by A. E. Rayne
Alys felt guilty for needing her, but she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. ‘I need some herbs. Some blood too.’
‘Blood? Oh.’ Agnette held out a hand, looking for some help. ‘Well, we should get going, then, if you want to do this tonight. I expect you have to if you’re to catch your grandfather dreaming?’
Alys nodded. ‘I do. If there’s time.’ She pulled Agnette to her feet.
‘Well, we’d better hope that Eddeth is still here.’ Agnette looked worried as she gathered her cloak around her belly and headed to the door, cursing her swollen feet.
‘Eddeth?’
‘The healer. She’s slightly mad, well, entirely mad, but she knows herbs better than anyone. We can ask her to help us. If we can find her!’
They passed Torvig, who was skulking in the shadows outside the kitchen with one of the servants.
‘What are you doing?’ Sigurd asked, then seeing Matti, he frowned. ‘Are you alright, Matti?’ The girl nodded shyly, but Sigurd peered at her, wanting to be sure she was not under any duress. She was an agreeable sort of woman, but so shy. He doubted she’d have the courage to go against someone like Torvig.
Reinar smiled. ‘Well, I don’t expect you’ll be wanting to help us, then?’
‘Help you do what?’ Torvig kept a firm hold on the young woman, pulling her even further into the shadows, his hand tight around her arm.
‘We’re going to sacrifice to Vesti. Get her to bring on the snow!’ Reinar was merry, slightly drunk, and happy because of it. It felt pleasurable to experience something other than confusion or worry. He felt like a boy again, sneaking around, doing something he knew his father wouldn’t approve of.
Torvig snorted. ‘I wish you luck.’ And he turned away from them, not inviting further conversation.
‘Well, someone has other things on his mind,’ Bjarni muttered, tripping over a rock, knocking into Sigurd, who almost lost his balance.
‘No surprise there,’ Sigurd muttered back. Torvig could always be found pawing some poor woman, most of whom looked uncomfortable with his attention. He was not ugly, nor old and toothless. He was a strong-looking man, in his prime, a face with few scars, eyes that some would consider attractive. He was always well-groomed and smartly dressed, but there was just something not quite right about him.
Always had been.
If only Reinar could see it.
Sigurd turned around, wanting to go and drag poor Matti away, but he heard her giggle, and reassured, he headed after his brother, who had already disappeared into the night.
Though the sky was dark, it was early in the evening, and Eddeth was wide awake as she swung open the door, ushering the two women inside.
‘The dreamer!’ she announced, pointing to the fire which crackled loudly. ‘Oh, how I have wanted to meet you!’
Eddeth Nagel was a sprightly woman, never able to sit still for long. Her hair, now mostly grey, stood up oddly on one side, hacked short on the other. Her face was ruddy, rumpled with deep wrinkles. She had big teeth, and a wart under her right eye, which she picked at constantly. Her nose was wide, and so was her smile as she grabbed Alys’ hand, dragging her to the fire, indicating to the tree stumps arrayed around it.
Alys blinked.
‘I have seats aplenty! Do sit down, sit down!’ And ignoring Agnette, who was panting by the door, she fussed around Alys, ensuring that she was comfortable, before retreating to her long wooden table which heaved with bowls, all of them full.
The cottage was busy, slightly wild in appearance, much like Eddeth herself. Sprigs of herbs tied onto lengths of string hung from the beams in pendulous loops. Alys could smell them, though there were so many that nothing stood out. The aroma was overwhelmingly pleasant, though. Almost relaxing. Quite unlike Eddeth, who moved constantly, jerking around. ‘I shall make a tea! Lavender, licorice, and... dandelion! What say you?’ She turned around, finally noticing Agnette. ‘Why are you standing there, Agnette Sansgard? Sit down before your baby drops out of you! I’ve only just swept my floor!’
Agnette, used to Eddeth’s odd ways, staggered down onto one of the tree stumps, feeling an urgent hunger, thinking about sausages. She tried to hurry Eddeth along. ‘Alys is after some help with her dreams. She needs some herbs.’
‘Oh?’ Eddeth was gathering cups together on the table, her back to them. She spun around suddenly, one eye opening wider than the other. ‘Which herbs are these, then? Perhaps some coltsfoot? A little dragon’s blood?’ Eddeth’s filthy fingers worked as she spoke, as though she was rustling vellum between them. ‘I have all of those, and many more besides, as you can see, Alys the dreamer!’ And she swept her arms around, exposing her armpits, making Alys blink at the ripe smell. ‘I’m more than happy to help!’ Grabbing the long cloth tucked into her belt, and holding it with one hand, Eddeth lifted the cauldron off its hook, pouring boiling water into three cups. ‘I think there’s some dreamer in me, I tell you. How else did I know to have this waiting?’ And replacing the cauldron, she dropped the cloth and reached for two of the cups, handing them to Alys and Agnette. ‘Though do not drink! Not yet! For we must steep the herbs for their true brilliance to shine!’
Taking her own cup with a sneeze, Eddeth flopped down onto one of the tree stumps. ‘What are you hoping to find in your dreams, then?’ Her eyes didn’t leave Alys’ pale face. ‘A way to save us from the wolf?’ She cackled, lips curled back, big yellow teeth exposed. ‘You think that’s possible with the curse?’
‘Curse?’ Alys glanced at Agnette, who tried not to roll her eyes. ‘What curse?’
‘Oh, Eddeth thinks Reinar has been cursed. She’s been saying that for some time, haven’t you?’
Eddeth ignored her, hearing the scorn in Agnette’s voice, though she was not as mocking as some. ‘Cursed is right! Though no one understands the power of magic as I do. The power of symbols and words and herbs. The power of dreamers!’ And she lurched forward, almost touching Alys’ knees with her own. Her voice boomed loudly, and Alys froze, unsure how to respond. And then Eddeth was smiling again, chuckling to herself, sitting back. ‘But I am no dreamer, just the granddaughter of one, so what would I know!’
‘Your grandmother was a dreamer?’ Agnette hadn’t known that.
Eddeth ignored her. ‘I have her books, you know. She taught me all manner of secrets. About plants. The spirits. The gods!’
Alys was intrigued, disturbed by Eddeth’s odour, enjoying the warmth of the cup thawing her frozen fingers, and impatient to get on. ‘I look forward to hearing all about it,’ she smiled. ‘Perhaps I could come and visit you tomorrow? I would like to talk to you some more. I too had a grandmother who was a dreamer. I had to hide my gifts, though, so I need some help.’
Eddeth trembled all over, fighting the urge to clap her hands, not wanting to spill hot tea all over her lap. ‘Well, help you shall have! My help!’ And delighted, Eddeth jumped off the tree stump, holding her cup aloft, taking it to the table. ‘But tell me, which herbs do you need tonight, for I sense an urgency.’ She turned around, sniffing the air. ‘I sense that we must hurry. All of us!’ And her bulging eyes dropped to Agnette’s belly. ‘There’s not much time left...’
Agnette struggled upright, disturbed by the look in Eddeth’s eyes. ‘Isn’t there?’
But Eddeth had already turned her back on them, scurrying around the cottage, searching for a basket to fill.
Their father had sacrificed often. To Thenor and Eskvir. To Sigunn and Valera too.
But never to Vesti, Goddess of the Seasons.
Not that Reinar was aware of, at least. Perhaps he had?
Perhaps Stellan had sought help to snow in his enemies, as it did always seem to snow when the Vettels came.
Just the thought of it made Reinar smile, though he considered the pitiful goat bleating before them, wondering at the wisdom of killing a useful creature for a pointless wish.
The gods had abandoned him. They would not listen to his pleas.
He tur
ned to Bjarni, who was yawning behind him with Sigurd.
They were, all three of them, standing around the sacrificial stone, that big slab of rock still bloodstained despite the torrential rain they’d experienced over the summer. The rain had washed away their crops, flooded their fields, but it had not washed away the centuries of blood that had seeped into its rough surface.
‘You do it, Bjarni,’ Reinar said, handing him the panicking goat. ‘I...’ He shook his head, feeling his shoulders slump. ‘Vesti will listen to you.’
Sigurd felt relieved that he hadn’t needed to intervene.
Bjarni looked less happy as he grabbed hold of the wriggling goat. ‘Well, I’m no lord.’
‘No, but you’re a good man, favoured by the gods all your life. Look at how happy you’ve been with Agnette. And now you’ll have a child.’ Reinar stepped back to stand with Sigurd, trying not to think about the traumatic death of his own sons. He felt more sober now, memories rushing back to him, and spinning around, he tried to hear anything out of the ordinary; any snapping trees or growling wolves. But the night was silent, apart from the doomed goat and the faint breath of wind ruffling his cloak.
Bjarni was a steady man with a steady hand, and seeing an image of his very pregnant wife in his mind, he shut away the pleading sounds of the goat. If the gods could help him, all of them, survive what was coming, then he stood a good chance of seeing his child. Not just seeing him born, but watching him grow, and live and be a boy in Ottby as he had been. Running free, protected, making friends, as he had.
It was dark, but Bjarni knew his way around animals, and lifting his blade with his free hand, he brought it up to the wriggling goat’s throat, cutting it open.
The bleating stopped abruptly, the goat’s body twitching for a moment before becoming limp in his hands as he laid it down on the stone, positioning it over the trough, where the blood would flow, draining down into the bowl he had left on the ground.
Bjarni called upon Vesti to shroud them in her frozen embrace, to trap their enemies far beyond the mountains, in rivers of ice and snow, making them impassable barriers. Forcing them back behind their walls.
And, finally, picking up the bowl, filled now with warm blood, Bjarni dipped a finger into the liquid, turning, painting Reinar’s face as Stellan had painted theirs. He remembered the very first time he had done it, when they were boys, thinking they were men. Two lines down from his hairline; three more lines on either side of his face; a dot beneath their lips. And dipping his finger into the blood again, Bjarni did the same to Sigurd, whispering as he did so.
Turning back to Valera’s Tree, Bjarni drew the blood symbol on his own face, feeling it run down his round cheeks, into his beard. He thought of Agnette as he drew, praying that somehow he could keep her and the baby safe.
Agnette watched him from a distance, hand on Alys’ arm, holding her back. The stars were bright, strung across the night sky like tiny lamps, lighting their way. She held her breath, watching as Bjarni lifted his arms in the air, imploring Vesti to help them.
The tree seemed to speak back to him as the wind picked up, rustling the frozen leaves with renewed vigour. And releasing Alys’ arm, Agnette leaned towards her. ‘They’re sacrificing.’
Alys nodded. She could smell the blood.
‘Hoping for Reinar’s luck to turn, I imagine. But whether that’s possible anymore, I don’t know.’
‘Eddeth thought he was cursed.’
‘Eddeth’s mad, as I told you. You saw her!’
‘But perhaps she’s also right? Perhaps it’s not only bad luck but something worse?’
Agnette didn’t want to open the door to that idea. She gripped her belly, rubbing it nervously. ‘We should get to your cottage, Alys, before I fall asleep.’ And retreating into the shadows, Agnette urged her on.
25
His wife stood on the shore, waving goodbye.
She had the most beautiful hair, still golden after all these years. She liked to wear it loose, unlike married women her age. Loose and long it glittered in the sun, and Jonas smiled, wanting to keep that memory with him as he gripped the side of the ship, eyes fixed on the shore.
Golden waves of hair swept behind his wife, and then like clouds rushing across the sky, she was gone, and so was the sun.
Jonas shivered, but he kept staring, wanting to see her again. The sky darkened, though, snow falling, thick and heavy. So much snow that he had to wipe his eyes to see. Now there was no sunshine at all. No warmth. No wife.
His teeth chattered, his bones rattling.
The beat of his heart faded. The sound of the sea crashing against the hull of the ship grew louder.
Jonas didn’t move, wanting to hold on to the image. Not wanting it to slip from his memory again.
‘Eida,’ he sighed.
If he could just hold on...
Alys read the words of the spell again, worried that she wouldn’t remember them when she closed her eyes. The cottage had quickly filled with smoke; clouds of it lifting from the fire. She was struggling to breathe, struggling to think too.
Agnette had commandeered a drum, and she beat it with vigour. Her mother had taught her the lyre as a child, the drum too. She enjoyed getting her hands on a drum again and had quickly settled into a steady rhythm as she sat on the bed, trying to get comfortable, the drum beside her, eyes on Alys, who kneeled on the ground by the fire. She wanted to offer her help, but though she tried to open her mouth to speak, no words would come out. She saw images of Bjarni flash before her eyes, blood dripping down his face, and she swallowed, trying to keep the rhythm of her drumming steady.
Alys didn’t feel confident, but she knew that Magnus and Lotta needed her to cast aside every one of her fears now. And so, trying to do just that, she inhaled the smoke, running her eyes over everything before her one last time. She had the book to her right, held open with a stone. More stones made a circle around her, and those stones were linked with the blood of a chicken, mixed with drops of her own. She had dipped her grandfather’s arm ring into the mixture, and that sat before her. The spell called for his hair or a piece of his clothing, but all she had was the arm ring.
She hoped it would work.
And, finally, deciding that she couldn’t delay any longer, Alys took a deep breath, closing her eyes.
There were ways to see farther than anything that lay before you.
Farther than memories or dreams.
Ways to see what was happening now.
Mother knew that. And sitting at her table, she held a small mirror in her left hand, drawing on it in blood. A symbol. One she had learned as a girl, at her mother’s knee. Her mother had been a dreamer, shunned by her own kind for embracing magic; persecuted for her love of those outcast gods who followed a dark path.
Her mother had taught her how to see. And though Mother had relied upon her dreams to tell her everything she needed to know, she realised that now she had an urgent need to seek out more.
Reinar Vilander had a dreamer, and that dreamer had stopped her wolf nightmare. And though, in the end, there had been little consequence for the interference, it would do no good to have this dreamer meddling in her future plans.
So, closing her eyes, Mother drew the symbol by memory alone, feeling the power of Alari, Goddess of Magic, shooting through her body like lightning, surging down into the mirror.
And eyes springing open, Mother smiled.
The ship took Jonas away from everything he loved. His home. His wife. His daughter. His granddaughter too.
He wanted to turn it around, but there was no one at the tiller.
No one at the oars or working the sail. No one at all.
‘Grandfather!’ Alys stared at him, emotions bubbling in her chest, wanting to rush to him, to fall into those familiar strong arms. He turned to her slowly, blinking in surprise. ‘Grandfather!’
Jonas started walking towards her, stumbling, heart in his mouth.
‘The children!’ Alys felt
odd, not sure if she was really in his dream. She could hear the drumbeat. She could hear the waves, the wind. And then she could hear her grandfather.
‘Why have you come? Alys!’ Jonas reached her, grabbing her hands.
Alys felt his touch, and it reassured her. ‘The children are not safe! Magnus has been sold as a slave. Lotta is being taken to Slussfall.’
‘Slussfall? But why? What happened? Where are you?’
Alys swallowed. ‘I don’t know where Magnus is. I sent them from Ullaberg when I was... taken. Raiders, they came to the village, took some of the women. Most of the women. They killed Arnon.’ Her voice lifted. ‘And I’m safe.’ She saw the doubt in her grandfather’s eyes. He looked older but still strong, she was pleased to see. ‘I am. I promise. I will find my way to you when I can, but you must get to the children. You must save them!’
Jonas’ mouth hung open. He felt oddly indecisive; confused.
‘They were on their way to the cottage. Perhaps they got halfway there before the men found them? There’s more than one of them, I think... I heard voices. It was as though Lotta was showing me. As though she was trying to.’
Jonas blinked, waking up now. ‘You think she’s like you?’
Alys hesitated. She had begun to see signs that perhaps Lotta did see things others didn’t. ‘I’m not sure, but I hope so. It may help.’
Dreamers terrified Jonas. He had lost two of them, and now Alys was in danger. ‘You must stay safe until we can find you. I will get the children, don’t worry. I know Slussfall. I can find Lotta, and she will lead me to Magnus. But you?’
Alys gasped, falling towards her grandfather, who had vanished like smoke, and she was tumbling through the air, breath stuck in her throat, falling to the earth with a thud.