by A. E. Rayne
They had to cross the river.
9
Evaine stood in the garden.
The sky was darkening, and despite the freezing gale pulling at her hair and whipping her dress around her legs, there was no sign of a storm coming. She hated the miserable, bleak island, but the thought of all those cold nights ahead in Eadmund’s bed had her smiling.
Ignoring a scowl from a toothless old woman with a basket full of herbs, she quickly focused her attention on the list she had scribbled onto a scrap of vellum. It flapped in her hand as she ducked her head and scurried down a row of angelica, shivering.
There wasn’t much time.
She had to hurry.
Aleksander swung around, teeth bared, blinking, flicking mud out of his eyes. His horse had slipped on the muddy bank, soaked by the rain and the rising river, and they’d both fallen down with a crash. ‘We’ve got to cross the river!’ he yelled to Isaak, trying to get his bearings. Aleksander’s horse had run away from him, up the riverbank, loose reins flying as the rain pounded down, drowning out his voice. ‘Isaak! Cross the river!’
Despite the thunderous downpour, Gudrum’s men could hear him. They sheathed their swords, gathering reins into wet hands as Jonas and Isaak spun their horses around, charging up the bank, mud flying everywhere.
Aleksander didn’t follow them.
He turned in the opposite direction, into the rain.
He had to get Tig.
Jael walked into the hall alone.
She felt the absence of Aleksander as nearly every pair of eyes turned towards her. The fires were bright and warm, and after the cooling afternoon air, she was grateful for them.
Just not the company.
Lothar eyed her from the high table where his fingers were already slick with grease from the plate of goose and dumplings he was gobbling up. He pointed to one of the tables in front of him. ‘I’ve saved you a seat!’ he called, brandishing a leg bone. ‘Right where I can keep an eye on you!’
Osbert grinned from his right, eyes glowing in the flames.
Jael ignored him and smiled at his sister Amma, who blinked back at her cousin with a look of embarrassment and sympathy. Jael didn’t want sympathy, though. She wanted to know that Aleksander and Tig were alright, and she wanted to be back in her wreck of a cottage, biting her nails, waiting for their return.
There was only one place at the table Lothar was motioning her towards.
Right beside Gant.
Inhaling a sharp breath, Jael squeezed in beside him, keeping her arms and legs well away from his. The strong smell of bacon made her stomach churn, and she looked away as one of Lothar’s servants hurried a full plate to her.
She didn’t want it.
Oleg sat opposite Jael. Gant beside her.
Both men complicit in helping Lothar claim the throne.
Jael lifted her eyes, trying to avoid theirs, watching her brother, Axl, talking with his friends in the darkest corner of the hall. He barely spoke to her these days, no doubt hoping to avoid another lecture about keeping out of trouble. But frowning at the company he was keeping, Jael knew that sooner or later he was definitely going to get himself in trouble.
‘Where’s Aleksander?’ Oleg wondered quietly.
Jael felt reluctant to even speak. ‘Hunting.’ Her eyes moved to the ale jug before her, ignoring her plate. She could hear Lothar laughing with Osbert who snorted back at him, their eyes on her.
Gant stiffened. ‘Hunting?’
Jael ignored him, overcome with the sudden urge to leave.
Something was wrong.
It was hard to swallow, the heat from the fires suddenly becoming oppressive.
Her heart started racing.
Something was wrong with Aleksander.
The man riding Tig was surprised when Aleksander jumped up at him, grabbing his arm.
‘Tig! Up! Up! Come on, boy! Up!’
Tig had been hearing that voice every day for most of his life. And though he was generally a badly behaved horse who hated being told what to do, he had a keen understanding of battle and war.
And he could sense danger all around him.
So when Aleksander yanked on Gudrum’s man’s arm, trying to pull him out of the saddle, Tig reared up on his hind legs, helping him on his way.
Evaine was panicking as the last glimpses of light were gobbled up by dark clouds.
She peered at the vellum, then down at the rows of herbs at her feet. She had picked out the salvia, sage, and henbane, but she had no idea what the rest of the herbs she needed even looked like.
Soon it would be completely dark.
And then she saw a man.
Evaine tucked her flapping cloak around her shivering body, heading towards him with a smile. ‘Entorp!’
Entorp froze in surprise, never having heard Evaine address him with such enthusiasm in all the years he’d lived on Oss. He had his knife out, preparing to add some yarrow to his full basket. His tooth had been aching for days, and though he found himself always busy, caring for others, he needed to do something before it developed into a problem. Turning, Entorp watched as Evaine came rushing towards him, cheeks flushed, eyes alert.
‘I need some help!’
‘With the plants?’ Entorp looked confused.
Evaine nodded. ‘My mother sent me to gather some for her, but I don’t recognise them all. Or perhaps I wasn’t listening carefully enough?’ The troublesome wind screeched through the tiny garden, whipping her cloak up into her face. Evaine grabbed hold of it, irritated, struggling to maintain her smile.
‘I can help you, of course,’ Entorp said. ‘What did your mother need?’ He liked Runa, and sympathised with her having such a difficult daughter. Perhaps it was youth, he thought more generously, trying not to be too much of an old curmudgeon.
Evaine looked relieved, quickly peering down at the scrunched up piece of vellum again. ‘Marshmallow and moonflower.’
Entorp froze. ‘Moonflower? What does she need that for? Are you sure you have that right?’ He peered at Evaine’s basket, trying to see what else she had collected.
‘I do.’ Evaine quickly pulled the basket towards her. ‘I don’t know what she does with herbs at all, I’m afraid. I just do what I can to help her.’ She stared at Entorp, blinking eyes so full of innocence.
Eventually, Entorp nodded, the pain in his tooth suddenly so demanding that all he could think about was getting back to his warm house and his agreeable cats. ‘Alright then, come with me.’
Eadmund wasn’t the sort of man Orla had dreamed of marrying when she closed her eyes at night. He did not look like a brave warrior or a man destined to become a noble king. He appeared unwell, lost, in need of help. But there was nothing Orla Berras liked more than helping lost creatures. And although she had never tried to help someone in such a bad way before, she felt sure it could be done.
So, as her mother fretted and her father tried to come to terms with finally letting her go, she found herself imagining a life on Oss. A new life as a wife, a mother, and one day, maybe, a queen, free from her fussing parents and the fear of growing into a lonely old spinster. Or equally, the fear of being pushed into marriage with a man she could never love.
Orla smiled, realising that Eadmund Skalleson was most definitely a man she could love in time.
‘You are certain, then? Truly?’ her mother asked for the eleventh time as she sat on the bed, slipping off a pair of delicate shoes that were completely unsuited to a muddy bog like Oss’ square.
‘I am,’ Orla insisted, spinning around. ‘I think there’s something there. Something I can work with.’
Cotilde laughed. ‘He’s not a three-legged dog, Orla! You’re not going to fix that man easily.’
‘Perhaps,’ Orla mused, combing her long hair as she sat by the fire in the centre of their chamber. She had been desperate to untangle her hair and change her dress before returning to the hall, where she would no doubt be expected to sit for yet another meal.
‘But there is plenty of time before he becomes the king, isn’t there? Eirik Skalleson looks in fine health to me. I’m sure there’ll be time to turn everything around.’
Cotilde rolled her eyes as she reached for a clean pair of shoes, remembering all the birds her daughter had retrieved from cats’ mouths, believing she could save them. And sometimes she had.
But a man as obviously broken as Eadmund Skalleson?
Cotilde didn’t know if such a thing was possible.
Aleksander could hear Gudrum’s men shouting behind him as he drove Tig into the river, feeling the bracing cold water flood his boots, soaking his trousers. Tig was quiet as he fought through the current that eddied and slapped around his legs, quickly rising to his chest. Lifting his head higher, he could hear Aleksander’s familiar deep voice in his ears, keeping him calm.
‘Go! This way!’
Aleksander saw glimpses of his friends who were further upstream; Isaak urging Jonas to follow him to where the current appeared more manageable. Neither of their horses were as big as Tig, though, and Aleksander could see that soon they were going to struggle.
The current was stronger than any of them had expected, rain hammering them painfully now, the sky as dirty as the river; grim, grey, and brown, swirling with storm clouds. It was hard to see where the opposite riverbank was.
Aleksander could see a handful of Gudrum’s men, though, urging their horses into the water after them. Most remained, lining the sloppy bank, nocking arrows into longbows.
‘Get down!’ Aleksander yelled in warning, flattening himself against Tig’s neck as the first wave of arrows whistled through the deluge. Most dove helplessly into the river, but one hit Isaak’s horse on its rump. ‘Isaak!’
Isaak wasn’t waiting around for more arrows. He kicked his wet boots into his horse’s grey flanks, urging her on, and despite the arrow wound leaking blood into the water, she surged forward, fighting the powerful current.
Aleksander could hear Gudrum’s men screaming at them.
But Gudrum still wasn’t there.
He wiped his wet hair out of his wet eyes, trying to concentrate.
Another wave of arrows.
Aleksander felt Tig tense, roaring in pain.
And then, so was he.
Evaine’s chest rose and fell in such a panic that she worried she was going to make a mistake. She tried to steady her hand by taking a few deep breaths, but her eyes kept darting to the door, which she had locked, hoping her mother would remain in the hall for some time yet.
Morac was always in the hall, by Eirik’s side, the extra pair of eyes his king needed, but Runa had little appetite for the noise and the drinking, and Evaine worried that she would not stay long enough for her to finish. She almost wished she hadn’t sent their servant away; the extra pair of hands would have come in handy.
After one more skittery breath, Evaine leaned forward, picking up a handful of moonflower leaves, adding them to the bowl. She needed to blend the mixture thoroughly and then find a way to mask the stink of it. Glancing around, she spied a jar of honey on one of the kitchen shelves.
Aleksander’s ears were ringing as he clung to Tig’s bridle with wet hands. He’d fallen off the saddle, into the river as Tig stumbled sideways; one arrow sticking out of his back, another in his rump as the big horse struggled against the current. Aleksander could feel Tig’s muscles straining as he fought to keep his hooves on the muddy sludge of the riverbed. The deeper the water got, the harder it was becoming to keep going in one direction.
Aleksander had an arrow in his shoulder, and the pain as the current moved it around, almost snapping it off, was unbearable. But there were so many other things demanding his attention that he forced himself to focus, determined not to pass out.
They were well away from the riverbank where Gudrum’s archers stood now. The rest of Gudrum’s rain-drenched men had turned their horses around, heading out of the river, but the arrows were still flying. Terrifying whistles pierced the sheeting rain as Aleksander firmed up his grip on the bridle, trying to see his friends. ‘Isaak!’ he yelled. ‘Jonas!’ But there was no reply, and in the deluge he couldn’t see anything moving on the river at all. It was suddenly all brown: the sky, the water, the blurry mess before his eyes.
And then the twisting current took Tig’s legs out from under him.
Aleksander felt the sudden rush as he lost his own balance, trying to keep hold of Tig, not wanting to let go of Jael’s beloved horse.
Still wondering what had happened to Gudrum.
Jael had barely spoken while she’d been forced to sit in the hall, listening to Lothar snort and fart, encouraging those around him to praise his masterful leadership as he talked of his plans for conquering Hest.
Lothar was mad.
His men were all mad for going along with him.
And Jael was mad at being forced to listen to such a tirade of ill-informed drivel.
Eventually, seeing that her uncle’s attention had wandered to a sad-looking servant girl who squirmed as he pawed her, licking his greasy pink lips, Jael slipped out of the hall. Her mind was tumbling with worries for Aleksander and Tig. Frustration too. She wanted to be the one fighting Gudrum to get Tig back. He was her responsibility. Hers to care for.
She should be the one risking her life for him.
Ending Gudrum too.
It was dark, and Jael had already stumbled twice as she walked through the fort, heading for her cottage, though she doubted she could sit still, or even think about falling asleep. The urgent feeling she’d experienced in the hall had stayed with her, and she felt intense waves of nausea, as though she were at sea.
The nights were definitely getting chillier, and Jael tried not to think about how cold her bed would be without Aleksander and his warm body in it, because that just led her straight back down the path of terror, wondering if he would come back.
Gudrum may have slouched around with an air of arrogance. He may have moved slowly, and his body may have softened and slumped over the years. But he had not lost his edge. He would expect trouble.
Wouldn’t he?
Jael suddenly realised that Aleksander should have taken more men.
Jonas had lost his horse, but he’d found Aleksander, who had swept past him clinging to Tig. They managed to clasp arms before Aleksander drifted away from him. There was no sign of Isaak, though occasionally the two men thought they heard a shout. Or perhaps that was from Gudrum’s men changing their minds, deciding to follow them after all?
The storm had retreated as night came to claim them, but there was no moon or stars to see by, just the sound of the rushing water, freezing their weary limbs. It helped to keep Aleksander alert though. As the pain in his shoulder started to bite, and the exhaustion of holding onto Tig as the force of the current threatened to separate them, his mind would wander, and then, shivering, he would wake himself up, clinging on with greater urgency.
Jonas had a broken arrow sticking out of his forearm. The powerful current had snapped off the fletching, but the shaft was doing its job of keeping the wound as sealed as possible. And, with Aleksander’s help, he pushed himself over the top of Tig’s saddle, keeping one hand on his bridle as he made his way to the horse’s other side.
They could both feel Tig weakening. Shaking.
And firming up their hold on either side of the bridle, Aleksander and Jonas let the river take them all downstream, into the darkness.
Evaine was always sticking her nose in everywhere, following her father around the hall, chasing after Eadmund. So, though it was a nuisance, it wasn’t a surprise to see her pop up in the kitchen, getting in the way.
Very rarely had Eirik’s cook ever had to cope with such important guests, and when the king wasn’t entertaining Ake Bluefinn, he was rushing into the kitchen to bark orders, unhappy with the speed at which the food was being delivered into the hall. So Yetta was unimpressed with having to shoo Evaine out of her way just when she needed to hurry the s
oup course to her grumbling king.
‘I can help,’ Evaine insisted into Yetta’s red face. ‘My father suggested that I should.’
It made no sense to Yetta, knowing how lazy Evaine was, but she couldn’t deny that she needed an extra pair of hands. Two of her staff were ill. She hadn’t seen them all day. ‘You can take the soup out with Eryth, then,’ she grumbled, wiping a hand over her dripping forehead. It may have been bitterly cold outside, but inside the tiny kitchen, the fires were blazing, and Yetta was dreaming of a dip in the sea. ‘But carefully! Addi broke my last tureen, so we’re having to take each bowl out one at a time.’
Evaine tried not to smile, bobbing her head as she turned towards the table, her back to Yetta as she leaned over the bowls.
10
It felt odd to Eadmund that three old men were planning his future. Two he didn’t know, and one who was so fed up with him that he was desperately racing towards the marriage agreement before Eadmund ruined everything.
And Eadmund very much wanted to ruin everything.
With all his heart, he wanted to do something to make Hector Berras change his mind; to make his daughter not want to marry him at all. But Orla turned to Eadmund with a smile, her voice soft in his ear, and he felt his body respond, not sure if any of that was true.
‘I wouldn’t mind going for a walk,’ she whispered. ‘What do you think? I’ve never eaten so much in my life. I could do with stretching my legs before I fall asleep.’ She tried not to laugh as she inclined her head down the table to where Torstan lay fast asleep, his blonde head nestled amongst the empty ale jugs and greasy plates as the noise of the hall flowed around him.