by A. E. Rayne
Sigurd wanted to protest that he wasn’t a sack of grain, but it started raining, quickly turning heavy. He clamped his lips together, hunching up his aching shoulders, thinking about a fire, feeling Reinar’s hand on his back, shunting him up the stairs.
Alys emerged from the dark stairway, nudged into the fort by Bjarni. She blinked, tired eyes taking in the tall guard towers flanking the ramparts, where armoured warriors stood watching the men and women who clustered around the open gates, wanting to see and hear what had happened. Most appeared relieved to have their warriors home, but there was a sense of gloom and despair that was palpable.
Fear and misery too.
Alys could tell that Ottby was not a happy place.
Spotting Agnette, Bjarni hurried away from the women, grabbing hold of his wife, whose hair remained a wild mess. He didn’t notice as he held her close, his lips to her ear. ‘You’re well? You and the child?’
She nodded, heart beating fast, relieved that he was home. Everything had been going downhill for the last year, worsening rapidly over the past six months, and as her child grew in her belly, Agnette’s fears heightened. But she tried to smile, not wanting to worry her husband. ‘We’re getting bigger by the day. Both of us!’
Bjarni puffed out a cold breath, stepping back, looking his wife over, placing his hands on her belly.
‘He likes to move in the afternoons,’ Agnette smiled, moving his hand lower. ‘Yes, there. But I imagine he’s asleep now.’ She pressed Bjarni’s hand down, but there was no movement.
They smiled at each other, trying not to look worried.
Agnette’s eyes drifted to where Bolli was carrying a goat through the gates. It was only a kid, she thought, as Bolli was not a large man. The little goat bleated mournfully, and Bolli grumbled at it, his red cheeks reddening further.
‘I think you’ve got a new pet there, Bolli!’ Reinar called from behind him as he headed for Bjarni and Agnette. ‘You’d best make room for her in your cottage! Sounds like the needy type!’
Bolli didn’t look impressed with Reinar or the noise of his miserable companion, but he was quickly sold on the idea of having a ready supply of goat’s milk on hand.
‘Agnette!’ Reinar gave his cousin’s belly a quick glance, before smiling at her round face. She seemed content and healthy, and he felt relieved. She’d waited a long time for that child; her and Bjarni both. ‘Send that husband of yours to Torvig when you’re done with him. He can help gather the women into the square until we decide what to do with them.’
Agnette’s eyes widened, first resting on Alys, then moving to where a bedraggled group of women was growing in front of the gates. ‘Why have you brought them here?’ She was horrified. No one liked the idea of slaving, but hunger and hardship had made many of them swallow that bitter tonic. The slaves had always been sold at Goslund, so it had remained more of an abstract concept, as though they were not involved in the reality of it. But now, here were the women, broken-hearted, distressed women, who looked no different than her friends and neighbours; bound, prisoners, ready to be sold; stolen away from children, husbands, and homes.
Bjarni could sense his wife’s discomfort growing, and he sought to distract her. ‘We were attacked. Ambushed. Our passage to Goslund was blocked by Hakon Vettel’s ships. We couldn’t get through.’
Agnette’s wary eyes moved to an ashen-faced Sigurd, who hung limply between Tulia and Ludo, feeling an urgent need to sit down. ‘Sigurd! What happened?’
‘That would be Hakon’s archers and Rutger’s knife,’ Reinar grinned. ‘But we sunk Hakon’s ships and tipped Rutger’s worthless corpse into the sea, so you’ve nothing to worry about, except helping Gerda take care of all the women.’ He eyed his mother, who was attempting a look of concern at Sigurd.
‘Come into the hall!’ Gerda called, wanting to move everyone away from the gates. ‘You need to get by a fire. I’ll have Rienne find you something warm to drink. Agnette, see to those women!’ And sweeping her cloak around, she hurried away from the gates, into the fort.
Reinar watched her go, not surprised by his mother’s coldness, but always disappointed. ‘I need to sort the women out with Bjarni and Torvig,’ he said to Agnette, who looked ready to sit down. ‘You take Alys, here. She’s a dreamer. She’ll be staying in Salma’s cottage. It may need a... clean?’ He eyed Agnette over Alys’ head, remembering how ill Salma had been when she died. Nobody had wanted to enter the old dreamer’s cottage after she passed away, and it likely still reeked of her death.
Agnette nodded, eyes bulging at the thought of entering that cottage again. Salma had been a mysterious woman. Arriving in a storm, she had offered her services to Reinar, wanting to help him, though Agnette had never understood why.
And now, here was another dreamer.
Perhaps a healer too?
She gasped as her baby moved, her eyes suddenly sharper. ‘Alys?’ Agnette reached out a hand as Reinar urged Alys forward. ‘Why don’t you come along with me.’
Magnus was gripped by a sense of confusion as he turned in the saddle, quickly turning back again.
‘Do you know where we are?’ Lotta wondered beside him, yawning. She couldn’t decide whether she was hungry, tired, or scared. Most likely all three, she realised, blinking suddenly, hearing a noise. ‘What was that?’ She glanced at the trees to her left, seeking an explanation for the crunching sounds.
‘Probably a fox,’ Magnus grumbled, not worrying about noises right now. He had his mother’s instructions on his lap, the vellum fluttering in the wind. And though he could read her directions easily enough, what she’d written didn’t make sense to his ten-year-old brain.
Lotta didn’t hear another noise, and she convinced herself that Magnus was right about it being a fox. Surely if it was a bear, it would have crashed about, banging against the trees and bushes, making a big fuss. ‘We should go,’ she said, turning to her flustered brother. And leaning down, she gave Clover a pat, nudging her knees against her pony’s bulging white belly. ‘Come on.’
Magnus stared at his sister as she moved past him, before hurrying to stuff the vellum into his pouch, gathering Daisy’s reins. ‘Lotta!’ he grumbled. ‘What are you doing?’ And urging Daisy on, he quickly caught up to her. ‘How do you know it’s this way?’
Lotta spun around with a sweet smile. ‘I’m a dreamer, Magnus, just like Mama. I know which way to go.’ And off she went again.
Magnus didn’t know what she was talking about, but once again, he spurred Daisy on to catch up with her. ‘Mother’s not a dreamer!’ he insisted. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘You can hear her, can’t you? When she tells us things? In your head?’
Magnus thought about that for a moment, pieces of the puzzle slotting quickly into place. ‘But... that’s because she’s our mother. We’re connected like that.’
‘No, that’s because she can talk to us that way. She can hear our thoughts. I know that because I can hear yours.’
‘You can?’
Lotta’s eyes remained on the path she had chosen. ‘Yes. And you needn’t be so worried. Mama will find us when she’s free. I dreamed it. She will come for us when she’s free.’ And swallowing, Lotta blinked away her tears, deciding that she would hold on to her dream for as long as it took.
For as long as it took to feel her mother’s arms around her again.
‘It is...’ Agnette couldn’t go on. She held a hand over her mouth and nose, gagging.
Alys stood beside her, wanting to leave. The old cottage had been shut up for weeks, and it stunk of death and disease. Foul, stomach-churning odours made them both want to retch. She turned around, eyeing the door that had closed after them.
Agnette quickly grabbed the handle, opening the door and pushing Alys outside. It had started raining, which was an improvement, and they both inhaled deeply.
‘Salma died in there, a month ago or more. I can’t remember. Everything of late has been a terrifying blur.’ Agnette coug
hed, wishing she had a cup of ale. She saw Alys’ confusion. ‘Salma was a dreamer. Reinar’s dreamer. But she took ill and died. Many did over the summer, into autumn. We haven’t had an easy time of late.’ She glanced at Alys’ terrified face, feeling horrible. This poor woman was having more than just a bad time. She had been torn away from her life. From her home. And now Reinar wanted to stick her in a stinking cottage and make her dream for him. ‘I will clean it for you. Make it smell better. And in the meantime, you can go to the hall, warm yourself by a fire. I imagine that rain will only get worse.’
Alys didn’t move. She felt disconnected from her senses.
As though everything happening was not happening to her.
As though she was merely watching it. Not feeling anything at all.
Agnette touched her arm. ‘My name is Agnette. I’m Reinar and Sigurd’s cousin. You met my husband, Bjarni. And this,’ she smiled, touching her belly. ‘This is to be our first child.’
Alys blinked at Agnette, staring at her belly, suddenly back in the moment.
‘Come along, come to the hall, Alys. I will find somewhere for you while I sort this cottage out. I’m sure I have some dried lavender left!’
Alys turned after her, lifting her bare feet out of the mud, remembering the cold sand on Ullaberg’s beach. Remembering Magnus and Lotta and her dead husband too.
Wanting to go home.
10
Ottby, Ottby, Ottby.
A thorn or a jewel?
Hakon could never decide, but as he ran a finger over the little indentation in his map, his scowl turned into a smile. It was both, he realised. A thorn of a problem, that once solved would reveal a jewel powerful enough to help him onto the throne.
Mother muttered beside him, farting occasionally. Hakon moved away from her, nearer Lief, who didn’t seem bothered by Mother’s foul odours. Ivan was less discreet, laughing out loud, stopping as soon as Mother glowered at him.
‘You will need to act quickly. You will need to act quickly!’
Mother had a habit of repeating things, Hakon knew, and he glared at Ivan, who had a habit of laughing at the dreamer. ‘Of course, and we will. The weather will not improve, so we must hurry before we are all snowed in.’
‘The weather will not improve,’ Mother agreed, running her own finger over the indentation that was Ottby. ‘Though I can talk to the gods, see what they can do.’ Her eyes rolled about wildly as she considered things, her body sometimes jerking as though she was in pain.
‘You?’ Ivan couldn’t stop himself. ‘Talk to the gods? Thenor and Vasa? Sigunn and Vesti?’
Mother stomped towards him, filthy finger wagging as Ivan clamped his lips together, attempting to hold his ground. ‘And what do you think dreamers are, boy?’ ‘Dreamers are vessels of the gods! Gifted with the ability to see things mere mortals are not! Chosen by the gods to convey their messages!’ She spat as she spoke, wet lips twisting into a furious scowl. ‘And you would laugh at the gods themselves, Ivan Vettel? You would mock them?’
Ivan swallowed, finally stepping back. ‘No, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t aware the gods spoke to dreamers. It was a... simple mistake.’
‘I’m sure what you’re not aware of could fill the Valgeir Sea,’ Mother huffed, returning to her position at the map table. The boy was a constant irritant, though highly effective in battle and Hakon was going to need him fighting against the Vilanders.
Although...
Now it was Hakon’s turn to laugh out loud, watching Mother peering at Ivan as though she was turning him on a spit. He rubbed his hands together, feeling cold. ‘And when will our visitors arrive?’
Ivan yawned, scratching his belly. ‘Within the next few days. If they took the old road. ’
‘I hope you warned them to be discreet!’ Mother hissed urgently. ‘They need to slip through the forests like mist. Not barge around like clot-footed giants making a fuss!’ And though Ivan was no giant, she glared at him, moist lips pursing again.
He ignored her. ‘They know the importance of what they’re doing. They’ll be discreet.’
‘Good. Very good.’ He glanced around the hall, eyes on Karolina, who sat on a fur-covered bench in front of one of the long fire-pits, bouncing Anders on her knee.
There was no one else in the hall, not even a slave. And though Karolina could hear everything they were saying, if she had a mind to, Hakon trusted her. And, even if he hadn’t, he doubted she was clever enough to understand what was going on. She smiled at him, and he stared at her for a moment, appreciating the sweet beauty of her heart-shaped face as it glowed warmly in the flames. He turned back to Lief. ‘See that everything is ready for their arrival. I want our guests to feel welcome.’
Lief nodded, spinning around, heading for the door. He felt a charge in his body. There had been too much delaying. Too much moving from side to side. The thought of finally moving forward excited him, though claiming Ottby was of no consequence to Lief Gundersen. It was merely a stepping stone on the path to Stornas, where Hakon Vettel would be crowned the King of Alekka, and he would stand beside him, the new head of his army, his most trusted advisor.
Reaching the door, Lief grabbed the old wooden handle, carved like a dragon prow, and turning back to the map table, his ruined eyes drifted to Ivan for a moment, before he disappeared out into the rain.
Alys sat by the fire as everyone rushed in and out of Ottby’s large stone hall.
She was grateful for the flames, but not one part of her felt comfortable. She couldn’t stop thinking about Stina, who was possibly still standing out in the rain, which now sounded torrential overhead. She thought of Jorunn and Vanya and Ilene, who she did not like at all, and the other women from Ullaberg. Alys tried to remember who was not there, who had been left behind.
She tried not to think about poor Magda.
Rain splashed down the smoke holes, sizzling the flames before her, and for a moment, her attention wandered, and she wondered if they would be extinguished. Memories gripped her and Alys froze, reminded of how angry Arnon would become if she ever let the fire go out. It had rained so much this past year – devastating, crop-ruining rain – and she had failed to keep the fire going many a day.
For the first time since she’d left Ullaberg, Alys touched her face, feeling around her nose, around her eyes. The pain was dull now, and nothing felt swollen. She kept seeing the image of her husband lying in the sand, arrow in his chest. And if only she hadn’t been ripped away from her children; if only she didn’t know if they were safe; if only her friends weren’t trapped here with her in this strange place, she would have been happier than she had felt in years.
‘Who did that to her face?’ Tulia wondered, watching Alys from her place at the high table between Sigurd and Reinar. Gerda had insisted on serving them a meal, wanting the men to have something hot in their bellies after their cold, wet journey home.
‘Her husband.’
Sigurd stared at his brother, surprised. ‘Well, glad to hear it wasn’t Rutger, the fucking shit. Though, I wouldn’t have put it past him.’
‘Sigurd!’ Gerda disliked that sort of talk at the table.
‘Rutger did try to kill him,’ Reinar said, eyeing his mother sharply. ‘He’s lucky he’s still here. If that dreamer hadn’t sewn him up so quickly, he might not have been.’
Gerda barely blinked. ‘And you intend to keep her?’ She sat next to Reinar, her mute husband sleeping beside her. There was no sign of Agnette, who was still making the old dreamer’s cottage more habitable, though Gerda was growing irritated by her absence. She leaned towards her eldest son, lowering her voice. ‘What do you know of her? How can you trust her?’
‘I know she saved our lives,’ Reinar said, eager to get Alys into his chamber. ‘And I know I’m in the market for a dreamer. I don’t believe I need to know more than that.’ He stood, pushing himself away from the table. ‘That was a tender piece of pork, Mother,’ he smiled. ‘Though perhaps we should be keeping it for when wint
er truly arrives? We have enough fish for now, don’t we?’
Gerda twitched, hearing the disapproval in his voice, draped in politeness as it was. She nodded coldly, lifting a finger to Agnette, who staggered into the hall, drenched and tired. ‘Of course. I shall have a word with Rilda. Agnette! Stellan needs to be tidied up!’ And leaving the table, Gerda hurried away to the kitchen without looking back.
Sigurd tried not to laugh, because it would have hurt and because when he looked at Alys, he immediately felt odd. It wasn’t good to have the Ullaberg women here, a reminder of what they had done.
Rain drummed down on the roof, the wind a wail outside.
Or was it those women?
Bjarni followed Agnette inside, surprised that despite the extra weight his wife was carrying, it had not slowed her down. ‘I’ve put them all in the barn by the gates!’ he called to Reinar, who was heading for Alys. ‘It’s dry, but not especially warm.’
The women were a problem, Reinar knew, and they certainly didn’t need more mouths to feed over winter. Though until he knew whether it was safe to get to Goslund, he wouldn’t be able to exchange them for coins. And with winter fast approaching, his window was rapidly closing. The slave trade tended to die over the frozen months. People sheltered in place. There was little raiding, mostly because it was impossible to get anywhere without freezing to death.
They couldn’t afford to keep the women over winter.
‘Well, that’s the best we can do for now. See that they eat, and have Steffan and Ebbert keep a guard through the night. I don’t want any missing come morning.
He thought of Rutger, irritated that the fool had not only gotten himself killed, but one of the women as well. And sending Bjarni back outside, Reinar reached for Alys. ‘You can see your friends later,’ he said abruptly, grabbing her arm, lifting her to her feet. ‘But for now, you’ll come with me.’