The Raven's Warning

by A. E. Rayne

  Jael sighed, rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t say anything.’

  Gisila looked surprised. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean there’s nothing I want to say about what happened, so don’t say anything to me,’ Jael grumbled, still looking for an escape but seeing the hurt in her mother’s eyes, she stopped and faced her. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘Please, Mother. There is too much I need to do now. Too much I need to think about.’

  Gisila knew better than most how it felt to lose a child, and though she had never been especially close to her daughter, she wanted to comfort her in the way her own mother had comforted her during those terrible times. But, she supposed, watching Jael squirm away from her, that was unlikely to work. She nodded, moving out of the way. ‘Go on, then. You go.’

  Now Jael felt guilty, which annoyed her even more than being pestered about the one thing she didn’t want to talk about. She tried to think of something to say to make it better, but she couldn’t, so she dropped her head and turned away, bumping into Bram Svanter. ‘Oh.’ Reaching out, Jael grabbed him as he stumbled, losing his balance.

  Thorgils was quickly behind him. ‘Trying to knock my uncle over?’ he grinned.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it would be hard to do,’ Jael smiled, moving a bench closer so Thorgils could deposit Bram onto it.

  Bram tried to catch his breath as he eased himself down.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Jael wondered as Thorgils disappeared to find him a cup of ale.

  ‘Fine,’ Bram assured her. ‘Nothing a bit of sea air wouldn’t cure.’

  ‘You sound like a man with itchy feet,’ Jael said, happy to sit down herself. ‘Or a man looking to run away?’ She blinked, not sure what that meant.

  The look on Bram’s face told her that he knew exactly what it meant. He felt embarrassed. ‘No, I’m not. No, it’s just... strange... nearly dying. Waking up to a new family. I...’

  Jael saw Fyn talking to Aleksander on the other side of the hall. Axl too. She looked back at Bram and was amazed that she’d never noticed the resemblance before. They had the same broad shoulders. Tall. Lots of hair. Like Thorgils, she realised. Fyn glanced shyly towards them. ’Don’t run away,’ Jael whispered. ‘It might feel strange for you, but imagine how Fyn feels? The only man he knew as his father treated him like a turd he stepped in every day. Told him he was worthless. Treated him as if he was. That’s not something you can undo easily. It’s how Fyn feels about himself, even now. I can see it in his eyes. If you reject him too...’

  Bram felt foolish. And old. He’d faced death and welcomed it. Prepared himself to go and be with his family. It wouldn’t have been a warrior’s death. He wasn’t going to end up in Vidar’s Hall, supping and fighting with his friends, but he hadn’t wanted that. Not really. He had wanted to see his wife and children again. So desperately. Yet he’d come back. He had wanted to come back when Ayla told him about Fyn and Runa.

  And it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be a father. He felt almost confident in that. It was the idea of unlocking his heart again and letting them both in.

  He wasn’t sure if he could do it.

  Jael yawned beside Bram as Thorgils returned with his ale.

  ‘Here you go,’ Thorgils said, peering at the two weary faces before him. ‘Or perhaps it’s time for bed?’

  Jael stood, shaking her head. ‘No, not yet, I want to find Beorn. I haven’t spoken to him since we got back.’ She glanced around as Fyn approached, looking as though he was dragging his feet, changing his mind with every step. ‘Here, you take my seat.’

  Fyn gulped, wanting to go with Jael instead.

  Jael stepped behind him, nodding her head at Thorgils, who took one look at Fyn and Bram and nodded back, watching as Jael slipped away. ‘Take a seat, Cousin!’ he bellowed, ‘and let’s see if we can decide which one of us has a story worthy of Warunda’s time. Me being stabbed by my best friend who is bound to an evil girl, and you being speared by a man who would not die. Each very impressive tales in their own right, but Bram might top us both, him being almost crushed to death by a dragon!’

  Neither Fyn nor Bram spoke, but Bram did lift his cup to his lips, taking a long drink. Thorgils quickly looked around for Isaura, who was better at this sort of thing, but she was talking to Amma Furyck and wasn’t looking his way.

  Jael found Beorn, and turned back to Thorgils, a smile playing around her lips, watching him try to coax conversation out of the awkward statues that were Bram and Fyn. ‘You’ve done a good job with those catapults,’ she said to Beorn, shaking her head as a servant offered her a cup of ale. ‘Are they going to be able to travel, do you think?’

  Beorn nodded. ‘They’ve got wheels, but I don’t imagine any horse is going to enjoy pulling them up the hills to get out of this place.’

  Jael laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we can go the long way, towards Iskavall. It’s reasonably flat through there, I promise.’ She turned as Aleksander approached. He had his cloak on, though it was warm in the hall.

  ‘I’m heading out. I’ll check around the catapults. Make sure everyone’s wide awake and fully supplied. Better than standing around here, waiting for the dragur.’

  Jael could see how worried he was about Hanna. He could barely stand still, which, for someone as calm as Aleksander, said a lot. ‘Well, enjoy the night air. I’ll head for bed and see you in the morning.’ It felt strange to say, and though she wanted to go with Aleksander to check on the men or to see if Edela needed help with her curse-breaking ritual, she could barely keep her eyes open.

  The only way she could be of some use, Jael decided, was to see if she could find some answers in her dreams.

  III

  THE VALLEY

  18

  Kormac and his two sons were on edge as they led Edela, Biddy, and Eydis through the main gates, heading towards the forest. Furia’s Tree and its sacred grove were some distance from the fort, and though Edela didn’t feel any rain, the clouds were thick overhead, hiding the moon.

  During the day, it was a pleasant walk, accompanied by dappled light, birdsong, and the hum of industrious bees from the hives where the Andalans harvested their honey. But in the dark, everything took on a menacing edge.

  And then there was the threat of the dragur.

  Jael had organised for Kormac, Aedan, and Aron to accompany Edela to the grove, hoping her uncle and cousins would keep everyone safe and return them to the fort if there was any sign of danger. The three men carried torches wrapped in pitch soaked cloth, burning flames to light their way; prepared but hoping not to encounter any dragur.

  Edela followed Aedan, muttering to herself, certain she’d forgotten something; convinced that what she had prepared was somehow wrong. Her nerves were plucking like the strings on a lyre as she stumbled, slipping on wet leaves.

  Biddy grabbed her, worried that she too would fall.

  Aedan turned back to them. ‘Are you alright, Grandmother?’

  Edela nodded. ‘Fine, fine, but maybe you could come a little closer with those flames. It’s hard to see where I’m going now. And the path does become rougher ahead.’

  Aedan made sure that both Edela and Biddy were alright before returning to the head of their little group, trying to stay closer to his grandmother.

  ‘We’ll be turning to the right at the fork ahead!’ Edela called. ‘Don’t you lead us in the wrong direction, now!’

  Aedan smiled as he lifted the burning torch, leading them into the thick forest.

  Eadmund had fallen asleep not long after Evaine left with Brill. There was something about pushing himself so hard that he was almost starting to enjoy. He could feel the change in himself: muscle replacing fat; his growing strength; the newfound resilience; a power he hadn’t felt in years, if ever.

  Rollo was working him harder than anyone he’d ever met.

  His mind was less occupied with other thoughts now. He tried to remember what Draguta wanted him to do. He th
ought about being with Evaine. Sometimes he remembered his son.

  He didn’t think about anything else.

  Until he fell asleep and the dreams came like a flood.

  Eskild was worried.

  The gods were whispering about the growing power of Draguta Teros, and her increasing control over Eadmund; of how lost he was, and how worried they were that he could not be reclaimed now.

  But Eskild would not let him go. She would not give up.

  Having finally found a way into Eadmund’s dreams, she was determined to do everything she could to save him before it was too late.

  There was so much he didn’t know – so much she hadn’t known herself – and it was all to do with Morana Gallas. That witch had destroyed her family from the shadows, piece by tiny piece so that no one noticed. So that no one thought to add all the pieces together to find the truth.

  Until now.

  ‘Eadmund.’ He was dreaming of Oss again, and Eskild took a deep breath, seeing which dream he had chosen; knowing what had happened that day. What she now knew had happened. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘There is something you need to watch. Come with me, my son.’

  Eadmund could hear his mother’s voice. He spun around, but he couldn’t see her. He followed her voice anyway, through the square and away from the hall, where he remembered it was his birthday. His thirteenth birthday.

  He heard his mother’s gentle voice, warm and soothing like a lullaby, and he followed it, down the alley, towards the northwestern corner of the fort; the darkest corner where the oldest cottages were hidden from the sun’s warmth.

  Where Morana Gallas lived.

  Eadmund had walked up to that cottage with Thorgils and their friends many times, daring each other to knock on the door and ask the witch a question.

  No one had ever taken up the challenge.

  They would get to within footsteps of reaching out to touch her door before running down the alley, their bowels clenching in fear.

  Eadmund’s feet were urging him on, though he was resisting now. He didn’t want to go into the cottage. The door was closed, but someone was inside. He could see smoke rising from the thatch. He could hear bones knocking against each other around her porch.

  He didn’t want to go inside.

  But Eskild’s voice was firm. ‘Open the door. It is just a dream, but you need to see. You need to see what she did.’

  Eadmund lifted a hand to the wooden panels of the door and pushed. It didn’t move, but somehow, he moved straight through it, and suddenly he was standing outside, in a forest, staring at a tiny shack. He remembered it from his time in Rikka with Evaine.

  Morana’s cottage.

  Eadmund froze, not wanting to move forward, but he was quickly at the door, reaching for the handle, and as much as he wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, he was suddenly inside.

  The cottage was as he remembered: dark, smoky, cramped; shelves stuffed full of jars and bottles; herbs strung across cobweb-thick rafters and along the walls. On the floor sat Morana, surrounded by candles and symbols painted in... blood? She wore a fur hood of some sort, and when she lifted her head, Eadmund could see that it was a wolf’s head, the animal’s top teeth still intact.

  Her face was painted; her teeth red.

  Eadmund couldn’t move. His body held him tightly.

  Keeping him where he needed to be.

  Morana was chanting as she threw herbs onto the fire which spat angrily back at her. She picked up something that caught his eye: a necklace of yellow glass and amber beads on a delicate, silver chain. Eadmund had given it to Eskild for Vesta. A sun necklace, he had told her, having chosen the beads himself. And now Morana held it in her hands as she closed her eyes and started swaying, rocking back and forth on her knees.

  More smoke filled the cottage, but Eadmund was untroubled, and so was Morana as she writhed around in her circle now, her voice rising and falling like crashing waves. And then, at the very crescendo of her chanting, Morana tore the necklace apart, scattering the beads all over the ground.

  And Eadmund turned and ran straight through the door, hearing nothing but the frantic beating of his breaking heart. Everything was silent around him as he ran back into Oss, down the alley, across the square, towards the gates. ‘Mother!’ he screamed. ‘Mother!’ There was snow on the ground, ice on the cleared paths, and he slipped as he ran, keeping to his feet as he charged out of the gates and down the hill, bumping into a fur-wrapped old man who struggled up to him with smoking breath.

  ‘Eadmund!’ he panted. ‘Your mother! Quick! I’ll get the king!’

  Eadmund couldn’t breathe as he charged past him, running for the ice.

  Where his mother was walking, far, far out, towards the stone spires.

  ‘Mother! No!’

  Jael woke with a start. Eadmund’s scream had been loud in her ears, but now everything was silent.

  And then a raven’s call.

  She tried to catch her breath. Her body shuddered and shook as though she’d been running. Sitting up, she pushed Ido off her feet. She had fallen asleep so quickly that she’d left a lamp burning, and it was easy to find her trousers, which she hurried on, and then her boots. They were her second pair; full of holes. It was cold, but Jael didn’t have a new cloak yet, so she slipped her swordbelt on and stepped out of the chamber.

  Into the corridor.

  It was late.

  Jael realised that she must have slept for some time because there was no noise coming from the hall, just some raucous snoring from the chambers along the corridor. Likely Axl, she thought to herself as she heard it again.

  The raven.

  Hurrying now, Jael pulled back the thick, grey curtain, and stepped into the hall. The fires had burned down, and it was darker than she could remember seeing it before. And cold. The men and women sleeping on the benches were perfectly still. Silent. Jael shivered, wondering if she was having a dream.

  She could see white puffs of breath smoking before her.

  Then the hall’s enormous doors started to rattle.

  Jael’s right hand hovered over Toothpick, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer, towards the banging doors. But just before she reached them, they blew open, ushering in an enormous gust of wind, flapping her braids behind her, blowing the remnants of smoke all around the hall.

  And sitting there waiting on the steps was Fyr.

  The raven with the white eye cawed loudly, turning her head to Jael.

  Watching her.

  Jael swallowed, walking towards the bird, immediately inhaling the stench of dragon which still lingered; the smell of fish drifting in from the harbour.

  And the dragur.

  She could smell the dragur.

  Edela was anxious because she couldn’t see the moon. Thick, dark clouds had trapped it above the tree canopy, refusing to let it out, and she had to rely on the faint glow of Biddy’s struggling fire to see what she was doing.

  Kormac, Aedan, and Aron had stayed outside the grove. Guarding it. Watching for dragur. Their torches burning.

  Edela would have been grateful for the extra light and warmth. She shivered uncontrollably as the wind picked up, thinking it would have been nice to have that fur neck warmer Biddy was always threatening her with.

  She wasn’t sure it was cold, though.

  Biddy was trying to encourage more flames into her fire, and Eydis was sitting against Furia’s Tree while Edela prepared everything.

  Edela wondered if they should have brought Jael along after all. She was potentially the most powerful dreamer of all. Too late now, she reminded herself, jumping at a clap of thunder in the distance.

  ‘We don’t need a storm,’ Biddy muttered as she straightened up and walked to Eydis, helping her to her feet. ‘I’ll take you to Edela, and you can sit in the circle. I need to start digging the hole.’

  Edela had drawn a circle with her knife in a patch of cleared earth and was now painting symbols onto the three stones she had pla
ced evenly around its edge. In rat’s blood. And her blood.

  The blood of the dreamer and the blood of her sacrifice.

  She hoped it would work.

  More thunder.

  ‘Is it the gods?’ Biddy asked, helping Eydis down beside Edela, conscious of how still the night was. Apart from the thunder, there was no sign of a storm. ‘Are they coming?’

  Eydis nodded, making herself comfortable. ‘We have to hurry.’

  Edela pointed to the middle of the circle. ‘If you could dig the hole in the centre, Biddy. As deep as your hand. Twice as long. But first, throw the rest of the herbs onto the flames. They look healthy enough now.’

  Edela sat facing the fire, using her hand to waft the smoke towards her, suddenly realising what Eydis had said. ‘Can you feel the gods?’

  ‘Yes, but they are not coming to help you, Edela.’

  Edela’s eyes widened as she sensed her meaning. ‘No. No, they’re not.’ Her heart thundered in her chest now. ‘Biddy, dig as fast as you can. Once the hole is ready, we must begin.’

  Evaine kept glancing behind herself, wanting to leave.

  It made Draguta wistful for Morana Gallas and her twitching niece. They had, at least, been dreamers. Subservient for a time. Aware of the importance of silence – silence of both mind and body – and Evaine’s thoughts were so loud that Draguta was struggling to concentrate. ‘You do wish to return to Eadmund before dawn, don’t you?’ she wondered, squeezing Evaine’s hand so tightly that Evaine yelped as she nodded. ‘Then sit still, and allow me to focus or I shall throw you into my fire and leave you to roast!’

  Evaine flinched, certain that Draguta meant it. She swallowed, trying to clear her mind of everything but what was before her, which was little.

  They had come to the top of the stone tower. It had been a guard tower centuries before, but when Flane’s walls were rebuilt years ago, it was abandoned, left to crumble. Few ventured up here anymore, which made it the perfect place to perform the spell, Draguta thought, trying to ignore all the other things that were not perfect at all; pleased to finally hear Evaine’s mind retreat into the background.