Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Yes, Fianna was only eight or so, I think. That’s why she spent so much time with my girls and Neva,’ she smiled wistfully. ‘I do remember now. She was a very quiet child, sweet but shy. The pain of losing her mother was always in her eyes.’

  Alaric handed Edela a cup and came to sit on the bed. ‘So, what is it that you think she did?’ His curiosity quickly overrode his fear of talking about such secret things. ‘What made Aleksander so upset?’

  Edela looked down at her cup, not wanting to meet his eyes until she knew what she wanted to do. But she had to trust someone, for without Aleksander, what hope did she have of finding anything out?

  Amma squeezed Gisila’s arm affectionately and smiled at her. ‘You are braver than I could ever hope to be,’ she whispered as she pushed her finished plate away. ‘But I suppose you’ve had a lot of practice, being a queen and a wife. Perhaps it’s easier this time?’

  Gisila had quickly drunk three goblets of wine after the horrible ceremony and was feeling both morose and giddy. She had experienced some terrible days in her 52 years; some days she did not imagine she would recover from. Her two eldest sons had died as boys, she had endured a stillbirth, several miscarriages, not to mention that night in Tuura, but this, somehow this topped them all. Because throughout everything else, there had always been Ranuf beside her, like the biggest tower that she could crawl behind. He would protect her while she healed, built up her strength, and came out again, stronger. But now? Now she was completely exposed. Now it was all up to her.

  ‘You are right, dearest Amma, and completely wrong too,’ she smiled wistfully. ‘But I have decided to remember how strong I can be when I need to. As you will have to do when your time comes.’

  Amma looked terrified. She had watched enough women forced into marriages they didn’t want recently, to know that it was something she could never face. She would rather die than be pushed into such a union, especially, as Osbert had implied, with someone from Hest. For surely, they were monsters behind those mountains?

  ‘Although,’ Gisila smiled gently, sensing the panic in Amma’s eyes. ‘Now that I am your stepmother, I’m sure I’ll be able to exert more influence over your father than Osbert.’

  Amma looked up; that sounded like hope.

  ‘Perhaps I can even put in a good word for Aleksander?’ Gisila said distractedly. She watched Osbert and Lothar talking with Gant, who smiled her way. She didn’t return the smile but turned back instead to Amma. ‘Just because we are women, we don’t need to be the victims here, do we? When Edela returns, she will be able to help us with your father, I am certain of it.’

  49

  Jael decided that there were better ways to spend Vesta than knee-deep in insults and worries. She asked Thorgils to keep an eye on Eadmund, then slipped away through the kitchen, making herself a parcel of meat, vegetables, and bread. She even helped herself to a jug of wine before heading off to the stables, where Biddy helped her pack everything securely onto the horses. And together they rode to see Fyn.

  It was the first day of Vesta and Jael had no intention of leaving Biddy to sit in the house, alone all day, with just the puppies for company. Biddy wasn’t the surest horsewoman, but she was Brekkan, so she certainly knew her way about a horse, especially in the snow. She had almost been excited to come.

  As they rode slowly down the slope towards Fyn’s hut, gentle flurries were falling. Jael dismounted, looking up at the sky, which had darkened considerably on their ride; they wouldn’t be able to stay long.

  ‘Jael?’ Fyn looked surprised as he emerged from his tiny hole; nervous that she had brought a companion.

  ‘This is Biddy,’ Jael smiled. ‘I’ve told you about Biddy, haven’t I?’

  ‘You have, yes,’ Fyn grinned with relief.

  ‘Happy Vesta,’ Biddy said, looking the gangly boy up and down. He reminded her of Axl, albeit skinnier, and that gave her a sharp pang; how she missed and worried about that boy.

  ‘Happy Vesta,’ Fyn smiled shyly, grateful to have company on a day which had made him feel lonelier than he could ever have imagined. ‘I‘ll tie up the horses. There’s something cooking in my cauldron that we can all share.’

  Jael raised her eyebrows at Biddy, who looked worried; she had heard the story of the claw stew. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Fyn, but we’ve brought food from Eirik’s hall. You may want to try that instead?’

  Fyn’s stomach flipped with joy at the thought of real food; he had grown tired of his terrible cooking. Jael unpacked their saddle bags, handing him the jug of wine and the cloth wrapped bundle of food, and sent him inside with Biddy to get everything underway while she secured the horses.

  ‘Oh!’ Biddy cried as she entered the hut, horrified by Fyn’s living conditions. ‘Perhaps we should have brought some furs to keep you warm in here?’

  Fyn’s head drooped with embarrassment. He placed the wine and food on the floor, looking anxiously about for a plate and cups. ‘Well, it’s not the warmest of places to live, that’s true. Still, I can always sit by the fire to keep warm.’

  Biddy instantly wanted to take care of him. ‘Here, let me do that, she smiled as he fumbled about. ‘You go and add a few logs to that fire. I’m far too old to sit about in this ice bucket!’

  Jael opened the door, not surprised to see Biddy already organising everything. Fyn sat by the fire, looking quite put in his place. Jael pulled a long package from behind her back and handed it to him. ‘Here, Happy Vesta!’

  Fyn was almost speechless as he stood up to take it. ‘But... but, it’s only the women who get gifts for Vesta.’

  ‘Well, that’s what they say, but I thought you might need this.’

  Fyn looked puzzled as he unwrapped the very long, thin package. He knew what it was, of course, by its shape, but he wouldn’t allow himself to truly believe it until all the cloth had been removed and the sword lay gleaming in his shaking hands. ‘Jael... I...’ he mumbled, tears in his eyes.

  Jael could feel tears threatening her own eyes, but she blinked them away. ‘You’ve earned it, Fyn. You deserve to have a sword that isn’t made of wood! You’ve come such a long way from that boy who couldn’t even hold onto one. And, when I get you back to the fort and Eirik sends us all to Hest, I expect you by my side. Understood?’

  Fyn’s face went from pure joy to utter fear within a heartbeat. ‘Jael, I’m no warrior. I can’t –’

  ‘I wouldn’t have had this sword made for you if you were no warrior, Fyn,’ Jael insisted as she took a cup of wine from Biddy and sat down by the fire.

  It was a fine sword, Fyn thought to himself, not quite believing it was real. He wrapped his fingers around the cold, leather grip, running his eyes down the well-worked blade. ‘You had it made for me?’

  ‘I did,’ she said, sipping from her cup of icy wine, which had almost frozen on their ride. ‘You’ve earned it. It’s yours, and you’re allowed to be happy about that! And happy about some wine and good food too. It’s Vesta, and we came to spend it with you!’ She smiled and raised her cup.

  Biddy handed Fyn a cup of wine and went back to sorting out the catastrophe of his broken little kitchen. She shook her head, feeling sorry for the poor boy.

  Fyn took a quick drink, smiled, and placed the sword carefully against the wall. ‘I have a gift for you, too.’ He disappeared into the corner of his hut, which only took one step, and rustled about under his bed. ‘It’s not much, of course, not like that perfect sword.’ He came back and sat down, suddenly shy. ‘Thank you, Jael. For everything you have done. All of it. I.... you have helped me so much. More than I deserve.’ He ducked his head nervously and handed her a tiny ball of dirty looking cloth.

  Jael looked sideways at him as she unwrapped the parcel, then smiled. It was a small, delicately carved, wooden sun, on a thin leather cord. She held it up so Biddy could see. ‘It’s beautiful, Fyn! How did you make something so fine?’ Jael slipped it over her head, smiling. The sun nestled comfortably between her breas
ts, sitting right alongside the bronze pendant of Furia’s axes that her father had given her.

  Well, it’s the symbol of Vesta. She will protect you from the darkness, I hope, when it comes.’ He shuddered to himself and looked towards Biddy, who handed him a plate that was overflowing with an abundance of meat and vegetables; so many things that he hadn’t eaten in a year or more. His eyes bulged, and his stomach growled happily.

  Jael laughed as she took her own plate, glancing down at her new pendant. She thought of Eadmund and hoped more than anything that he wasn’t drunk again. She would have to go and speak with him. She couldn’t ignore him forever; as much as she was trying to.

  ‘You can’t be afraid of her,’ Thorgils murmured as they made their way to the Pit. There was still enough light, and both of them had been eager to get away from Ivaar. Despite it being Vesta, Eadmund had suggested they try a little training, and even in his slightly merry state, Thorgils thought that sounded better than more wine; for Eadmund at least.

  ‘I’m not afraid of her!’ Eadmund scoffed as he ducked through the railings and made his way into the shed.

  ‘Really?’ It was Thorgils’ turn to scoff. ‘She’s quite scary, that one, especially with a sword in her hand!’

  ‘Ha! Well, hopefully, I won’t have to face her like that,’ Eadmund laughed as he picked up one of the less battered looking training swords. He ached all over from his brief attempt yesterday, but his head was full of revenge. He was desperate to get stronger quickly. All this tension would come to a head somehow, and he couldn’t be a bumbling fool when it did.

  ‘No, I don’t imagine it’s a good idea to ever bring sword fighting into a marriage,’ Thorgils smiled. ‘Unless you were married to Ivaar, of course, and then I would certainly advise it.’

  ‘Poor Isaura,’ Eadmund said sympathetically as he followed Thorgils out into the snow-covered Pit. No one had cleared it, as today was a feast day. The games would come tomorrow, and the Pit would be swept clean as soon as the sun was up. ‘Still, once I put my sword through Ivaar’s neck, she’ll be free to marry you.’

  Thorgils looked doubtful. He turned and raised an eyebrow. ‘You have it all planned out, don’t you? Does Ivaar know that you’re about to behead him and take his promised crown again?’

  ‘He does,’ Eadmund frowned, looking up; the sky was darkening so quickly, he doubted they’d have much time to practice. ‘He knows I want to kill him.’

  ‘But does he care?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Eadmund admitted as he took a few steps forwards, his hand firm around the grip of his sword, ignoring the blisters that had formed since yesterday. ‘Perhaps he’s forgotten what I can do with a sword. I’m sure everyone has, and who could blame them? But things are different now. I’m not going to sit back and watch Ivaar take another thing from me.’

  Thorgils felt a surge of energy then. He remembered this Eadmund; this Eadmund did have a chance of defeating Ivaar. He smiled and stepped forwards. ‘Well then, Eadmund the Almost Bold, why don’t we see how much work you need to do.’ And with a quick lunge, he slashed his sword fiercely into Eadmund’s side.

  Eadmund bit his lip as he stumbled backwards, almost tumbling into the snow. ‘I think I’ll need a shield.’

  Kormac peered at Edela with concern. She looked ready to cry, he thought to himself, and it was no easy thing to watch an old woman cry.

  ‘He took all his things?’

  ‘He did, yes,’ Kormac said sadly. Something had broken between Edela and Aleksander. He was not sure what but Aleksander had taken everything and gone to stay with Aedan and Aron. It had left him puzzled.

  Edela frowned and sighed. It was Vesta, she remembered wistfully, in Brekka though, not in Tuura. There had never been any celebration in Tuura for this time of year. Tuurans didn’t believe in honouring their gods in such an overt way. It was only the elders who spoke to the gods here. Whatever midwinter ceremonies were held in Tuura, they were held in the sanctity of the temple, for the elders alone.

  ‘Come, I’ve just found a large flagon of mead that I’d forgotten I had. I’m sure a cup of that is just what you need. Aleksander will be fine, and probably much happier with the boys. Gives him a chance to feel like a man again.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Edela sat down by the fire, in her favourite chair, not even removing her cloak. Her visit to Alaric had finished with a dead end. He had no knowledge about what trouble Rhea had gotten herself into, but just the mention of her name had helped Edela. Now she had another breadcrumb, and she knew what path she had to follow to find the next. That would take her to the temple. She shuddered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, especially now, without Aleksander to lean on.

  Eirik noticed that Ivaar was stalking about the hall in an increasingly irritable state. He had drunk more than usual, and his cool facade was slipping now. Eirik watched him from his place at the high table, yawning slightly from the wine, of which he had drunk far too much. Eadmund had left, Jael too, long ago, and Eydis had made her way to bed, and so he was left with Ivaar for company; Ivaar, his new heir.

  Eirik shrugged away the doubts that crowded his mind. Eadmund had walked out of the hall sober; he’d only seen one drink pass his lips. Eadmund sober. He shrugged that away too; it wouldn’t last. Oh, how he wanted it to, but after seven years of watching his son struggle, he knew it wouldn’t. Not without Jael by his side, certainly, and she seemed no closer to Eadmund than before. Ivaar was the right choice. Eirik shook his head. No, Ivaar was the wrong choice, but he was the only choice.

  His eyes narrowed as he watched the dark haired woman wind her way up to the table, to him. Ivaar’s dreamer; what was her name? She was effortlessly beautiful, and Tuuran, and that reminded him of Rada, Eydis’ mother, and he suddenly felt morose. She looked up at him quickly as she passed, then her eyes ran away and so did she. He blinked, confused. He’d drunk far too much, of course, but her eyes had pleaded with him, he was certain. She looked fearful.

  Was it for him? Or herself?

  He turned around quickly, but she had gone, leaving him wondering if she had even been there at all. He blinked and pushed away his cup. Perhaps it was time for him to find his bed before he became as drunk as Ivaar.

  Jael lay under a mountain of furs, happy to feel almost warm for the first time all day. Vella and Ido snored on either side of her, adding extra insulation, which she was grateful for. She stroked Vella’s fluffy mane and sighed, closing her eyes.

  It was Aleksander, she realised at last. She had wanted Eadmund; she had felt things for him, of course, but in losing control of herself, by hopping into his bed, she had betrayed Aleksander. Hadn’t she? She shook her head and tried to remember him, but it was only Eadmund’s face that would come now.

  Jael rolled over, frustrated, listening to the wind as it picked up outside, howling painfully around the house now; it sounded like a wolf. She smiled, remembering how Eadmund had stood up to Tarak for her. She hoped he wasn’t lying drunk somewhere, or with someone. That thought made her frown intensely. But who could blame him, after his wife had saved him, then left him before he’d even caught his breath?

  Jael didn’t know what to think. If both men were standing before her now, who would she choose? She opened her eyes, peering into the emptiness of the night; she was surprised to find that she honestly didn’t know.

  Gisila was completely sober as she stood before him. She’d drunk more than she could remember but nothing had helped quell the ever-increasing panic that flooded her chest. Her knees started shaking.

  ‘You look cold, wife,’ Lothar smiled, his eyes oozing with lust as they narrowed in on his prey. ‘Come, come stand by the fire. I have more furs over here to warm your feet, or your back, however you feel more comfortable.’ He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. ‘Come to me, Gisila, and let me warm you through.’

  Gisila fought the urge to vomit. This was not her first wedding night; she knew how it would go. Somehow she knew that thi
s would be so much worse than her first night with Ranuf, which had not been particularly pleasant for her either. There was something about Lothar that made her uneasy.

  Gisila edged her ways forwards, towards the fire and the furs, of which there were indeed many. She swallowed but tried to keep her head up as she came closer to him. She could almost hear the growl that rose out of his body for her, and she fought against every instinct she had to turn and run.

  This had been her bedchamber; hers and Ranuf’s. The memories of their bed were achingly close, sullied now by Lothar and whatever foul things he was about to do to her. She sighed and thought of Arnna then and her advice. She had to make Lothar bend to her, not the other way around. Somehow she had to exert her power over him before he consumed her.

  Gisila closed her eyes for a moment, focusing, calming herself. She took a deep breath and looked into her new husband’s burning, bulging eyes and reached for a strap on her night dress, pushing it off her shoulder. Lothar gasped. She chose not to notice the hideous expression that deformed his very pink lips. With a deep breath, and keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his, she pushed the other strap over her shoulder, letting her silk nightdress fall to the furs below her feet.

  It was freezing, and not one part of her wanted to give herself to him like this, but if she wanted any control, and she did, then she had to use whatever she could to claim it.

  Lothar lunged at her like a rabbit released from a trap, his chubby hands pawing at her breasts, his lips on hers, his hands in her hair. He was beside himself with glee, unbridled desire coursing through every vein. He had her at last; Ranuf’s wife was now his. It was intoxicating. She was breathtaking, and at last, she belonged to him, and her body, that delicious, milky body he had long dreamed about, was now his to do anything he liked with; oh how he had plans for that body.