Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘There’s something funny going on,’ Torstan whispered as he came to sit beside Thorgils.

  The hairs on Thorgils’ neck stood on end; he didn’t look at Torstan. ‘What do you mean?’ he whispered back, just as cautiously. There was no one within hearing distance but still...

  ‘I don’t know, just things. Things that make me think something has happened,’ Torstan murmured. He wasn’t normally the most perceptive man Thorgils knew, but the peculiar look on his face told him that something was wrong. ‘Eydis is in her bedchamber. I can hear her crying.’

  ‘What about Eirik?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him, or Morac all day, not in here anyway. Nor Eadmund.’

  Thorgils glanced around quickly. Everyone appeared relaxed. There were no sideways glances or whispered conversations. The men sitting around the fires were talking and laughing openly. But something was wrong, and Thorgils could feel it in his chest. ‘You wait here,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go and speak to Eydis.’

  He left a worried Torstan by the fire and strode off towards the back of the hall, looking for answers, afraid of what he might find.

  Eirik looked tense as Jael ushered him inside, out of the snowy gale. His usual spark of good humour was gone, replaced with a sullen glare.

  ‘This is a surprise,’ Jael smiled cautiously. ‘We were expecting Eadmund.’

  The puppies sniffed about Eirik’s legs, satisfied that he wasn’t an enemy. Jael wondered if they were right in their hastily-formed assumption.

  ‘Were you? What for?’ Eirik made no move to step any further into the house; his back remained to the door.

  ‘Would you come and sit by the fire?’ Jael wondered politely.

  Eirik said nothing as he followed her to a stool she had placed out for Eadmund.

  ‘Something to drink?’

  ‘I had an interesting visit from your little Brekkan friend this morning,’ Eirik stated, ignoring her offer as he sat down. ‘It was early, too. He couldn’t wait, I suppose, after all his hard work. He couldn’t wait to lay it all at my feet, to enjoy his gloating at my expense. I’m sure he can’t wait to tell Lothar about it either.’

  Jael’s heart was racing now. Eirik spoke as though she wasn’t there, and she could feel everything slowly starting to fall down around her.

  ‘So, that little bitch got herself pregnant,’ he spat bluntly.

  Jael heard Biddy’s stifled gasp from the corner of the room.

  ‘You don’t look surprised,’ Eirik noted, glancing towards Jael for the first time. ‘Did you know?’

  She took a deep breath and sighed. ‘No, not really but I guessed. I was hoping to talk to Eadmund about it, to find out the truth.’

  ‘Were you now?’ Eirik looked to the fire, his tone flat and defeated. ‘So, you are talking to him now? Not lying with him, not sleeping in the same bed, but talking to him?’

  It was Jael’s turn to ignore him. ‘It doesn’t matter that she’s pregnant, does it? Truly?’

  Eirik eyed her sharply. ‘Doesn’t it? Not to you? You don’t care that your husband will have a child with another woman? You feel relieved, do you?’

  ‘It has nothing to do with me,’ Jael said coldly. She felt anger spark inside her then, somewhere deep, where it had been simmering a long time. ‘I didn’t ask to come here, to be in this place with your son. What he does with other women... what control do I have over that? What has it got to do with me?’

  ‘You’re his wife!’ Eirik growled, standing up, his fury overwhelming him. His face reddened as his voice rose. ‘I brought you here to be his wife! To have his sons, to bring your name to my heirs! To be a wife! Not to ride around with other men, to fight with your sword, to do everything and anything you wanted, to avoid being his wife!’ His eyes bulged angrily at her.

  Jael stood and stepped towards him, her own fury on the edge of consuming her reason. She saw Biddy’s worried face out of the corner of her eye, and that checked her a little but not enough to stop her. ‘You are angry at the wrong person, Eirik!’ she began loudly. ‘Your son spent the first part of our marriage drunk! Nowhere to be seen! I never even knew where he was, let alone had the chance to speak to him. How was I going to be a wife to a man I couldn’t find? What did you expect me to do, hunt him down? Drag him out of her bed and into mine?’

  ‘Why not?’ Eirik countered. ‘You certainly could have if you’d wanted to!’

  ‘Of course, but why would I want to?’ Jael was wild now. ‘I didn’t even want to come here! I never wanted to be married to anyone! Ever! That was the choice I made, but you and Lothar decided that I didn’t deserve a choice! You took it from me and forced me to come here, gave me this new life, which I didn’t want. You took me from my family and my home. You made me come here and be a wife to this hopeless drunk, who could barely even stand. And what was I supposed to do? Fix him? Turn him into the son you wished he was? How was I to do that when none of you could?!’ She shook with anger. ‘I am no goddess. I have no powers to do anything like that. What you asked of me was too much. It is Eadmund who needed to save himself, not me!’

  Jael sat down, not wanting to go on. Weeks and weeks of pain was rushing, tumbling out of her, and she needed to stop. She wasn’t really angry at Eirik, or even Eadmund, she just felt furious about so many things that had nothing to do with her and that she could do nothing about. Yelling at Eirik wouldn’t change anything, no matter how good it felt.

  Eirik sat quietly down beside her, his face stripped of all anger now; he just looked sad. ‘You are right, of course,’ he said quietly, his voice trembling. ‘It was always Eadmund who needed to change himself.’

  ‘And he has!’ Jael implored, turning to her father-in-law. ‘Haven’t you seen how hard he has tried lately? How different he looks? He’s been drinking less. He’s started training with a sword, and today he was even coming here to look at his horse. It was a start. It could have been a beginning.’

  Eirik looked bereft. ‘It’s not enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tiras, that vile bastard. He had a lot to say,’ Eirik sighed, looking away. ‘About your wedding night.’

  Jael frowned. ‘What about our wedding night?’

  ‘That nothing happened between you and Eadmund that night. That your marriage was not consummated. That it has never been consummated. That Eadmund hasn’t even set foot in this house since your wedding. That he slept through that night on the floor!’ Eirik stared at her intently, challenging her to deny Tiras’ accusations.

  Jael thought that over. How would Tiras know all of that? Did he sit outside the house all night, with his ear to the wall, listening to Eadmund snore? She clenched her teeth furiously; she hated that spying little maggot. ‘It’s all true,’ was all she could say.

  That set Eirik off again. He lurched to his feet and paced around the fire, scratching his hands fretfully through his long, white hair. ‘But that’s the worst kind of luck there is! Not to consummate a marriage on the wedding night? That is ill fortune right there. The gods will curse such a misformed union! Nothing good can come from your marriage now. Nothing at all!’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Jael insisted, standing up. ‘You’re wrong! There is hope in Eadmund, in both of us.’ She instantly regretted her words, no matter how true they might have been. ‘Just give us a chance.’

  ‘It’s too late!’ Eirik glared at her, his mouth set in a decisive line. ‘It’s too late, Jael. That was Eadmund’s last chance with me. I warned him. He knew it. He only had that one chance, and now it’s gone.’

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘I have had Morac take the girl away,’ Eirik said coldly. ‘And I’ve sent for Ivaar.’ Eirik removed all feeling from his face as he turned to leave. ‘I wish you luck with your marriage, Jael. Both you and Eadmund. You are going to need it. But it is no longer any concern of mine.’ And he opened the door and left without another word.

  The door banged loudly in his wake, and Jael made no
move to go and shut it; she was frozen to the spot.

  ‘Have you told Jael? About Isaura?’ Eydis wondered shyly.

  Thorgils sat in front of her on a chair that was far too small for him, his bushy, red head cradled in his hands. His mind was filling with painful memories he never imagined having to face again. ‘No.’ His voice was dull, muffled.

  Eydis sniffed. She had spent most of the day sobbing after her father had raged at her about Evaine. She’d never felt so much anger in him, mixed with so much disappointment. He felt betrayed, she knew, but he was reacting harshly and too quickly. She’d pleaded with him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say. He felt that she was a conspirator, that she’d kept things from him, important things, that he needed to know. It was too late, he warned her, too late for Eadmund.

  ‘I thought you would be happy, to see her at least?’ Eydis suggested hopefully, the cold emptiness of the room consuming her words.

  Thorgils lifted his head up, his eyes morose. ‘Oh, Miss Eydis,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘But you know nothing about love, do you? Who knows, maybe you will, one day soon.’ He sighed deeply, reaching out to grasp her little hand. ‘You see, love can feel as though your heart will burst with happiness. And love can feel as though your heart will break with pain. With true love, there is no easy middle ground between the two. Just happiness or pain. And with Isaura, we had happiness. More than I ever thought to deserve. We were so happy that I foolishly thought we would always be that way.’ He looked wistfully at Eydis, trying to picture Isaura’s face. His eyes drooped sadly because he couldn’t. ‘So, when your father took her from me and gave her to Ivaar, I thought I would die from the pain. Just like Eadmund, when he lost Melaena. He had the pain of knowing she would never return to him, and me... I had the pain of knowing that Isaura was only a ship ride away, married to your bastard brother. And there was nothing either of us could do to stop it. There still isn’t.’ He hung his head.

  ‘Isaura didn’t want to go. She had no choice. She would never love Ivaar.’

  Thorgils smiled uncertainly. ‘No, I don’t suppose she’d ever love Ivaar. Only Ivaar could truly love Ivaar.’

  ‘So, that means she still loves you,’ Eydis said encouragingly. ‘And if there is still love, then there is still hope that you can find happiness together again, isn’t there? Unless of course, you’ve given up?’

  Her words were a challenge, and he thought on it. He had given up, he realised. His frown cleared as Eydis’ words turned over in his head; his thoughts drifting and then forming shape. He had given up. On Isaura. On hope.

  ‘But now she is coming back. And even though no one wants Ivaar to come, at least it gives you another chance with Isaura. Somehow, maybe? If you don’t give up,’ Eydis smiled confidently. She could feel Thorgils’ pain so intensely. She wanted to help him, guide him in the right direction. Towards possibility.

  But in her mind, she saw Ivaar coming, and her heart turned cold.

  Isaura’s hopes sunk as she watched the ship being pulled up onto the beach, her one-year-old son, Mads, grizzling on her hip. Her three daughters ran down to the shore, filled with excitement; they didn’t often get visitors to Kalfa, especially during the Freeze. Ivaar’s face glowed with satisfaction as he waited expectantly beside her. She could feel the vibrations in his body as his shoulder brushed against hers. His long-awaited revenge was about to be delivered to him, by the very man he dreamed of destroying.

  Eirik had thrown him out of the hall, insisting he never step foot in there again. Tiras didn’t care; he felt a charge inside himself, thrilled to have finally unravelled Jael and Eadmund’s sham. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to use his knowledge about their wedding night to his advantage, but when he’d overheard Eadmund and Evaine arguing in the street, it had all come together perfectly. All those cold nights huddled outside houses, lurking in the shadows, hoping for some sweet morsel that he could take to Eirik, had finally paid off.

  He smiled gleefully as he built up his fire in his sparse little shack. He’d been treated like nothing since he’d been here, so he couldn’t have been happier, knowing that his revenge had played out against them all. Unfortunately, despite his revelations, he was stuck here, having to endure their company for the rest of winter, and what a bitch of a winter it was already proving to be. He shrugged his hunched shoulders, knowing that nobody was as good at appearing invisible as he was. He would just hide away, keeping his ears and eyes open, until spring. There were a few on the island who would be happy to bring him information for a reward. He didn’t need to show his face to continue his work for Lothar. He was certain there would be more to find, more ways in which he could undermine Eirik and Jael. Oh, how he would have loved to have seen her face when Eirik told her everything.

  The door to the cottage flew open, slamming against the wall so forcefully that the whole room shook; Tiras shook, because standing in the doorway, looking ready to kill him, was Jael.

  She saw him crouching by the fire and didn’t hesitate. In two strides she had him in her hands, one around his neck, the other on his shoulder. She rushed him backwards, pushing him down to the floor, pinning him there with her weight, one knee in his ribs. He was certain that he was heavier than her, but he could do nothing to push her away. The full weight of her was upon him, her fingers pinching his throat sharply. He couldn’t breathe. Tiras’ hands flapped against the hard, dirt floor, trying to gain purchase, hoping to bat her away, but he couldn’t even reach her.

  ‘If you take a fish out of water, how long do you think it can breathe before it runs out of air?’ Jael asked slowly, coldly, her eyes as hard as iron, her face betraying no effort as she held him down. ‘I have often wondered that. How reliant we are on a simple thing like air. What happens when it’s taken away from us? Just like that.’ She leaned down harder, pressed her knee further into his ribs, squeezed her fingers around his throat, and now his ears were buzzing and ringing. He started to get dizzy, seeing black patches dancing before his eyes, his head thick with confusion.

  Jael had come here wanting to frighten him, threaten him, punish him. But now that she had his mean, little life in her hands, now that she knew how easy it would be to keep going like this until his breathing stopped, she found herself not wanting to let go. He was a shit-stained piece of nothing who had never done anything but try to destroy the people he, or Lothar, disliked. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, and she felt her breathing slow as everything around her faded away. All she could see were Tiras’ bulging eyes jumping out of his weasel-like face. She watched the panic in them, the fear that she was truly about to kill him. His arms and legs flailed underneath her, but she knew she’d weakened him enough that it would make no difference. She could finish him now; take her revenge quickly.

  Jael bent her head towards his face and slipped her short knife out of its scabbard with her free arm. Tiras’ eyes darted to the left. There was still enough life in him to fear that sound; he knew what was coming now. Jael readjusted her weight, bringing the knife past his eyes, forcing him to watch its blade shimmer in the fire’s light, its finely honed tip coming to rest on his pulsing throat. She smelled Tiras’ bladder open then, flooding the floor with the bitter stench of his terror.

  Jael stared down into his eyes and smiled.

  The mood of the hall grumbled around Eirik as he sat, picking over the remains of his meal. Everyone avoided his eye, as much as they could, gossiping quietly amongst themselves, rolling his words around inside their heads, chewing things over with one other.

  He felt more isolated than he could remember as he sat at the high table, alone. There was no Morac or Runa. There was no Eadmund or Jael. Eydis wouldn’t come out of her room, wouldn’t even speak to him, and of course, there was no Thorgils either. Eirik had other friends, other advisors, but they were never invited to sit near him, so he had faced the hall on his own, too furious to care how many people he had upset with his announcement that Iv
aar was coming back.

  Jael and Eadmund had deceived him, Eydis and Thorgils too; they had all known things, things they should have told him. As for Morac and Runa, they should have kept that girl locked away. Eirik’s mind raced. No one wanted Ivaar back; from the troubled looks on the faces around him, that much was obvious. Eadmund was beloved amongst the people of Oss, as his mother had been, but he would not make a good king, Eirik was certain of that now. Yes, he had picked up a sword again, but what did that really show? He shook his head; that was not enough commitment for him. True commitment would have been paying attention to his marriage, actually being in it; sleeping in the same bed as his wife, especially on his wedding night, when all the gods were watching, waiting to give their approval!

  He felt embarrassed, imagining Lothar’s fat face gloating over his shame. Lothar would blame him, of course, and would be right to do so. Eirik couldn’t honestly see how Jael was to blame for any of it. There was certainly no reason for her to want to be with Eadmund. It had been up to him to take the lead with his wife, as her husband; he had that responsibility, as a man. He had failed; at every opportunity, he had failed, and no matter how hard he might be trying now, it was too late. Ivaar was his choice now, and all those miserable faces would have to get used to it.

  Eirik simmered angrily as he drained his cup of mead, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. He was confident that Ivaar could show them that he was everything Eadmund had turned out not to be. He pictured Eydis’ tear-stained face, pleading with him as he left to send a note to Kalfa, warning him that Ivaar would destroy Oss, destroy all of them. Eirik hadn’t listened. He had shut her words away behind his disappointment in Eadmund. He chose to forget about them, care not about them. He had had enough.