Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Jael smiled.

  Thorgils watched on anxiously. He knew what Tarak was capable of. Tarak hated Eadmund. Tarak hated women. Tarak would despise Jael.

  Tarak caught a glimpse of Jael’s sword, as she resettled it in front of her waist. He glanced down at it, pointedly. ‘I don’t think you’ll have much use for that toothpick here, my lady,’ he snorted dismissively. ‘Not with little Eadmunds to be caring for. Best you leave the fighting to your sleeping princess there. He’ll protect you when we all go off to war.’

  Oh, there it is, she thought; you are as nasty as you look. Jael cooled her face then, packing away her pretend smile. She was looking for a fight and had been since Lothar had stolen her freedom, and now, here was the best invitation she could have imagined. She fingered the pommel of her sword deliberately, feeling the icy glow of the moonstone chill her itching fingers.

  ‘Toothpick,’ she mused, almost to herself. ‘I’ve spent all night thinking of a name for my sword, as it happens. Toothpick... hmmm, it could work. But then again, perhaps something more descriptive would be better as this sword is so... fine... so... sharp... you wouldn’t really want your teeth picked with it, would you? Not unless you’d like them removed from your mouth first?’ It sounded like a threat. Jael meant it as a threat, and Tarak was not as stupid as he looked, for he took it as a threat and stepped forward.

  Thorgils had enough wits about himself to lurch out of his seat, but he was slower than Gant, who stepped in from the shadows at that very moment and grabbed Jael’s hand. ‘A word with you please, my lady,’ he said, loud enough for Tarak to hear.

  Jael didn’t move her head; her eyes were fixed on Tarak’s and his on hers. She knew Gant was there, felt Thorgils ready to pounce from her other side, but she remained trapped in the needy grip of her own bloodlust. It would be so endlessly pleasurable to hurt this bastard. Gant squeezed her hand more tightly now, demanding her attention, and his increasing pressure started to calm her own. She sighed, turning her eyes away, at last, glaring at Gant. ‘Yes, of course,’ she muttered through clamped teeth, allowing herself to be led away.

  Tarak, as he stood there smiling after her, looked like a man who had just found a new toy. Thorgils didn’t notice; he was too busy being relieved that Jael had left when she did. There was no doubt in his mind that Jael had been about to take Tarak on, but Thorgils had been bested by him on more than one occasion and knew what the outcome would have been. It was unfortunate that the smug turd was so useful to Oss, but that was the simple truth of it. He had never been beaten in a fight, and for that very reason, he was always the first man thrown forward in battle. He fought bare-chested, like a fearless hammer, defeating every enemy placed in front of him. He was Eirik’s and Oss’ champion, but as a man, he was overly confrontational, easily angered, and just plain strange. Most who called themselves his friend were simply too scared to do otherwise, and any man foolish enough to make an enemy of him didn’t live long enough to regret it.

  Gant hurried Jael over to a busy corner of the hall, away from the fires and flickering lamps. There was a thick gathering of people here, and he wanted to ensure their conversation remained as private as possible. ‘That was a fight you were never going to win.’ He turned on Jael sternly, his face emotionless in the shadows.

  ‘I’ve faced bigger men than that and won,’ Jael countered boldly, unsteadily. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  Gant looked so doubtful at this statement, that she shrunk backwards somewhat, sobering herself up with every slow blink of his grey eyes.

  ‘What did your father always tell you?’ Gant whispered hoarsely, quickly; he didn’t know how long they had. He had not seen Tiras for some time and was worried, as that worm was likely to appear just where you wanted him least.

  ‘Tell me?’ Jael’s head was foggy, as she struggled to grasp his meaning.

  ‘About drinking?’

  Realisation came like a wave, crashing over her dulled senses.

  ‘If you had taken that man on, what use would you have been in a fight? Against him? When you needed every bit of this,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘to overcome him. And when you’re full of drink, what use are you? You must think, Jael. You must survive here. You must stay in control.’

  They were near the small group of musicians, still plucking away earnestly on their lyres, here in this darkened corner, and Jael was struggling to hear Gant. He leaned in closer. ‘Jael, you’re no fool. Your father didn’t think so and nor do I. You can reclaim Brekka but only if you’re smart enough to play the game and that means watching, with a clear head, all of those around you.’ Gant looked quickly behind himself. ‘There are men who want thrones, glory and riches, men who want you dead to achieve it. Some who just want revenge. But whoever it is, know that you must protect and defend yourself. Your father is gone, Aleksander cannot help you, and nor can I. You must get out of here by yourself.’

  Jael sighed heavily, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts, but when she opened them, Gant had gone.

  Her head was thick, her legs unsteady but she had received the message, and as Jael made her way back through the swaying bodies, pressed together in this far-too-small hall, she started to wake herself up. Gant was right. She had come here on her grandmother’s word, and that alone, but destiny, Jael decided, was going to be hers to choose. The Drunkard was not her future, whatever Edela thought she saw; there was no hope to be found in him, that much was obvious. She needed to get herself back to Brekka and Aleksander, and somehow defeat both Eirik and Lothar in the process.

  She felt the smile of her father’s approval in that.

  ‘We should leave. Now.’ Thorgils had finally managed to wake Eadmund up. He glanced urgently at Jael, lowering his voice. ‘If we can get through the whole ceremony of seeing you to your house while Eadmund looks awake, then no one need wonder about what might not happen tonight. But if all we’re depositing is an unconscious lump on your floor, while everyone cheers and jeers, it will be more than bad luck, it will be a total embarrassment for Eirik.’ He lowered his voice so much that Jael could barely hear him. ‘A marriage not consummated on the wedding night has no chance of success. That is what the people of Oss believe. It would be an ill thing for them to think that that is what happened.’ Beside him, Eadmund’s head started to droop worryingly, and Thorgils jabbed him quickly in the ribs.

  Jael nodded. It was hard not to like this Thorgils. There was something uncomplicatedly decent about him, and despite her urgent desire to swim straight back to Brekka, through the freezing Nebbar Straights, she found herself agreeing with his logic. He was right; get the damn thing over with and let them all assume that everything happened as it was expected to.

  So they did.

  Just the four of them remained in what was a sizable, comfortable looking house. Jael’s eyes roamed keenly over its thick walls; this was no gap-riddled, wattle-and-daub house. It had been solidly built with wooden logs, the walls stuffed and plastered over and hung with thick, woven tapestries. Even the wind, which had tormented them since their arrival on this freezing rock, was barely discernible from inside. The floor was made of wooden planks, covered in skins and furs, so the main room felt dry and cosy. After two years of being squeezed into that leaking, breezy box with Aleksander and Biddy, Jael allowed herself a small smile of pleasure. It quickly turned bittersweet, though; she would have to share the house with Eadmund.

  ‘I’ve put him on the floor.’

  Jael turned around to see that Thorgils had appeared in the doorway leading to the bedchamber. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t put him on the bed?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘He’s used to the ground, and I’m sure you won’t want to wake up swimming in piss or worse!’

  ‘Yes, you have a point there,’ Jael conceded as she followed him to the front door.

  The raucous crowd who had followed them from the hall to witness the bride and groom’s journey to their marital home had quickly d
ispersed, drunken voices fading into the night as they returned to their cups and benches. Jael felt an overwhelming sense of relief sink into her bones. An unconscious groom, a warm house, and just Biddy for company; this night was turning out better than she could have hoped for.

  ‘Thank you,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not sure why you’re such a good friend to that drunken lump, but I’m grateful for your help tonight.’

  Thorgils grinned. ‘Ahhh, well, you will find out why that lump is worth the effort, I have no doubt!’ And turning into the stormy darkness, he trudged off.

  Jael closed the door quickly and firmly, turning the key that sat invitingly in the lock. She was alone! Well, apart from Biddy, who was very experienced at pretending to be invisible. She was almost alone! The rattling drone of Eadmund’s snores echoed from the bedchamber. There was a bedchamber. She was in a house with rooms! It was silly to think that such small things could give pleasure, but amongst all of this that was new and uncomfortable, they did.

  Biddy was fussing about over the large, square fire pit that sat in the middle of the living area. A row of fur covered beds lined both sides of the room, more than enough space for Biddy and five others, and towards the back was a generous kitchen area, filled with well-stocked shelves. To her left was the bedchamber, and straight ahead a door, which Jael assumed led to the storage rooms. She wasn’t bothered for now; there was already far too much straining her mead-addled mind.

  It was almost warm in the house, so Jael removed her cloak and came to sit by the fire, which was comfortably surrounded by six, small, wooden stools. She reached her hands towards the flames, frowning as she thought about Tig and Leada. She hadn’t liked the smell of the stables she’d left them in, but there had been little time to do much about it. She made a promise to check on them in the morning.

  ‘Honeyed milk?’ Biddy smiled, handing her a large bowl. ‘There are no cups that I can see anywhere. I shall try to find some in the morning.’

  ‘Honeyed milk?’ Jael could barely contain herself at the thought of one of her favourite childhood treats. She greedily wrapped her numb fingers around the bowl. This was a surprisingly good end to a shit day.

  Biddy poured herself a bowl of milk from the small cauldron that she’d hung over the fire, and came to sit by Jael, sighing as she stared into the flames that crackled pleasantly in front of them. ‘Not the wedding night I was expecting you to have,’ Biddy murmured, inclining her head towards the thunderous snoring. ‘I’d organised myself a nice bunch of rags to stuff in my ears. Looks like I’ll still be needing them, though!’

  ‘Ha!’ Jael laughed, screwing up her face at the thought of what might have been. ‘Much better than I could have hoped for. If we can keep him that drunk, then every night could be like this.’

  Biddy laughed, then looked at Jael with a more serious face. ‘It’s a very nice house, but it’s not Brekka, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Jael admitted sadly. ‘No. But I can’t change that. Not quickly at least.’ She lowered her voice. Even now, in this private setting, she feared the eager ears of Lothar’s worm. ‘All we can do is find a way to survive here until I can get us back home.’ She took another warming gulp of milk.

  ‘Even if Edela thinks this is your destiny?’

  Jael sighed. ‘Edela sees many things, but I don’t believe she sees all that is possible. Not this time.’ Jael felt tempted to share Aleksander’s visit to the Widow but held herself back again. The Widow was not someone to discuss lightly, especially with Tiras on the island. ‘Anything can happen, Biddy, if you want it enough. Anything is possible.’

  Jael was suddenly unable to stop yawning. Happily freed from the demands of the evening, she left Biddy to bank the fire and headed towards the bedchamber.

  One lamp burned low in here, on a table by an immense, wooden-framed bed. Each of its four posts curled like the dragon prow of a ship. Jael almost laughed; the fierce-faced creatures were hardly the last image you wanted to have before you closed your eyes. The bed was piled invitingly high with thick furs and pillows, though, so Jael took no further interest in anything but freeing herself, at last, from her oppressive dress. Throwing it as far away from herself as possible, she crawled eagerly under the furs, gasping in shock as her body shook and shivered into the mattress. It was so soft! There was no rustle beneath her as she turned and sought a comfortable spot, no bits of hay sticking angrily into her skin. The mattress was wool-stuffed and covered in a linen sheet, and as she sunk down, it almost hugged her body, gently, quietly, supportively. Jael couldn’t quite believe that it was possible for something so perfect to exist. It felt as though she were lying on soft, fluffy clouds. Rubbing her numb feet together, she thought about the warm body that would have made this bed perfect; if only he were here.

  She lay her head on the pillows, which felt just as agreeable. The dense warmth of the furs started to penetrate her cold limbs, and her tension eased. It had been the worst day she could remember in years, but at last, it was finally at an end.

  Outside the wind screamed around the walls and inside, on the cold, hard floor, Eadmund snored noisily. Jael closed her eyes, trying to ignore him. She tried to think instead of Aleksander, and Brekka, and the life that had once belonged to her.

  10

  The banging was incessant.

  Jael grimaced, willing it to stop, desperate to return to her dream of Aleksander. It had been so real; she could almost taste the winter air in Andala, feel his skin touching hers. But the banging continued. Where was Biddy? Why wasn’t she making it stop!?

  ‘Jael?’ There was a slight creak as the door was cautiously pushed open.

  Jael sat upright, squinting against the light and the confusion that was swirling around her head, wondering where she was, when this was.

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ Thorgils said sheepishly, pulling on his beard with one hand. ‘But it’s late, and they’re expecting you and Eadmund in the hall.’

  Jael tried to open her eyes wider, but they wouldn’t work. She tried to find her voice, but her mouth felt as though it were filled with sand. ‘What for?’ she croaked. ‘Who is expecting me?’ She glanced around, looking for a cup of water but everything was so unfamiliar; she had no idea where one might be. She swallowed, repeatedly, a burning sensation surging into her mouth.

  ‘Eirik, Lothar, everyone. There is a morning feast to celebrate the wedding, to celebrate the wedding night. They are wondering where you and Eadmund are.’ He glanced at the floor.

  Jael shook herself awake, blinking rapidly, trying to clear her thick head. The bed had kept her prisoner all night, and she didn’t want to leave its warm embrace, but she could tell that Thorgils wasn’t going anywhere without her. ‘I have no idea where my clothes are,’ she frowned, peering around the bedchamber. It was comfortable looking and spacious, but no windows meant that the only light source was the doorway that Thorgils was blocking with his imposing frame. She couldn’t see anything she could wear apart from that cursed dress, lying on the floor. She sighed. ‘Could you hand me that thing?’

  Thorgils looked slightly uncomfortable but did as she asked, ducking out of the room quickly so that she could have some privacy. ‘Have you any idea where Eadmund is?’ he called from the main room.

  For the first time, Jael became aware of the total absence of snoring. She looked over the side of the bed, but there was only a rumpled pile of furs.

  ‘No, I don’t. I didn’t hear a thing all night.’ She hopped out of bed, shuddering as the cold attacked her limbs, and hastily squeezed herself back into her wedding dress. It was freezing.

  ‘He left in the early hours,’ Biddy grumbled as she popped her round-cheeked face in through the doorway, a basket of berries in her arms. ‘Loudly! I’m surprised you didn’t hear him. Sounded as though a wild boar was trying to escape. He didn’t even close the door behind himself!’ She looked tired and annoyed, her soft brown curls frizzing wildly around her face.

  Jael was amazed she had slep
t through that. Amazed and cross with herself; she was normally a light sleeper. Perhaps the ridiculous bed was a ploy by Eirik to soften her up, to prepare her for the mind-numbing mundaneness of motherhood to come. She rolled her eyes, which made her head ache.

  Jael stumbled into the main room, looking for her cloak and boots. Thankfully, Biddy had them warming by the fire, and Jael sat down to put them on.

  Thorgils looked troubled. ‘I’ll see if I can find him.’ He went to leave, then turned back. ‘Will you wait here for me? It would not look good for you to arrive separately.’

  Jael nodded, rubbing her hands together over the flames. ‘I’m in no hurry to see anyone in that hall again,’ she shivered. ‘I’ll wait.’

  Thorgils nodded and left, ushering in an icy blast as he closed the door.

  Biddy handed Jael a cup of water. ‘You’ll be needing this, I expect,’ she grumbled. ‘Not sure who snored louder last night, you or Eadmund.’

  ‘What?’ Jael scoffed. ‘I do not snore!’

  Biddy looked unimpressed as Jael quickly drained the cup. ‘You certainly do when you’ve got drink in you, that’s one thing I do know. It was like sleeping with a herd of goats. I would rather have put up with some humping!’

  ‘You do realise that you’re my servant, Biddy?’ Jael glared at her. ‘That means I can get rid of you at any time.’

  ‘And what would you do then?’ Biddy countered grumpily. ‘Think for yourself? Find your own clothes?’ She turned and pointed to where Jael’s chest sat, just outside the bedchamber, filled with every possession she had brought with her, including her clothes. ‘You may try, but you would be lost without me, Jael Skalleson, and that you know very well indeed!’ Biddy bustled off to the kitchen, muttering loudly to herself as she prepared her morning meal.

  Jael felt terrible. Her head throbbed heavily, keeping time with her churning stomach. She was weighed down by a deep reluctance to begin the day. Last night had been an unexpected relief in the end, but now the cold reality of her new life was waiting just outside the door, and she was not at all ready to open it.