by A. E. Rayne
‘Mmmm,’ Thorgils nodded, happy to let her do the talking.
‘Well, perhaps we need to ask Vidar to send us more rain? That will make the contest more interesting,’ Tarak growled. ‘There’s more than one person I’d like to watch sliding about on their arse.’ He glared at both of them, one corner of his mouth curling down in disdain.
Jael felt something snap inside herself then. ‘I heard you had a thing for arses, Tarak,’ she said sharply, digging her toes into her boots, trying to control the anger that was starting to boil. She felt Thorgils still beside her, knew that Ivaar was staring at her curiously, but her eyes were fixed on Tarak. The look of horror on his hideous face was a start.
He recovered well, though. ‘What man doesn’t?’ he laughed boorishly. ‘And, just like your husband, I prefer mine small and blonde.’ His smile appeared confident as he shared it with Ivaar, but his eyes were anxious.
‘Oh? Really? That’s not what I heard,’ she said cocking her head to one side. ‘I thought it was tall and brown-haired that you liked. Young, freckles...’
Tarak stumbled then. It was only a small movement, but it was obvious to everyone that Jael had her finger on something that Tarak did not want her to have her finger on. His mouth gaped open, his discomfort palpable.
Jael took a short breath and decided she had better leave it there. With one last pointed look at Tarak, she dismissed him entirely and turned to Ivaar. ‘Will you be fighting in the contest?’
Ivaar blinked a few times. ‘No, no, I haven’t trained properly with a sword in a long time,’ he laughed dismissively. ‘I’d be slaughtered in the first round, for sure. Besides, this way I can sit back and watch you fight. I’m looking forward to that.’
Jael was barely listening. She was trying hard to cool her fury, but with that bastard staring at her, breathing on her, it was nearly impossible. She felt her right hand clenching instinctively, eager to reach for her sword. Jael heard her father barking at her then, remembered the look on his face whenever she’d given in to her temper, and she relaxed her hand, regaining a small measure of control at last.
Thorgils grabbed her arm, deciding it was the only way he was going to get her out of the hole she had determinedly dug her toes into. ‘We should get the horses back to the stables, don’t you think? They need a rub down.’
Jael shook her head, waking herself up. ‘Yes, you’re right, we should. No doubt we will see you in the hall tonight, Ivaar?’ she smiled at him, softening her face deliberately, reminding herself of the plan.
‘I hope so,’ he smiled back and stepped aside to let them pass. ‘I look forward to it.’
Behind him, Tarak stared after Thorgils and Jael. His body remained still, but inside he was shaking. What did she know? And if she did know anything, what was she going to do about it?
31
The four of them sat, huddled around the fire.
Edela had insisted they wait for Aleksander before Kormac revealed what he knew about the sword. Thankfully he had been on his way back to the house, and they were able to begin without much delay.
‘Did you lock the door?’ Branwyn wondered nervously, glancing back into the darkness. It was a dull day, and despite a healthy fire, there was barely enough light to see by.
‘Of course I did,’ Kormac said calmly. He felt relaxed enough, but still, he did not wish to be overheard.
Aleksander edged forwards, eager to find out what this was all about. He had no idea what he had been dragged into, but from the looks on everyone’s faces, it appeared to be serious.
‘So, you said you knew about the sword?’ Edela prompted, feeling a sense of excitement surge through her body; she had wondered about the meaning of that mysterious weapon for most of her life.
‘I do,’ Kormac said hoarsely. He took a long breath in and blew out a puff of cold, white smoke. ‘You see the elders are not the only ones who keep secrets in Tuura. The guilds do as well, at least the Blacksmiths Guild does.’ He stroked his bushy, brown beard thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose that many of our secrets are of great importance, though, to everyday folk. Most of them are just about tasks we are set by the elders. They always need someone to do something for them, to make something, go somewhere, even deliver a message. They don’t do much for themselves.’
‘That is true,’ Branwyn muttered, looking at Aleksander. ‘They sit in that temple, with all those prophecies. No one sees them, and no one knows what they mean for any of our futures. What the point of it all is, I don’t know.’
Kormac looked patiently at his wife, waiting for her to finish. She nodded bashfully towards him, realising that her tongue had run away with itself.
He continued, lowering his voice even further. ‘But some of the secrets are a little more interesting.’ That had their attention, he saw, as Aleksander’s eyes widened expectantly, and Edela leaned further forward, not wanting to miss a word. ‘Some three or four hundred years ago, I forget which, the elders asked the Master Blacksmith, Wulfsig, to make them a sword. He was not told what the sword was for, or who it was for, just that they needed it made urgently. They insisted that its very presence was to be shrouded in the utmost secrecy, that no one could ever know about. So, Wulfsig forged the sword to their very specific instructions, gave it to the elders, and never saw it again. Obviously, he told another member of the guild, for the story has passed down from blacksmith to blacksmith throughout the ages.’
Edela’s forehead creased. That made no sense to her, and she wondered if Kormac was telling the story of a different sword.
‘But then,’ Kormac continued, noting Edela’s puzzlement. ‘Some 50 years ago or more, the elders brought the sword to your grandfather, Edela. They gave it to him and told him to give you the sword, to put his mark on it, as though he had been the one who’d forged it. That it was for your granddaughter, to be kept safe until it was ready for her.’
‘What?’ Aleksander’s mouth hung open. He stared at Kormac, then Edela, who looked just as surprised as him. ‘You had this sword? For Jael?’
‘Well, yes,’ Edela admitted. ‘I knew it was important. My grandfather insisted I keep it a secret, so I hid it from everyone. Not even my husband knew about it. No one saw the sword until I gave it to Jael on her wedding day.’
‘But how did they know?’ Branwyn asked, then chided herself. ‘Well, of course, the dreamers told them. But what does it mean? What is Jael supposed to use the sword for? And why her?’
Kormac shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What was it made of? What makes it so special?’ Aleksander wondered.
‘That remains a secret, taken to the pyre, I’m afraid,’ Kormac said. ‘Wulfsig only revealed the fact that he had been asked to make the sword, not what it was made of. Not long after he gave the sword to the elders, he died.’
Three faces froze.
‘How?’ Branwyn whispered.
‘I have no idea, my love, but it is suspicious of course.’
‘And now Jael has it,’ Aleksander frowned, running a hand through his dark beard. ‘Does anyone else know about it, do you think?’
Kormac thought on that. ‘Possibly. I often wonder if that is why we were attacked that night all those years ago. Did those men come looking for the sword?’
Aleksander stared blankly at the other faces. ‘Were they looking for something?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edela admitted, climbing back into her memory of that night. ‘It didn’t feel as though they were looking for something in particular. Did it?’ she asked Kormac.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They were raiders, as far as I’m aware. They are naturally going to be looking for something to take. They wanted the treasures of the temple, they wanted the elders, but they left with nothing that I know of at least.’
‘Perhaps we are trying to squeeze too many pieces into this puzzle?’ Branwyn suggested, her face troubled by the unwanted reminder of that terrible night. ‘Perhaps the sword is noth
ing to do with any of these things?’
‘Well, it certainly has something to do with Jael,’ Aleksander said anxiously, glancing at Edela. ‘If anyone knows what the sword can be used for and they know she has it, they will go after her, surely. It must be a weapon worth having.’
Edela looked just as worried. ‘But it’s Jael. We can be grateful for that,’ she said, trying to reassure them both. ‘If anyone can look after herself, it’s that granddaughter of mine.’
‘What was that about?’ Thorgils wondered, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘What?’ Jael looked up innocently. She was crouched on the ground, drying Tig’s legs. Thorgils stood next to her, rubbing a towel across Leada’s back. Both horses were cold and damp from the ride.
‘That, with Tarak, whatever that was,’ he nodded towards the stable door, which was closed against the blustery snow. ‘It was something, and don’t say it wasn’t.’
Jael straightened up and walked around to Tig’s side, rubbing his flank. ‘I’m just trying to prepare Tarak for the contest. We need his nerves jangling,’ she said lightly. ‘It doesn’t hurt to mess up his head a little, does it?’
‘What does that mean?’ Thorgils grumped as he hung his damp towel on a peg and fished a carrot out of his pocket. ‘What do you know that would make that pig’s arse nervous?’
Jael kept drying and thought on it. She wanted, more than anything, to tell Thorgils what Fyn had revealed but at the same time, she knew that it was Fyn’s secret to share, not hers. Besides, it would unhinge Thorgils when he was already completely muddled by Isaura’s return. He would need to have all the parts of his head working if he were to defeat Tarak. ‘Perhaps one day I shall reveal all of my secrets,’ she smiled. ‘But until then, you’ll have to keep guessing and trust me.’
Thorgils just looked cross, mumbling irritably as he opened the door. ‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, I shall go in search of friendlier company for the afternoon. Perhaps Eadmund might have woken up by now?’
Their eyes met, and they exchanged worried looks.
‘He’s getting worse,’ Jael said quietly as she hung up her towel.
‘He is, yes,’ Thorgils admitted. ‘But it’s his own fault of course. If he’d stayed away from that scheming girl, none of this would have happened.’
‘True, he’s an idiot, but,’ she looked around and lowered her voice, ‘if we are to change Eirik’s mind and get him to forgive Eadmund, we are going to have to stop him drinking. Quickly.’
Thorgils sighed, coming back into the stables and shutting the door. ‘Well, how in the name of the gods do we do that then? I doubt we’ll even be able to find him today. He was such a mess last night. He’s probably wandered off a cliff. Ivaar coming back has wrecked him.’
‘Well, we have to try,’ Jael insisted. ‘I have something that may help him, something my grandmother gave Biddy.’
Thorgils looked interested. ‘What sort of something?’
‘A tincture, to help him stop drinking.’
‘So, your grandmother saw the trouble you were going to be in with your husband, did she?’ he smiled. ‘Did she see a good ending? Or do we lurch from this shit to more shit, and then all die in our own shit?’
‘Ha! I don’t know,’ Jael admitted. ‘Perhaps we don’t even survive the contest? Tarak looks ready to kill me.’
‘True, but I’m sure he’s not the only one,’ Thorgils grinned, his mood lightening. ‘Alright, I’ll go and find Eadmund, and we’ll see what we can do with this potion of yours.’ He bent his mouth close to her ear, just in case Tiras was on the prowl again. ‘I’m willing to do anything if it means getting rid of Ivaar.’
Jael looked at him and nodded. ‘Then find Eadmund and let’s get started.’
Aleksander had been desperate to escape Branwyn and Kormac’s house. Aron and Aedan had arrived with their wives, to feast with their guests, and the noise and revelry had quickly worn on him. Edela, sensing his discomfort, had suggested they take a walk together, to check on the horses and he had leapt at the chance.
As they headed out into the frozen darkness, Aleksander tucked her arm through the crook of his, worried by the ice he saw sparkling under the moon; she had already stumbled once.
‘I did just spend four days upon a horse, you know,’ she snorted as he refused to release her arm. ‘I’m not so feeble that you must hold me up like a doll!’
‘Alright then, shall I let go and watch you skate across the street?’ he smiled smartly at her.
Edela caught sight of the ice herself and gripped hold of him tightly. ‘Well, since you insist, you may as well hold onto me until we reach the stables. If it will make you feel better?’
Aleksander laughed and helped her along the darkened streets, his eyes firmly turned towards the ground, avoiding both the icy patches and any reminders of that night he didn’t wish to find.
There was no one about when they entered the large stable block. Helpfully, there was a torch still burning by the entrance way. Aleksander removed it from its sconce and guided Edela through the building, looking for their three horses. They had been stabled together, and all three jostled about, nickering softly, pleased they hadn’t been forgotten.
‘You must name your horse, you know,’ Edela said gently as she patted each animal in turn. ‘She deserves that, I think.’
Aleksander sighed, placing the torch in a holder nearby and reaching out to stroke his horse’s cold face. She butted his head, seeking his affection. ‘I suppose I must.’ He tried not to look into her large, brown eyes; it was always the eyes that got him.
‘She’s yours now. Maybe yours for many years,’ Edela smiled. ‘She needs a name.’
Aleksander brushed his horse’s red mane out of her eyes. ‘She does, of course, but naming an animal means they are something to you,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m not sure I can stand the pain of any more loss. If anything were to happen to her...’
‘I know, but if you risk nothing, you will have nothing,’ Edela said gently as she walked towards Deya, who eagerly sucked up the tiny apple she offered. ‘If you only focus on the pain at the end, you will have an empty life, filled with fear and loneliness. Death will claim us all, eventually, you can’t stop that. But you can choose how you live before it does. Give her a name. She’s yours.’
Aleksander couldn’t quite raise a smile, but he nodded towards Edela, glancing around the stables. He knew they were alone but still, he bent towards her, his voice a whisper. ‘I’ve been thinking on the sword.’
‘Mmmm, I’m not surprised, so have I.’
‘The elders would not have had that sword made without a reason, without a prophecy from one of the dreamers. And if they record all the prophecies, they would surely have recorded this one. A sword like that? There must be a reason for it being made in such a secretive way. Saved for someone who wasn’t going to be born for hundreds of years? There has to be a way to find out why.’
Edela looked around anxiously. ‘I agree. There will be a prophecy in the temple, and we need to see it. But we have no chance of getting in there. None that I can see, at least.’
‘Really? None? There’s no one you know who could help you?’ He paused as a thought suddenly popped into his head, his eyes widening with hope. ‘But Edela, you’re a dreamer! Dreamers are allowed into the temple, aren’t they? So why wouldn’t you be let in?’
Edela frowned, ready to argue, but then realised, he was right. What was to stop her from entering the temple? ‘I will go tomorrow then, or at least try to,’ she muttered quietly, suddenly nervous. ‘I will have to go alone, of course. Hopefully, they will let me in.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Aleksander said reassuringly. ‘But I don’t imagine they’ll show you the prophecy, and I don’t think you should ask about it either. Not yet. That part might take a little more figuring.’
Edela nodded distractedly, remembering her dream of the beheaded girls. Something had happened here, long ago, and she was certain
the elders did not want anyone finding out about it.
Thorgils hadn’t been able to find Eadmund; there had been no sign of him anywhere. No one knew where he was, and the worry of that ate away at him as he stood drinking next to Torstan, Klaufi, and Erland in the hall that evening. He’d convinced them all to help in the search, but each one had returned with empty hands. Thorgils watched Jael chatting easily to Ivaar out of the corner of one eye and frowned. It was all well and good trying to keep Ivaar busy, but if something had happened to Eadmund, what point was there to any of it?
His eyes drifted across to the high table where Isaura sat. He was desperate, beyond words, to speak to her, or even look at her, without fear of being caught. To touch that pale skin of hers, run his fingers over those dimples, which he hadn’t even seen a hint of yet. She looked so melancholy, so unlike the woman he remembered... when she was his. He kept having to remind himself that he no longer had the right to walk up to her and tilt her head, kiss her lips, coax her smile back when she was feeling sad.
‘Thorgils,’ Torstan whispered hoarsely, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘You need to stop looking at her.’
Thorgils shook himself awake and realised his friend was right. He quickly turned away, sighing. ‘I think I’ll go and have another look for Eadmund. Better than standing about here all night, gaping like a speared fish.’ He nodded quickly to his friends and eased his way through the crowded hall, towards the doors.
Jael watched Thorgils leave, noticing the slumped curve of his shoulders; she knew how he must be feeling.
Ivaar followed her gaze, noting her concern. ‘You and Thorgils are good friends?’
Jael looked away, blinking any feeling out of her eyes. ‘We’ve been training together for the contest, but no, he’s Eadmund’s friend, not mine.’
Ivaar nodded. ‘He’s a good warrior. Not as good as Eadmund was but not bad.’
‘Was Eadmund better than you?’ Jael wondered, trying to turn the conversation around to him and far away from Thorgils.