by A. E. Rayne
‘Of course, of course, I’ll make sure she stays away,’ Morac said, biting down on his irritation. ‘She has no wish to cause trouble, I promise you.’
‘No? Well, good,’ Eirik muttered.
‘The hall looks impressive, my friend,’ Morac smiled tightly, clapping Eirik on the shoulder. ‘You have no need to fear. It looks perfect. Royal.’
‘Ha! If only that were true. But hopefully, it looks enough. That’s all I ask. I don’t wish to embarrass my son, nor myself.’
‘I hardly think you will embarrass yourself, but as for Eadmund...’
‘Eadmund,’ Eirik snapped, ‘is being looked after by Thorgils and Torstan. He is going to surprise us all tonight.’
Morac looked unconvinced, pointing to the back of the hall. ‘You mean Torstan and Thorgils over there, who appear to be looking for someone?’
Eirik’s head spun around, his jaw clenched, his eyes full of fire. He stomped down towards the back of the hall. ‘What have you done with him?!’ he demanded, surprising the two men who had been sneaking around, checking the bedchambers. ‘When did you last see him?’
Thorgils swallowed and Torstan, who had always been terrified of Eirik, flushed bright red, staring at anything but his king’s apoplectic face.
‘Ahhh, it was, ummm,’ Thorgils stalled. ‘It was this morning, early this morning sometime.’
‘What?’ Eirik barked, so loudly that the gentle, murmuring hubbub of the hall ceased immediately, all heads turning in his direction, but he was too wild to notice or care. ‘What? Where is he? Where did you lose him? How did you lose him?’ He looked directly at the squirming Torstan then, whose face burned an even darker red.
‘We only turned our backs for a moment, and he slipped away,’ Thorgils said quickly, coming to his friend’s defence. ‘He was gone before we could do anything and we haven’t been able to pick up his scent since. There’s no sign of him anywhere.’
Eirik felt ill. His eyes darted about in a panic. They were surely out of time.
‘Father, I can take you to him!’ It was Eydis. She had emerged from her bedchamber and was reaching out, trying to grip hold of her distracted father’s hand. ‘I know where he will be.’
Eirik looked down at his daughter in confusion. She was dressed in her grey, fur cloak, hood up, gloves on. She tugged impatiently on his hand, turning to lead him out of the hall. ‘Come on, Father! We must hurry if we are to get to him in time!’
It had been a truly awful day, and now they had reached what was certain to be the worst part yet. Storm Chaser had bounced nauseously about, buffeted by extreme winds, moody seas, and frequent snowfalls. Under sail since leaving the harbour, she had raced across the black depths of the Nebbar Straights, the treacherous stretch of water between Andala and Oss, the largest of the islands in Eirik Skalleson’s kingdom.
Tig had joined Jael in hating every moment of it. Osbert had complained loudly, yelling at her to keep her damn horse quiet. She was sure that most on board would have happily tipped him over the side and left him to be picked over by Ran, Goddess of the Sea, so she had ignored his spiteful barbs for the most part. But he was a perverse little bastard, and Jael didn’t want him doing something reckless, so she had spent the entire journey by Tig’s side, keeping him as calm as possible, safe from Osbert, his unstable temper, and the threatening glint of his sword.
Edela hated to sail even more than Tig, and she had clung on to Axl in the stern of the ship, her face as leaden as the sky that hung over them, her mouth closed tight against the wind. Jael wondered what Edela saw in her dreams that made her so fearful of the sea. She thought about revealing Aleksander’s visit to the Widow but changed her mind. She would keep that information to herself, tucked close to her heart, hoping that his visions proved truer than her grandmother’s.
The ships had cautiously navigated two of the smaller islands and were now weaving and rolling their way through the deadly stones that climbed out of the white-capped sea around them.
Jael forced herself to look up at the island that would be her new home. Her first impression was that of a bleak, sharp-edged rock, discarded by the gods and dropped into the sea. No wonder it had never been settled by Tuurans, she thought, squinting at its high, jagged cliffs; it looked a wild and unforgiving sort of place.
The sky was darkening quickly as the oars dug in, and, under orders, they started to negotiate the narrow margin that existed between safe passage and torn hull. Four giant shards of stone towered threateningly over them at the entry to Oss’ harbour, providing a warning to those who would pass. It was not an easy place to enter and certainly not an easy place to take. No wonder Eirik had reigned untroubled for so long; who would want to come here?
Jael turned around to see that Lightning was still following dutifully in their wake. She had hoped they might strike something and sink to the bottom of the sea, but felt a slight pang of remorse; her mother was on board. It was only slight, though; she was in a bitter mood and feeling ungenerous to all but Tig.
They hurried out of the fort, into the storm, the wind screaming towards them horizontally, bringing increasingly heavy snow with it.
Eydis was certain she knew where Eadmund was, but as to what state he would be in when they found him, she wasn’t sure. It was a hidden place, a secret place, but she knew of it. Eadmund had taken her there once when she was much younger, and he was feeling wistful and lonely. He’d told her about it; how it had been his place with Melaena, how they used to hide there and watch the ships come in, as the sun sunk into the sea, sleeping there under the stars.
‘Ships!’
They heard the urgent call from the fort’s main tower.
‘Already?’ Eirik grimaced and grabbed Eydis’ hand, almost dragging her off her small feet. ‘Quickly, child! Show me where he is!’
Eydis tried to get her bearings, to imagine where she was standing. She took a deep breath and pointed to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the harbour and Eirik ran, Thorgils and Torstan following close behind. ‘Stay there!’ he called back to her. ‘Do not move, Eydis!’
The cliff fell away to reveal a gentle, sloping path, leading down to an almost-hidden, grassy ledge, wide enough to fit a tiny cottage, but for now, it just contained one prone figure, lying in the almost-dark. Eirik hesitated for a moment before running down to his son.
He wasn’t moving.
Eirik bent down, holding his breath, laying his head on Eadmund’s chest. He was snoring; that was something at least. Snoring and stinking of ale. Of course, Eirik thought to himself, how could he have expected anything else? He stood up, disgusted.
Thorgils and Torstan were there quickly, pulling Eadmund upright, which wasn’t easy as he was thoroughly unconscious; a snow-covered, dead weight, hanging limply between his two friends. Eirik cursed himself for not bringing a water bag; he needed something to sober Eadmund up quickly.
Thorgils and Torstan manoeuvred Eadmund up the rise, back to the top of the cliff, both men breathing heavily from the effort.
Eydis stood there waiting for them, rooted to the spot despite the wind’s best efforts to blow her over. She could sense that Eadmund was in a poor way and that her father was in a panic. ‘Bring him to me! Quickly!’ she called, removing her gloves.
She buried one arm inside her brother’s wet cloak, digging about urgently, burrowing under his tunic. Feeling around his hairy armpit, she reached up and with her sharp little fingernails, pinched the delicate skin under Eadmund’s arm as hard as she could. He yelped, jerking himself upright and awake, curling away from his sister, crossly shaking her off. His eyes didn’t stay open, though, and he slumped back into a limp state. Thorgils and Torstan readjusted their hold on their heavy cargo as Eydis reached up inside his tunic and did it again, this time even harder. Eadmund’s eyes popped open in protest, his mouth flapping like a fish desperate for water. Eirik stepped in and gave him a sharp slap across the face, and he was awake, almost alert, and momentarily able to stand
on his own.
The two ships, finally free of obstacles, eased into the calmer shallows of the harbour. There was no pier here, just a wide, flat expanse of stones, where a handful of large ships were being protected from the storm in large, wooden sheds. Not many, though; hardly a fleet. Eirik must have another harbour where he kept the rest of his ships, Jael thought to herself.
The helmsman barked at the oarsmen, who lifted their oars up, out of the water, leaving the ships to surge rhythmically towards the shore. Jael held firmly onto Tig’s reins, soothing him through this last part. She wondered what she had been thinking, bringing him to this inhospitable looking place but she couldn’t have imagined leaving him behind.
As the ship grated onto the foreshore, at last, a handful of men in the bow jumped out into the cold, dark water, dragging Storm Chaser onto the snow-covered beach. With Axl’s help, Jael coaxed Tig up and over the side of the ship. He was unconvinced by the idea of jumping out of one unpleasant situation into another at first, but one look at the carrots in her hand swayed him quickly enough.
As the night settled over them, the sea-worn travellers made their way towards the spluttering torches that marked their path up to the fort. Lothar helped both Gisila and Amma over the wet stones, leaving Osbert and Axl to bring up the rear with Jael and Edela. Gant stayed by the ships with Biddy and their men to organise the unloading of sea chests and gifts for their hosts.
Jael dragged a whinnying Tig behind her, feeling her stomach tighten with every step. He hated the wind and was making her do most of the work. They swayed and slipped together, both desperate to turn and run back to the ships, back to Aleksander. She blinked, forcing that thought away for the hundredth time. Gritting her teeth, she yanked harder on Tig’s reins and tugged him forwards.
The beach merged gradually into thick, grassy plains, littered with a handful of ramshackle buildings that stunk of fish. From there was a steep climb up a hill to Eirik Skalleson’s fortress of stone, which was quickly disappearing into the stormy night. The wind was coming towards them at such a pace and angle that walking was almost impossible.
Jael glanced up to where their welcoming party stood, just in time to witness one man stumble, almost falling to the ground. It was hard to see much, but it was evident that he couldn’t stand on his own; the men on either side of him appeared to have one arm under each of his.
Osbert let out a roaring laugh. ‘Did you see that? That has to be your Eadmund, doesn’t it Jael? What a lucky prize you have won there!’
‘Shut up, Osbert!’ Lothar hissed, slapping his son on the back of the head. ‘We are not here to insult our hosts, nor make enemies of them before this marriage is settled. Keep your mouth closed if you want to leave this island with a tongue!’
Evaine watched as the travellers struggled up the long hill. It was too dark to see much from this distance, but as she peered over the edge of the tower she had secreted herself away in, she was sure she knew which one was Jael Furyck.
Evaine frowned intensely, furious that she had to hide away, when all she wanted to do was make herself known to her rival; to stake her claim, to show the bitch that Eadmund would never be hers. That woman would be warming his bed every night, would carry his child, and the nightmare of that distorted Evaine’s heart-shaped face into a violent scowl. Her ears hummed loudly as she fought the urge to run down the stairs and out of the fort. But this was not a contest to win in public view, she knew that. She would have to sink into the shadows if she was going to keep Eadmund to herself.
Eadmund swallowed, desperately searching for some saliva inside his barren mouth. His arms ached where Torstan and Thorgils were gripping him, where Eydis had pinched him so painfully, just moments ago. He didn’t complain about their attentions, though; he realised that standing on his own was impossible. He couldn’t remember what had happened or how he had ended up here, swaying in the darkness. The glow of torches flickered off the serious faces of those around him. His father would not even look at him; his eyes were hard, his face bitter with disappointment.
‘Will you keep him upright!’ Eirik growled through gritted teeth. ‘And try to make it look as though you aren’t. Move in closer together.’ He stared straight ahead as the Brekkan party struggled towards them. Even in this wind-battered chill, he felt himself sweating anxiously.
‘We are trying,’ Thorgils grunted, regripping the arm he was holding, causing Eadmund to moan woefully. Thorgils moved his body as close to Eadmund’s as possible, without it looking too unnatural. It was almost completely dark now, and he hoped it would be good enough until they could take Eadmund away to sober him up.
‘My Lord King!’ Lothar reached Eirik first and bowed his head in greeting. ‘It is good to see you again!’ he smiled, clapping Eirik on the shoulders in an enthusiastic show of friendship, his cloak flapping wildly around him.
‘Lothar,’ Eirik smiled. ‘It is good to see you too, my friend. Welcome to Oss!’
‘My niece, Jael Furyck,’ Lothar announced, pushing Jael forwards. ‘As you will see, she is not dressed for ceremony yet, but I do assure you that she has brought a dress with her!’
Lothar thought himself amusing, but Jael cringed beneath his words, not knowing where to look. Obviously, she should look at Eirik, but she doubted she could do so without scowling, so instead she stared awkwardly about herself, glancing at his face only in passing. He was smiling keenly at her, she noticed, the torch flames were bright enough for her to see that. He took one of her hands in his, raising it to his mouth to kiss. Jael looked horrified and only just managed to stop herself yanking her hand out of his icy grip. She glared at him then, defiantly.
He was older than Lothar, older than her father would have been. His long, gold and white hair whipped across his wrinkled face; his beard, though, braided and weighted with silver nuggets, stayed almost in place. He had small, wary blue eyes and a tight mouth, but there was humour lurking around it; humour which travelled up to his eyes when he looked at her. It was not a bad face, she surmised... for an enemy.
‘Jael,’ Eirik said with an eager smile. ‘Welcome to your new home. We are so pleased that you have come.’ He nodded at Thorgils and Torstan, who somehow managed to shunt Eadmund forwards without tipping him over. ‘May I present my son, Eadmund Skalleson, future King of Oss.’
Jael took a deep breath and forced her head to turn in Eadmund’s direction. Her eyes lingered briefly on his bloated face before the overwhelming stench of him hit her. He smelled as though he had vomited and pissed into a barrel of ale, then bathed in it. The stink was truly awful, and every gust of wind blew a fresh tide of him towards her. She screwed up her face in total disgust. He was, it seemed, unsurprisingly, drunk.
He looked twice as wide as she remembered from when she’d fought him all those years ago. She hadn’t seen his face then, and perhaps he had been handsome once, but from what she could make out now, he resembled a dead, swollen cow; all bulging, putrefying, and luminescent, in a ghostly, near-death sort of way. His limbs lay lifelessly about him as he hung there, suspended on the bridge the two men on either side of him were making.
‘Hello,’ Jael said shortly. Then, as a small flicker of hope ignited somewhere deep inside her, she smiled; a smile that was more for herself than him. There was hope, she realised, in this disgusting mess of a man; he looked like a man about to die.
Eadmund could barely see straight, let alone focus on this woman standing in front of him, twisting her face with such apparent distaste. She thought she was better than him, that’s what he saw in her pinched and pointy expressions. She was tall but not taller than him. She dressed like a man but looked enough like a woman so that humping her wouldn’t be physically impossible, at least. He noticed the scar under her eye and was both intrigued and slightly intimidated. She was confident, he thought, and as he stood there, he felt anything but. He tried to feel the strength in his own feet, tried to stand a little taller, a little more proudly but his body sagged heavily wit
h the effort, and he remained limply defeated. Eadmund closed his eyes, saw his father’s disappointed face again and opened them, smiling as widely as he could manage. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Jael,’ he said in a voice which didn’t sound like his at all. He couldn’t reach out a hand to hold hers and perhaps she could sense that as she didn’t offer one either.
‘Let’s get out of this weather!’ Eirik called loudly over the keening wind as the two groups stood shivering, silently and awkwardly in front of each other. ‘I have hot fires, good food, and plenty of drink to warm your cold souls!’ He exhaled heavily, relieved that they were underway and as Lothar fell in beside him, he looked over to see Thorgils and Torstan doing an impressive job of navigating Eadmund through the gates. He raised an eyebrow towards Thorgils, who nodded back in acknowledgement, and motioning to Torstan, they let everyone get ahead of them and slipped Eadmund away into the guard tower.
8
They sat next to each other, all nine of them, squeezed along the high table, elbows and knees almost touching. It was not a long table, nor was it a large hall, Jael noted as she looked around with only mild curiosity.
Eirik had certainly spared no expense in his efforts to beautify its dingy corners. Fresh flower garlands hung from beams, crossing over their heads. Finely worked tapestries rippled warmly in the mellow glow of candles and lamps. Musicians played softly in one corner of the hall while girls with buckets rushed around topping up empty cups with mead. It was good enough she thought, but it was not Brekka, and the man on her right was not Aleksander Lehr, and the man on her left was not her father, and she had no sword in her scabbard.