Daughters Of The Storm

by Kim Wilkins

  The prickle of curiosity. And desire. To be part of something so enormous. To live an unnaturally long life. A moment of incredible significance was upon her, heavy and thundering and real.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said, ‘and I’ll help if I can.’

  Willow stood at the kitchen bench, grinding meal to make dumplings for the afternoon’s stew. She had spent the morning with Wylm and Eni by the stream, enjoying the sunshine. What a strange little family they made. Willow had started teaching Eni a basic trimartyr prayer, and he had managed the first ‘hail, Maava’ to her immense surprise and delight. The twin pleasures of being with Wylm and being a good soldier for Maava had made her giddy and light. Returning to the house, to her heathen sisters and undermagician aunt, had made her feel oppressed and overly warm, as though she were coming down with a fever. How she longed to get away from them. For good.

  But Bluebell and Rose were nowhere to be seen and Yldra was locked away with Æthlric and her foul magic. Willow got on with her chores, longing for the time when she could go back and be with Wylm again. She hummed in her head, listened to the faint whisperings of the angels, and tried not to think about what Bluebell intended for her future. Maava would find a way to help her, given the importance of the child she was carrying. The fire in the hearthpit had gone cold so she filled it with kindling and used her flint to light it, pocketing the flint in the front of her apron along with the little jar of fire oil she carried about with her when cooking.

  A creak in the quiet. She looked up to see Yldra peering out of the king’s bedroom. She fixed her gaze on Willow. ‘Where’s Bluebell?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I need her urgently. Get her for me.’

  ‘Is it the king? Is he better?’ Her heart thudded dully.

  ‘Just get her.’

  Willow dropped her pestle and flew out the door and towards the stable. Rose, who was gathering herbs in the garden, saw her and straightened her back.

  ‘Willow? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yldra wants Bluebell.’

  ‘Bluebell went to town this morning. She should be back soon.’

  ‘She said urgently.’

  Rose frowned, leaving her basket on the ground. ‘I’ll come.’

  Together they hurried back inside. Willow hung about by the door of the bedroom while Rose went in.

  ‘What is wrong?’ she asked Yldra.

  ‘Where’s Bluebell?’

  ‘She’s out.’

  Yldra sighed, ran a hand through her white-streaked hair. Willow had only seen Yldra in passing, but she had never seen her look flustered before.

  ‘What is it?’ Rose urged.

  Yldra ushered Rose into the king’s bedroom, closing the door partway behind her. Willow inched a little closer to listen.

  ‘The spell is lifting, and I know who did this to Æthlric.’

  ‘Who?’ Rose said, breathless.

  ‘The queen.’

  ‘The queen?’

  ‘His wife. Gudrun.’

  Willow’s heart iced over. She thought of Wylm, his mother, Eni ... good Maava, Bluebell would kill them, wouldn’t she?

  And she began to run.

  Thirty-one

  Willow burst out of the house and was about to start across the field to the stream when Bluebell rode through the front gate, her long hair streaming behind her. Willow hesitated. Should she stay and see what happened when Bluebell found out? Maybe Rose would convince Yldra not to tell her. For it was certain that Bluebell would want to kill Gudrun, and everybody knew it. Wylm would know it.

  Bluebell saw her and called out and there was no chance to escape. But then Willow had an idea.

  She ran over to Bluebell and said, Æthlric is recovering.’

  Bluebell’s eyes popped. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll look after your horse.’ She took Isern’s reins. ‘Go. Quickly.’

  Bluebell dismounted and ran towards the house. Willow watched until she had gone inside, then led Isern quickly towards the stream. Wylm and Eni would need a strong mount to get away.

  Bluebell’s heart was too big for her chest. She slammed into the house to see Rose standing uncertainly in the hallway to Æthlric’s room.

  ‘Is he well?’ she said, and it came out as though it were all one desperate word.

  ‘Bluebell, whatever you hear —’ Rose started, but Yldra interrupted.

  ‘He isn’t well yet, but he will be in a matter of hours, or at least by morning.’

  Bluebell’s body went limp; her legs shook under her. ‘Oh. Oh, thank the stars. Thank the stars.’ She fell to her knees next to her father’s bed and took his hand. Already a little pink was returning to his cheeks. He looked not so much like a breathing corpse.

  ‘But, Bluebell,’ Yldra continued, and Bluebell’s shoulders tensed once again, ‘I know who did this.’

  Bluebell’s head snapped up. In her relief, she had forgotten that burning question. ‘Who?’ she asked.

  Yldra didn’t answer immediately, exchanging a look with Rose.

  Bluebell’s skin prickled. Searing wrath flared in her guts. ‘It was Gudrun, wasn’t it?’ Already she was on her feet, hand at her hip. Her fingers itched for the weight of her sword.

  ‘Don’t rush off to do anything regrettable,’ Yldra said. ‘Wait until Æthlric’s awake, at least.’

  ‘I’m going to kill her,’ Bluebell said, because they were the only words she could say. There were no other words in the world. ‘I’m going to kill her.’

  ‘She’s your stepmother,’ Yldra said, but even through the crimson fog of her anger, Bluebell could see the slight amusement at the corners of her aunt’s mouth.

  ‘She tried to kill the king. Nobody survives that.’

  ‘Whoever did this did not intend for him to die.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to kill her.’

  Bluebell pushed past Rose, who stood aside wordlessly. She hoped Willow hadn’t yet unsaddled Isern. In two days she could be in Blicstowe, with a pool of her stepmother’s blood at her feet.

  Wylm was carving a dog — a skinny one — out of a twig for Eni, who was sitting by the side of the stream with his feet making circles on a flat, mossy rock. Something about carving made his hand and wrist feel better, more able. The small movements trained him for the large ones, he was certain. Every day, he was growing stronger. His destiny as kyndrepa could not be far away now.

  The thought made him hollow with fear.

  He looked up through the sun-dazzled branches to see Willow approaching, with Bluebell’s horse. Curious, he stood, casting a shadow over Eni, who sensed the change in light and looked around.

  As she drew closer, the look on her face made Wylm’s blood tingle. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Willow caught a breath. ‘My aunt has removed the elf-shot.’

  ‘Æthlric is recovered?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but soon. Wylm, Yldra says your mother made Æthlric sick.’

  Wylm’s heart turned to ice. ‘Oh, no. Oh, no.’

  ‘Is it true, do you think?’

  ‘Does Bluebell know?’

  ‘She was heading inside just now.’

  Panic flapped like raven wings in his head. The time had come and he wasn’t ready yet. His hand still throbbed and wouldn’t curl or uncurl properly, but he needed to stop Bluebell before she killed his mother.

  ‘I brought you her horse,’ Willow said. ‘You and Eni can get away. Back to Blicstowe to warn your mother.’

  ‘No, not Blicstowe.’ Bluebell’s retainers were looking for him. He had to draw her out elsewhere. He seized Eni by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Willow asked.

  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. ‘I need you to tell Bluebell you’ve seen me. Tell her I have Eni and I’ve gone to Blicstowe.’

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t going there.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m going to
take Eni home.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I have no time to explain. You must trust me. I will protect this boy with my life.’ Or rather, Bluebell would protect the boy with her life. The instant she discovered he had Eni, she would head directly for the millet farm to find out what had happened to her lover. And she wouldn’t know he’d be waiting with his magical sword and his living, breathing shield. He lifted Eni into the saddle and then mounted behind him. Willow stood anxiously, not comprehending.

  ‘I will explain all on the other side of this,’ Wylm said, surprising himself by feeling pity for her. ‘For now, I need you to stall Bluebell for as long as you can. I need a head start. Just say “Wylm has Eni and he’s gone to Blicstowe”.’

  ‘I’ll do anything for you,’ Willow said, on one breath.

  ‘This is all. This one sentence, but it must be perfect. “Wylm has Eni and he’s gone to Blicstowe”. Nothing more or less than that.’

  ‘Wylm has Eni and he’s gone to Blicstowe,’ she said.

  ‘Good girl.’ Wylm leaned down to offer her a kiss, but she missed the signals, staring up at him instead with her strange, flat eyes.

  ‘Goodbye, Willow,’ he said.

  ‘Be safe,’ she said.

  ‘I hope to see you again,’ he said, and found that there was some truth in the statement. ‘And I hope it is a happy occasion.’ Then he urged Isern forwards.

  Stall Bluebell for as long as you can. Willow had no idea how she was going to do that, especially as she could hear Bluebell already, from fifty feet away, screaming, ‘Where is my fucking horse?’ from inside the stable. Her instinct was to run away: Bluebell was frightening and dangerous. The angel voices inside her head were intensifying, overlapping and swirling together, so that she could make out no words. She had to think despite them and it was hurting her brain. She only knew she had to do what Wylm said. Something serious was happening, and she had to play her part in it.

  She approached the stable warily. She would tell Bluebell that Isern had slipped out of her hands and galloped away. Yes. Then Bluebell would go looking for him and ...

  Then she realised it was simpler than that. She kicked the stable door shut and dropped the big wooden latch.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Willow stood back, pulse jumping in her throat, while Bluebell began to swear and kick the door.

  ‘Who’s there? Who did this?’

  ‘It’s Willow,’ she called, in a steely voice.

  ‘Willow, open this fucking door. Don’t give me any of your trimartyr nonsense. I will do what I have to do. Mercy doesn’t apply in this situation.’

  Willow realised Bluebell thought she was trying to protect Gudrun. ‘I have a message from Wylm,’ Willow said.

  Silence. Willow was glad she couldn’t see Bluebell’s face.

  ‘He says he has Eni, and he’s heading to Blicstowe.’

  ‘Eni?’

  ‘Yes, the little blind boy. We rescued him. I know what you did.’ Then Willow clamped her hand over her mouth, reminding herself not to tell Bluebell too much.

  ‘Wylm has been here?’

  Willow didn’t answer, she had just remembered the flint in her pocket.

  ‘Talk sense to me, girl,’ Bluebell said. ‘Wylm is not our friend. His mother tried to kill the king, our father. What could he possibly know about Sabert and Eni?’

  She had built the little pile of kindling at the stable door in seconds, barely recognising her hands as her own. Now she took the flint and struck it. A spark jumped into the kindling. A little orange flame. Smoke. She fanned it with her apron. It singed the bottom of the stable door. Black streaks. Bluebell was still demanding answers. A generous splash of Ash’s fire oil and ... there. Then the flames caught and held.

  Dropping the flint, she turned and ran, angels shrieking at her all the way.

  When Bluebell smelled the smoke, any questions about Wylm and Sabert and Eni dropped away. The horses were already uneasy, shifting restlessly, snorting, ears flickering. Bluebell kicked the door as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t budge. She screamed Willow’s name several times then realised the girl had gone. The stable was wood, and it was a clear, dry day. She didn’t have much time.

  Bluebell went to the shutter at the back of the stable and pushed it open. Punched it off its hinges. She put her hands in the opening and pulled herself up, but could already see she wouldn’t fit through. Choking smoke swirled up behind her. By now, the horses were whinnying loudly, rolling their eyes and kicking at the stable walls. She slid back down to the ground. The door was on fire; if she tried again to kick it down, she would burn. Embers were falling into the straw all over the floor. Bluebell frantically stamped them out. The flames were curling around the door now, moving up into the stable and licking up the doorframes. The door suddenly sagged, and she realised the latch had given way.

  Bluebell turned to the horses. Of the five of them, she chose the calmest and, coughing until her throat was raw, she saddled it and held tight to the reins as it strained and whinnied. When the door fell in, she might have a few seconds before the fire leapt across the opening, and she wanted to be prepared. As the smoke filled the stable, she realised that flames were no longer the greatest threat. She tore a strip off her tunic and tied it gently around the horse’s eyes. She went through the motions, slipping the bit between its teeth, talking to it quietly. Then she held the horse still long enough to mount it, its ears working back and forth. But Bluebell stroked its neck firmly and calmly. The horse, like her, would smell the fresh air and run for it. The door sagged again, with a crashing thump, as the wood around its hinges burned through. Bluebell’s body was tensed like a bow.

  ‘Bluebell!’ It was Rose.

  Bluebell gasped in relief. The horse tried to throw her. The heat from the fire made her face feel raw. ‘There’s a water trough and a bucket behind the —’

  ‘Already found it.’ Then a puddle of water spread under the door.

  Bluebell held tight, coughing and spitting. More water. The flames began to subside. The door was safe to approach, so she let the horse have its head, ‘Stand back!’ she called, and her own horse and the others bolted for the fresh air. Rose waited on the other side, her face streaked with soot. Bluebell gulped the clear afternoon air, galloped out the gate and then slowly and calmly brought the horse back to a walk and circled it round to the gate, where Rose waited. ‘Thank you, sister,’ she called.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Willow did it.’

  Rose’s eyes rounded. ‘Willow?’

  ‘She’s gone to Maava. Was talking about Wylm. Has Wylm been here?’

  ‘No. I would have told you if he had been.’

  ‘There’s something suspicious going on.’ She untied the horse’s blindfold and wiped her sweaty, soot-streaked hands on it. ‘Willow said she’s been talking to Wylm.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Wylm around here. Though Heath mentioned a little boy who showed up from time to time to see Willow.’

  Bluebell’s heart jumped. ‘A blind, simple boy?’

  ‘Yes. And Heath said she often disappeared without warning, taking food with her. You don’t think ...?’

  Wylm. Wylm had Eni. ‘I have to ride. Now.’

  Rose opened her mouth to speak then stopped.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me not to be rash. Not to go to Blicstowe and kill my stepmother?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘I’m going to tell you to do what’s in your heart. Of all the people I have known, Bluebell, you are the only one who always knows the right thing to do.’

  Bluebell smiled in spite of herself, in spite of the smoke and the rawness in her chest, in spite of the mystery of Wylm and Eni, in spite of Willow’s stinging betrayal. ‘Yes. I do. And Father’s mercy will leave the whole kingdom exposed,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave Thrymm here to guard you and Yldra until Father wakes. Look after her and she’ll look after you. Round up those horses when they’ve calmed
down, and make sure all the embers are out.’

  ‘You’re going directly to Blicstowe?’

  ‘Almost directly.’ If Wylm had Eni, that meant something had happened to Sabert. The thought made her flinch. ‘But my path and Gudrun’s are destined to meet now. She can’t escape her fate.’

  Late evening. Light under the shutters making a yellow band across the pale branches of the ash tree that Willow had been cowering in since dusk. Hissing, spitting voices in her head.

  ‘You killed your sister. You murdered her.’

  No, no. I had to! She is a murderer. I had to save the life of the little boy. He might be her son; my nephew.

  ‘You care nothing for the little boy. You want the man. You burn with desire for him. Whore! Murderer! Sister-killer!’

  My sister is a heathen.

  ‘She was a heathen. Before you killed her.’

  Willow tilted her head to one side and thumped her ear, in hopes that the voices would drop out her other ear.

  ‘Leave her be. She is doing Maava’s good work. Bluebell would have been a heathen queen.’

  Yes! Willow breathed again. This voice came from time to time, stronger than the others. She liked to imagine it was Maava himself.

  ‘She carries a child within her who is fathered by the rightful heir of Ælmesse.’

  ‘Her sister burned to death.’

  I had to do it.

  ‘She had to do it.’

  I had to do it.

  Willow groaned. She didn’t have to do it. Wylm only asked her to stall Bluebell, not to kill her. Not to slay the monster. The voices in her head whirled on, but she started to suspect that her own thoughts were infecting her. That one of those voices — the one calling her a murderer — was actually her own. Her hands trembled on the branch in front of her. They were covered in dried blood. She had cut herself so much today and it had flowed freely down between her fingers, making them stick together. Bloody handprints marked her route up the tree. The wounds along her wrists stung, reminding her that she was real and still in the world.