around her feet, climbing her legs, almost themselves again.

  ‘What did they say at the temple?’ Kormac wondered, standing up to offer Jael his stool as she approached the fire. ‘Did you speak to the elderman?’

  Biddy glanced at Entorp, who had uncorked a jar of salve as he approached, making everyone cringe.

  ‘You are not going to put that on me!’ Jael grumbled moodily. She changed course and walked over to check on Edela, who appeared to be sleeping. Leaving her in peace, Jael stepped back to the fire, keeping well away from Entorp. ‘I saw someone else. A thin, pale man. Dark hair. Strange eyes. I don’t know his name. But he was unhelpful. Threatening, even. He appears to be in charge now.’

  She watched them all watching her, questions poised on the tips of their tongues, desperate to know more. There was no Gisila or Branwyn – they had left earlier to take Eydis for a walk – but everyone else knew what had happened in the training ring and were not inclined to be satisfied with nothing.