by A. E. Rayne
‘Unless we were to raid Hakon Vettel at Slussfall?’ Bjarni poked the fire with a blackened stick, listening to it spit, lulled into a sleepy state by the gentle rush of waves up the foreshore.
Sigurd laughed, rubbing his beard, reminded of Tulia, who liked to braid it while sitting on top of him. Naked. He smiled, trying to ignore the sting of his wounds, though his leg was throbbing like a heartbeat, and he could barely see straight. ‘At Slussfall we’d stand no chance. It’s nearly as impenetrable as Ottby.’
Bjarni was only half listening. He was already trying to find the best place to lie his fur. But realising there was no best place at all, he unfurled it anyway.
‘But Orbo...’
Bjarni looked around. ‘Orbo?’ His body tingled.
‘When Hakon captured Slussfall, he left Orbo behind, garrisoned, so he’s not there. Nor is his idiot cousin, or any of his best warriors. Hakon has them all at Slussfall, from what I hear.’
‘Well, I say we go now,’ Bjarni mocked. ‘You can lead us!’
Sigurd frowned. ‘I’m not talking about now. But it’s something to think about, isn’t it?’
‘We couldn’t take it and hold it.’
‘No, we don’t have the men. But we could rob it.’
Bjarni lay down, testing the stones, longing for the warm body of his pregnant wife; forgetting what a wriggler she was, always waking him up as she flopped over like a whale, trying to get comfortable. ‘Imagine the look on Hakon’s face when he heard that news! I’d love to see it, but it would only enrage him further. Make him come after us even more. He’d stop at nothing then. Nothing at all.’
Sigurd slumped over on the log, not thinking about sleeping. The idea of lying down on the stones was not appealing. ‘I imagine so.’ His voice was quiet, sensing how tired Bjarni was. Bjarni tended to become sleepy almost immediately after eating. And though there had only been a hasty meal of trout, a few strips of salted bacon, and some cheese, Bjarni appeared quite ready for his sleep.
‘But there must be a way to stop him before he takes Ottby from us,’ Bjarni mumbled, eyes closed, thinking about Rilda’s apple cake. Whenever trading ships docked from the Fire Lands, Rilda would buy cinnamon and cardamom and dates, making the sweetest, moistest apple cake he’d ever tasted.
He sighed, thinking of the cake, and Agnette, Sigurd’s voice fading into the night.
Magnus wanted to eat more.
He’d tried to go to sleep, but he had given Lotta most of the meal. He’d killed a rabbit; skinned it and cooked it over the fire. Lotta had insisted she wouldn’t eat it, and that he should not have killed the poor creature. But when it was cooking on the spit of twigs Magnus had hastily constructed, her eyes had widened with hunger, the pains in her empty stomach quickly overpowering her indignation.
Now, it was Magnus’ turn to suffer the torturous hunger pains, trying to resist the temptation of digging into their stores, not wanting to deplete them so early in their journey.
He edged closer to the saddlebags, listening to the half-frozen leaves crunching beneath him, ears open to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest. They had fur bedrolls, and Lotta was sleeping on one, though it was not warm. Magnus hadn’t wanted to erect the tent because the night was clear, and they would leave not long after dawn, but he longed for the walls of a tent or a cave. Out here, in the forest, he felt exposed.
He spun around, hearing a crunch, all thoughts of food gone, eating knife in his shaking hand, eyes jumping between the trees. But nothing revealed itself, and Magnus settled back against the moss-covered trunk, glancing at his sister. They had been close once, though recently she had begun to irritate him. Everything she said and did sounded so childish now. It was hard to be around someone so silly when he was learning how to be a warrior.
He swallowed, heart racing with fear, not feeling much like a warrior at all.
Yawns came regularly, and Magnus knew that he had to get some sleep before morning or he would not make very good decisions. He could almost see his mother’s smile in that. And eventually, lying down, Magnus de Sant closed his eyes, hoping to find his mother in a dream.
8
Though Mother Arnesson was a gift, she was an unpleasant woman to be around, Hakon thought with a grimace. She would not sit still, and he felt awkward remaining in his seat, not enjoying her poking finger as she regularly spun around, sticking it near his face. She was not interested in talking about herself or her daughter-in-law, Falla, at all. She turned every query he made around on its head, pointing it directly back at him.
A thoroughly frustrating gift, he thought, though a gift none-the-less.
‘My sight is not what it once was,’ she grumbled, spitting as she spoke. ‘But I see a problem on the horizon.’
Hakon didn’t like the sound of that. But still, if it was only the one problem...
‘But what if that one problem is great enough to drown every other?’ Mother wondered, eyeing him sharply, enjoying his surprise. ‘Water is barely a problem if you step in a puddle. Your boot is wet, but it is no great hardship. But what if that water turns into a flood? A waterfall? Would you so happily wade into it then? See it as no more than a wet boot to contend with?’ All of a sudden Mother flopped down onto a stool, exhausted and cold, pock-marked cheeks bright red, eyes popping open. ‘It is up to you, my lord, and what you do next!’
‘But what problem are you talking about?’ Hakon leaned forward, grateful that Mother had stopped moving. ‘Something to do with Reinar Vilander?’
‘Of course, who else? That fool has fished himself a dreamer! Caught her on a line. And now she is his prisoner, though more of a gift from the gods, I would say!’ She spat irritably, annoyed by the unexpected development.
Surprised that it had surprised her.
‘What?’ Hakon’s breathing quickened. ‘From where?’
‘What does that matter?’ Mother snapped. ‘What matters is what you do about her. Between us, we managed to get rid of the last one, but now, Reinar Vilander will have insight once again, and that will be dangerous. If he were to discover our plans...’
Hakon scratched his chin, fingering his beard into a point once more. ‘If we removed one dreamer, we can remove another,’ he decided, eyes seeking some reassurance in Mother’s.
She shrugged, providing no reassurance at all. ‘I have seen her, this dreamer of Reinar’s. She is no old crone. She will not go quietly, not that one. And it will be hard to mask her death as old age. She’s not even thirty!’
Hakon was a man of action. Sharp-minded, decisive, prone to violence. Everything she sought in a king. For a king was who Mother needed to defeat her enemy, Jael Furyck. And helping Hakon Vettel was the first step to avenging her sons. To seeking vengeance for both her and Falla.
Her grandson too.
She would not let him fail.
‘We need to discuss what to do. I have some thoughts, but we must act quickly, before she causes too much trouble. And once she learns more, I promise you that woman will be nothing but trouble!’
Alys lay on the stones in the dark next to Stina, holding her hand.
Stina had started to panic, struggling to breathe, petrified about what would happen next. The man called Torvig kept staring at her, and, when his lord wasn’t looking, he touched her too, running a hand across her breasts, keeping his body between hers and Reinar’s so he wouldn’t see.
‘He won’t hurt you,’ Alys promised.
‘You don’t believe that. It may be dark, Alys, but I can hear it in your voice.’
They were whispering. Reinar had sent men to guard them all night, and those men often stood up from their posts, walking around to inspect the sleeping women. It kept them all on edge, fighting the sleep they so desperately needed.
‘All I know is that he wants to sell you, not hurt you. I believe that.’
‘Is that something you’ve seen? In your dreams?’ Stina was curious. She hadn’t been surprised to learn that Alys was a dreamer – she h
ad always suspected as much – but now Alys had confirmed it, there was so much she wanted to know.
‘It’s more of a feeling,’ Alys admitted. ‘I don’t believe they are bad men. Not the leaders, at least. And if they stay in charge, we’ll be safe.’
‘Until we’re sold.’
The misery in Stina’s voice was heavy, and Alys felt guilty. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do with me. He wants a dreamer, but I don’t know what that means, or what he’ll make me do.’
‘But maybe it gives you a chance to find Magnus and Lotta? Somehow?’
‘Ssshhh, I don’t want them to know about the children.’ Alys whispered it in Stina’s ear, certain no one could hear her. ‘Please don’t talk about them.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, I just don’t want to put them in danger. I need Magnus to find his way to Jonas’ cottage, to get Lotta there safely. Then I’ll feel better. They’ll be safe with him.’
‘You think that’s possible? Magnus is only ten.’ Stina yawned, and despite the discomfort in her tense limbs, she felt ready for sleep.
Alys sighed, closing her eyes. Though her body was weary, her mind flitted from one terrifying thought to another. But she needed sleep, because sleep meant dreams, and hopefully, a way to find her children.
She needed to see if they were safe.
Magnus walked through the forest, shivering. He wished he’d thought to grab his cloak, but he’d been impatient to know what the noise was. He had to keep Lotta safe. The moon was glowing, the stars scattered across the sky, but their bright lights only shone in patches as he walked into a small clearing where the tree cover was dense.
Magnus kept turning, wondering how far he’d gone from Lotta now.
Hoping he could find his way back.
A snapping sound had his legs trembling, his heart in his mouth as he spun around, fearing that he was not as brave as his mother needed him to be. ‘Hello?’ he wondered into the darkness, hearing more snapping. That was no vole or mouse. Whatever was breaking those branches and twigs sounded even weightier than a fox or a wolf.
And then a hand on his shoulder had Magnus yelping in terror, unable to move.
‘Hello, boy,’ came a familiar voice. ‘Not trying to escape, are you?’
Magnus spun around, staring up at his father’s face; those familiar, cruel eyes glaring back down at him.
‘You know I don’t like it when you try to run away.’
Magnus woke with a start, elbowing his sister in the face.
Lotta jerked awake, crying out, holding her cheek. ‘Magnus? What happened?’
He shook as she edged away from him, shivering, seeing only a shadow before her.
‘A bad dream,’ he mumbled, panting, still feeling his father’s hand, cold on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. Just a bad dream.’
But despite the pain in her face, Lotta was already mostly asleep, and she wriggled back to her brother, nestling her head under his chin, quickly going limp. Magnus tried to calm his breathing, feeling nauseous as he wrapped a shaking arm around her cold body, drawing her close.
As a little girl, Alys had felt safe.
The joy of simply being a child shone in her eyes as she sat on her grandfather’s knee, urging him to bounce her up and down. She was left in the care of her grandfather often. Her grandmother was always busy helping someone, but her grandfather had plenty of time for her. Or so it had appeared to Alys.
Her father was gone – dead before she could remember him – so she lived with her grandparents. Her mother came and went, though Alys had not understood why at first. And eventually, she stopped coming back at all, and her grandfather was forced to explain that her mother had been killed by those she was trying to help.
Dreamers, he had warned her with stern eyes, dreamers put themselves in peril by revealing their gifts.
Alys remembered staring at her grandmother, who sat by the fire, sewing him a pair of trousers, tears running down her ruddy cheeks. There was something in her eyes she had never understood. Not then, not now.
Her grandmother died not long after, and Alys was left to be raised by her grief-stricken grandfather, Jonas. He had been distant at first. Sad. Though, eventually, he’d returned from that dark place of loss to give Alys a happy home, where she’d felt loved and nurtured, if not slightly trapped by his desire to keep her safe. So, when a young, handsome warrior named Arnon de Sant arrived in Torborg, seventeen-year-old Alys had been intrigued, excited to hear where he’d been, wanting to know what he’d seen. And though Jonas had not approved, Alys had continued to see Arnon behind his back, until, eventually, she’d run away with him, planning to marry.
Arnon had convinced Alys that he had prospects, that he would make a good husband. And if there was one thing Arnon was good at, it was convincing people of just how promising his prospects were. So it came as a great surprise to Alys when she’d arrived in Ullaberg and seen the tiny village, and Arnon’s rundown cottage, and the abject poverty of it all.
Times had been hard, he said then. And every year after.
Arnon had been a good warrior – one of the most skilled in the village - but what he needed to be good at was farming. Crops failed, the winters worsened, and Magnus and Lotta came along, putting a strain on everything that had already been strained.
Arnon had started beating her after Magnus was born.
Up until that moment, he had simply yelled at her, his face a hue of reds and purples, his hands in fists, threatening her. But everything changed when Magnus arrived because now she had a child to care for as well as her husband. And Arnon could not stand sharing her.
Not even with a helpless baby.
He lashed out at Alys so violently that she had to stop paying Magnus so much attention. She had to wait until Arnon left to spend the night drinking in the hall, before she could hold her baby as she wanted to.
Alys blinked, trying to concentrate. She didn’t want to think about Arnon. She wanted to find Magnus in her dreams. Her sweet boy. Her poor boy who had suffered so much neglect as she sought to shield him from his father.
She couldn’t find him.
She couldn’t find Lotta either.
But in the midst of all the painful memories, she did find her grandfather.
Jonas Bergstrom sat on the step of his old cottage, knife in one hand, whetstone in the other. He was a big man, his shoulders still broad and straight, and as he bent over, his shoulder-length grey hair hung over his face.
Alys walked towards him, wet grass beneath her bare feet.
‘It’s been a long time, my Alys,’ Jonas rasped, eyes full of affection as he looked up. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He had the look of a man who’d spent many years outside. Deep wrinkles dug into his forehead, fanning out around a pair of twinkling grey-blue eyes. His cheerful face was covered in a beard he trimmed regularly, preferring not to keep his breadcrumbs in it like most men his age.
‘I’ve missed you too, Grandfather,’ Alys said, hurrying forward now, limbs trembling.
Leaving his knife and whetstone on the step, Jonas stood, pulling her into his arms. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come.’
That surprised her. ‘You have?’
Jonas nodded. ‘I’ve always been waiting.’
‘My children are lost to me,’ Alys whispered, trying not to cry. ‘I don’t know what to do. How to get them back. How to get back to them. Everything has gone wrong. Everything!’ And then she did cry, unable to keep all the years of pain in. There was simply too much of it. For though she had visited her grandfather over the years, she had never revealed how hard things were with Arnon, nor how unhappy she was. She hadn’t wanted to worry him, and she felt so foolish for running away in the first place.
Jonas wrapped a strong arm around her, squeezing gently. ‘My poor girl,’ he soothed. ‘I failed you, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have believed you. I shouldn’t have believed him.’ He touched her face, seeing the bruises. ‘I wanted to come for you, take you
back home, but I kept finding reasons not to. I didn’t want to interfere.’
Alys shook her head, rubbing her eyes. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I saw nothing, felt nothing to stop me marrying Arnon. But now he’s dead. He’s finally dead, and I must find my way back to Magnus and Lotta. I need your help. Magnus will come to you, he knows how. I wrote instructions. He will follow them to Torborg.’
Jonas frowned. ‘I’m not at the cottage, Alys. I’m no longer in Torborg at all. It burned down last month. Vik took me in. I’m too old now to build myself a new cottage, and I don’t mind Vik’s company. Two old warriors together in the woods. Not quite how I imagined ending up!’ He laughed, stopping quickly at the look on her face.
Alys felt everything collapse around her.
Jonas squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll leave in the morning, don’t you worry. Head back to Torborg. Stay there until the children arrive. I can camp out. It will be like old times!’
It was only a dream.
Her grandfather wouldn’t remember anything when he woke up.
But she would.
‘Alys!’ Jonas tried to get her attention, but as he reached for her he started to disappear, his voice lost in a boom of thunder, the sky dark now, enclosing her like a cloak, though it did not warm her.
And she couldn’t stop shivering.
Hakon rolled over, his hands smoothing down his wife’s tousled chestnut-coloured hair. Despite his desire to see her dress and carry herself more like a lady who would soon be a queen, Karolina always looked most alluring when she had just woken up.
Naked.
It took his breath away.