by A. E. Rayne
‘I am watching her die.’
Eadmund frowned. ‘What?’ He felt odd; a sharp pain in his chest. ‘She is dying?’
Draguta kept her eyes on the circle. ‘They think she is getting better, but she will die. I have seen it. The gods cannot help her, and she cannot help herself. Soon she will follow her baby onto a pyre. Perhaps they should just wait? Burn them at the same time? Save the wood.’
Eadmund’s frown only deepened. ‘Baby?’ The clouds in his head were parting, and he saw Jael’s green eyes blinking at him for the first time in days. He shuddered, his ears buzzing loudly.
‘She never told you?’ Draguta purred, looking up at last. ‘No, I don’t suppose she did. She didn’t want it, did she? A woman like that? I’ve done her a great favour there. Perhaps she will thank me with her dying breaths?’
Eadmund stood. He felt disturbed. ‘I think I’ll get some sleep,’ he muttered, turning away from Draguta whose eyes were already back on her circle.
Draguta didn’t answer. ‘There was only going to be one winner, wasn’t there, Jael?’ she whispered. ‘Against me?’ And she laughed softly, feeling the warmth radiate in her chest like a midday sun. ‘You really thought you could win?’
Jael knew that she was crying, but she couldn’t feel the tears as they slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t see them as they fell to the floor. Turning away from Draguta, she followed Eadmund to his bed. The cottage was small, but there was enough room for four short, narrow beds to hug the walls.
Eadmund groaned as he sat down on one, pulling off his dusty boots, feeling every overworked muscle; wondering why he had subjected himself to such a hammering from the lipless giant that was Rollo Barda. He unbuckled his swordbelt, hanging it over the end of the bed. Reaching for his pouch, he pulled out the lock of Sigmund’s hair. Draguta still had Evaine’s stone, but just the feel of his son’s hair made him remember what mattered most to him, and as he lay back on the bed, yawning, he closed his eyes, trying to find Evaine; all thoughts of Jael and the baby forgotten.
Jael watched him. She wanted to reach out and grab that lock of hair; to take it out of his hands. Something about it had the hairs on her arms standing on end.
Eadmund was quickly asleep, though there was nothing new about that, she thought sadly, remembering the feel of his warm feet in their bed; the sound of his muffled snoring in her ear. She kept watching as his chest rose and fell, his breathing becoming rhythmic, and as his hand opened, the strap fell onto the floor.
And Jael could see the symbols etched into the leather.
Edela was quiet as Biddy tucked Eydis into bed. She could hear them murmuring to each other, fussing over the puppies who wouldn’t settle.
Just as Eydis wouldn’t settle.
Everyone was on edge.
Edela stared into the flames, feeling the cosy warmth of fur beneath her back, thinking about Ayla. She remembered how Ayla had seen nothing but darkness in her dreams. Those words had a terrifying meaning to them now, and Edela felt a great sadness when she remembered how hard they had worked to help Jael and Aleksander find Thorgils. She wished she had known how sick Ayla had been.
She wished she had sensed it.
Edela closed her eyes, wanting to feel her confidence return. Doubts swirled around her like a whirlpool, though, and she couldn’t find anywhere to begin. But she needed to. Without Ayla’s help, and without Jael and the Book of Aurea, she had to find the answers to all of their problems. Eydis would help, Edela knew, but it was a lot to ask of a young, untrained girl. She had to take on the responsibility herself. She had to find a way out of this darkness.
And as she finally drifted off to sleep, Edela was suddenly gripped by the very real fear that she couldn’t.
Evaine closed her eyes, stretching out her legs. The bed was so short that her toes touched the wooden frame. It was uncomfortable too, with its worn-out mattress which had lost most of its stuffing. And then, of course, there was her father’s constant fussing.
‘I will look for somewhere new for us to stay tomorrow,’ Morac muttered as he pulled back his fur and crawled into bed. ‘We need more space than this. You must have your own privacy, and, as you say, going back to the castle is not advisable for either of us now. Perhaps we need to think about leaving Hest? I’m not sure what’s happened to Eadmund, but as soon as he arrives, perhaps we should all go? Find a ship? There are merchant ships up in the coves from what I hear, and now the piers are growing they will be able to moor in the harbour soon...’ Morac’s thoughts drifted back to his sister, not sure he could leave without her.
Evaine didn’t answer. She was thinking about her plan.
Her plan for tomorrow.
She had been frustrated in her attempts to get into Jaeger’s chamber, but tomorrow she had to find a way in. And a way out of the castle too. And as soon as she was out of the city, she would be on her way to Eadmund. The ache in her heart was deep, and she wanted to scream in frustration, but she didn’t want her father to keep talking to her, so, rubbing her eyes, Evaine rolled over to face the wall.
‘Well, goodnight, then,’ she heard Morac murmur.
Evaine didn’t answer. She was no longer thinking about her father or Morana or Jaeger. Her mind was set on Eadmund and how quickly she could find her way to him.
8
Thorgils wasn’t sure how his body would cope with the long ride back to Andala in the morning, but he knew that Aleksander was better able to help Jael now, and all he had to do was stay on his horse and keep the book safe.
It seemed doable.
‘Think you’ve got enough food there?’ Aleksander wondered as Thorgils stuffed a wedge of smoked cheese into his saddlebag. He had managed to sweet talk a basket of food out of the Lord of Harstad’s excellent cook, but he was having to work hard to put it into his bag instead of his mouth.
Thorgils looked serious. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll see what else I can find in the morning.’
Aleksander laughed. ‘You’ve enough for an army! And surely you’ll be doing more riding than eating? We need that book back in Andala before winter.’
Thorgils looked offended. ‘I’m still weak, you know. And, as Astrid said, I require healing. Food helps.’
Aleksander glanced at Jael, not wanting to disturb her. Astrid had brought more of the tincture and decided to stay the night to give them a chance to sleep while she tended to Jael, hoping to ply her with as much of the tincture as possible.
She needed her strength back quickly.
Thorgils followed his gaze. ‘Sure you don’t want me to wait until Jael’s ready?’
Aleksander shook his head, turning back to the flames he was drying his boots in front of. ‘No. Jael would say to go.’
Thorgils nodded and set about sharpening his knife.
‘You’d better look after yourself, though, and not get into trouble, or Jael will be furious with both of us when she’s out of bed.’
Thorgils smiled, enjoying the idea of that. ‘She will, no doubt. I lost Eadmund, so I can’t imagine she’s that happy with me anyway. He should be back in Andala, far away from Evaine and Morana.’
Aleksander always felt uncomfortable talking about Eadmund, no matter how hard he tried not to. He shrugged. ‘From what he did to you, seems like you had little choice. He wasn’t going to be stopped.’
Thorgils sighed, looking up at him. ‘You’ve every reason not to like Eadmund. So do I, come to think of it. But he’s like my brother. Has been since my first breath. I’d happily lie down and die for him, no matter what he just did to me.’ He bent over his knife, watching the edge come to life. ‘Eadmund was never the same after his first wife died. He disappeared from everyone. And himself. But Jael brought him back. I’d never seen him so happy, until Evaine ruined everything with that spell of hers.’ Thorgils looked sad. ‘Not that you’d care, of course. Not about his happiness. But Jael’s no fool. She sees Eadmund for who he really is. You should know that. He’s worth fighting for, I promise. Ho
pefully, one day you’ll see for yourself.’
Aleksander didn’t look hopeful, or keen to find out anything about Eadmund.
He considered himself a fair man when it came to most things, but he’d never seen anything worth saving in Eadmund Skalleson, and nobody was about to convince him otherwise.
Eadmund had hoped to find Evaine waiting for him in his dreams, but though he had found his way to Oss, it was a different time. A time before he had ever noticed Evaine. He was a boy. Younger than Eydis, he thought, feeling the smoothness of his face, seeing the size of his feet.
‘You were so happy,’ the woman said. ‘Once. Or so I thought.’
Eadmund shivered, spinning around.
Eskild Skalleson was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked like a goddess, he thought. Tall, with broad shoulders and a long neck. She carried herself like more than a lady. Like a queen. And he had adored her. As had his father and everyone on the islands. Eskild, with her honey-coloured hair and her warm, hazel eyes, was like a mother to them all.
Except one.
‘Mother,’ Eadmund breathed, running to her, but no matter how fast he ran, she never came any closer. He stopped, eventually, panting in frustration.
‘There is little time for me to show you what you need to see, my son. So look and find what you missed the first time. What we all missed...’
Eadmund was confused, glancing around. He was standing in the square. As usual, it was hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow, and the sky was low and grim, and everyone was buried beneath layers of wool and fur; pink cheeks and red noses; breath smoke streaming from their mouths.
Winter on Oss.
He turned and saw Thorgils, Klaufi, and Torstan. Boys, just like he was. Boys who were laughing as they took turns trying to wrestle each other to the slushy ground. Thorgils was the champion, almost twice as big as the rest of them, his red curls bouncing around an enormous face; happily defeating them one by one with an almighty roar and a wink at Isaura who sat nearby with her friends, rolling her eyes.
Eadmund looked down, noticing that he’d already been bested, covered in dripping mud as he was. Then he heard his mother’s soft voice again, reminding him. ‘Look for what you missed the first time.’
He saw Ivaar skulking nearby, skinny as a rake and miserable as always as he lurked around the edges of everyone else’s fun. His brother had always been a lonely boy, struggling for friends and he eyed Eadmund with a look of anger, but Eadmund saw something new there now: sadness.
Ivaar was standing near Eadmund’s dog, Bert.
Nine, Eadmund remembered. He was nine-years-old.
Eadmund watched as Ivaar bent down to pat the black coat of the big, friendly dog. For some reason, Bert had liked Ivaar and often followed him around, as he did now when Ivaar turned and headed down the alley, away from the square and the fun that Eadmund and his friends were having without him.
Eadmund panicked, following them, trying to yell, to call Bert back. But Bert had always been too trusting, too friendly, and he kept on padding after Ivaar.
They wound their way through the maze of cottages and sheds until Ivaar came to a house Eadmund thought he recognised. Turning back to Bert, Ivaar reached into his pouch. Eadmund tried to lunge forward but his feet were stuck in the snow, and he couldn’t move as Ivaar pulled out a sliver of salt fish and bent down to give it to the excited dog.
‘There you go, boy,’ Ivaar smiled, patting Bert’s head before standing up. ‘Go home, now. Go on!’ And he shooed Bert on his way, turning to the door, resettling his cloak, running a hand through his short, blonde hair.
Eadmund frowned as Bert wolfed down the treat and loped away, tail wagging. He could feel his feet moving again as he turned after his dog and followed him further into the darkness of the alley where Bert ran straight into Morana Gallas.
‘Hello, dog,’ Morana smiled, her eyes darting around, checking the shadows. ‘Would you like to come for a walk with me?’
Eadmund jerked awake, shivering, panting.
Draguta, sitting at her table, staring into her circle was so lost in her trance that she didn’t notice.
It was the smell that woke him.
Aleksander rolled over, mumbling about Thorgils and pork chops. Thorgils was too deeply asleep to hear a thing. Jael was lost in a dream and didn’t notice. Astrid sat up, though, disturbed by the groaning, and the strange smell. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she tiptoed over to check on Jael who hadn’t stirred, before looking back to Aleksander who was sitting up.
A knife in his hand.
She gasped. ‘What is it?’
Aleksander scrambled out of bed as fast as his half-asleep limbs would carry him. Quickly dragging on his trousers, he hunted for his boots. ‘Wake Thorgils,’ he said, glancing quickly at Jael. ‘He needs to get ready. Hurry.’ And reaching for his mail shirt, he dropped it over his head before grabbing his swordbelt.
‘For what?’ Astrid wondered, feeling her heart quicken.
But Aleksander was already at the door, pulling it open and disappearing into the night.
The ravens were everywhere, like a dark, suffocating cloud, and Jael couldn’t move. Their screeching calls rang in her ears, their scratching claws raking her arms as she tried to run. There was so much noise. She clamped her hands over her ears, but the sound of the birds was inside her head.
She couldn’t move.
Then another noise. A different noise, fighting to be heard. Like wind or voices. Hissing. Waves. Jael couldn’t tell. She closed her eyes, trying to hear what they were saying. And when she opened them, the ravens had gone.
Almost all of them.
One sat on the end of her bed.
Jael blinked.
The raven stared at her. One white eye. One black.
Then it opened its beak and cawed loudly.
Gasping, Jael wrenched open her eyes, her breath rushing from her mouth, her chest rising and falling in panic.
The raven was still there.
Jael looked to her right and saw Astrid, frozen to the spot, staring at the raven.
And then Jael smelled it.
Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth and tried to move her legs.
She could hear the screeching.
‘Astrid,’ Jael croaked, trying to move. ‘Come... here... now...’
Astrid drew her eyes away from the raven and hurried to Jael, kneeling by the bed. ‘Something is happening. Thorgils and Aleksander have gone, and...’ She froze, watching the raven as it opened its wings, flapping them. Eyeing her.
‘Get me Thorgils’ crutch,’ Jael whispered, trying to swallow. ‘Find my swordbelt.’ Astrid hesitated. ‘Now!’
The door rattled loudly as the healer scrambled to her feet, running for the crutch.
Jael inhaled deeply, shaking all over as she rolled slowly to one side and struggled up to a sitting position. Her ears started ringing.
The door was shaking.
She could hear thunder.
‘Put more behind that door!’ Jael rasped, though her voice was faint and the boom of the thunder was loud.
Astrid hurried back with the crutch and swordbelt. ‘But you can’t get up!’
Jael shoved her head between her knees, breathing deeply as everything started going black. She could hear Astrid pushing more furniture behind the barricade she had already made. Lifting her head, Jael reached for the crutch, and pushed it down onto the earthen floor, pulling herself up with a loud groan.
‘My lady!’ Astrid exclaimed, hurrying back to help her wobbling queen. ‘You can’t!’
‘Tie the swordbelt around my waist. Scabbard on the right.’ Jael kept her head low, trying not to fall down as Astrid fumbled with the belt. ‘Another notch,’ she panted. ‘Tighter.’ She could feel the belt sliding down her hips as she swayed. ‘Good, now help me to the fire pit.’ Astrid grabbed Jael’s arm and led her across the cottage. ‘I’ll stay here, you break that chair.’ She nodded to the chair
next to Thorgils’ bed. ‘Smash it to pieces. You need a leg. Wrap a bedsheet around it. Tightly. Set it on fire. Hurry.’ Jael’s ears were ringing so loudly that she couldn’t hear herself, but Astrid ran to the chair, so at least she could.
Hurrying back to the fire pit with her sheet-wrapped chair leg, Astrid dipped it into the flames, thankful that she had kept a steady fire going all night.
‘Come... beside me... close,’ Jael whispered, trying to catch her breath. ‘You’ll need to help me stay upright.’ The room was moving, or Jael was. She couldn’t tell.
Astrid held the flaming torch in her left hand, grabbing onto Jael with her right.
And then the door burst open, and the raven flew up the smoke hole.
‘Fuck!’ Thorgils was knocked to the ground with an almighty thud. ‘These are the dragur?’ Shaking his head, he clamped his teeth together, wishing he had his crutch to help get him back on his feet. He rolled away instead as a blue-faced, hollow-eyed creature threw himself forward. Landing on the ground with a squeal, it scrambled back to its feet, charging after him.
‘Fire!’ Aleksander yelled, fighting off three dragur with his sword. ‘They hate fire!’ Shards of lightning struck the square where a row of pyres had been built to burn the bodies of those who had died from the sickness. The stacked wood burst into flames, thunder rolling overhead. ‘Torches!’ Aleksander cried as he fell to the ground, punched from behind.
‘Aleksander!’ Thorgils struggled back to his feet, scything his sword into the neck of the nearest creature, pushing another out of the way. The dragur’s jerking body swayed precariously but did not fall, so Thorgils ran as hard as he could with only one useful leg, watching as the dragur prepared to launch itself at Aleksander.
But Aleksander rolled onto his back, his short knife in his left hand, stabbing it into the dragur’s throat. Quickly pushing the gurgling creature off him, he shook his head, trying to clear his vision as he jumped back to his feet. It felt as though he’d been hit by a boulder. Sword out, he backed into Thorgils who was hobbling and panting behind him.