by A. E. Rayne
Sigurd looked surprised. Disappointed. He stared after her as she forced her way through the men gathered by the doors, ignoring her brother, who appeared to have his tongue down Ilene’s throat. He blinked, feeling a nudge from Bjarni, who had quickly gobbled down his stew, disappointed there wasn’t any more.
‘The trick with women is to think about them, not yourself,’ Bjarni said with a grin. ‘No matter the woman, they all want to know we’ll fight for them.’
‘You don’t know Tulia. That’s the last thing she wants.’
Bjarni’s eyebrows were up. ‘Agnette’s no warrior, but she is strong. She doesn’t want to be fussed over, even now, but she does want to know that I’d do anything to hold on to her. To keep her by my side. That I’d fight for her. Can’t imagine Tulia’s any different.’ He watched the hall door close. ‘The dreamer’s made everything a little more complicated, hasn’t she?’ Reinar banged his cup into Torvig’s, laughing out loud, and Bjarni turned to peer at him, seeing the sadness in his friend’s eyes revealed as soon as Torvig turned away. ‘For everyone, it seems.’
That night the wind roared like a wild beast outside the tent that Mother would now be sharing with Lotta. Falla stared at the girl as she fastened the tent flap. The wind was fighting her, though, and it took some time to secure the threads into a knot. She thought of Lief, who would be enjoying the peace of their own small tent, knowing that with the snow turning into a blizzard, she was going to have to spend the night with Mother and her squawking raven.
The thought of that did not appeal.
Mother waddled around, oblivious to Falla’s irritation and Lotta’s distress. Her concern was for the flames and the herbs, the symbols and the stones. The gods were a mystery to most humans. Some dreamers were fortunate to know them personally. Some intimately. It was true that the gods were both fascinated and irritated by humans; equally entranced and revolted. Some saw them as needing their protection; others as a scurge to rid themselves of.
And those were the sort of gods Mother had gone out of her way to befriend.
A dreamer who knew dark magic could be an able assistant to a malevolent goddess who wished to stir up trouble. She closed her eyes, searching the darkness, looking for signs.
‘Would you like something warmer?’ Falla asked, offering the shivering girl a bed fur to wrap around herself.
Lotta shook her head, wanting to retreat into the darkest corner, away from the fire which illuminated every thought that popped into her head. The old dreamer would often stop and peer at her, and Lotta tried her best not to think about anything at all. But it was impossible. As soon as the silence lengthened, her mind wandered to Magnus, to her mother, to her dead father. To her pony, who didn’t like the snow. To the snow itself, and the blizzard outside. To how awful the meal had been, the chicken not cooked through. She could still taste blood in her mouth.
Mother spun around, grabbing her tiny wrist with a meaty hand. ‘You don’t like the snow?’ she smiled threateningly. ‘Not at all? Not one tiny bit?’ Every word was halting, slow, spat out of a twisting mouth.
Lotta tried to drag her arm away, but Mother had a firm grip on it.
‘Well, best you stop all that whining, then, and let me focus, or I shall tie you up outside!’ And dropping Lotta’s arm, Mother straightened up, glaring at a confused-looking Falla, who hadn’t heard Lotta speak. ‘A dreamer must learn how to quiet their mind.’
‘You’re saying she’s a dreamer?’ Falla wondered.
‘Of course she’s a dreamer! Just like her mother. Her grandmother too. A whole line of useless, pointless dreamers in that family!’ Mother sneered, wobbling down to the ground, determined to do the ritual on her knees. There was little space in the tent, which was moving violently in the wind. Stakes had been hammered into the frozen earth to secure it, though she wondered if they had used enough. ‘Though dreamers are useful in any form. Even whining little girl ones.’ And grinning at Lotta, she grabbed her chin, tilting it roughly towards the light. ‘But remember what I said, now. Quiet that mind of yours, or I shall make you sleep in the snow with your frozen pony!’
Lotta was just about to let her thoughts wander to how much more pleasant it would be to sleep in the snow with Clover, but one look at Mother and she bit her lip, clasping her hands together, determined to keep her mind entirely blank.
Ulrick had been one of Jesper Vettel’s most loyal men, so Hakon had employed him and his men to wind his way down the Eastern Shore to collect information. He was an accomplished warrior, scout, slaver, and an expert at blending in to whichever environment he happened to find himself in.
Silent, careful, ears always open.
And now that he had returned, and they were all settled into Hakon’s tent – Lief and Ivan on one side of the fire, Ulrick and Hakon on the other – Hakon was eager to hear everything he’d learned on his journey.
‘Ake’s army is stretched thin. The trouble up North is spreading like fire.’
Hakon frowned, caught between feeling pleased, and not wanting that trouble on his own border when he became king. ‘What’s the cause of it?’
‘Another uprising, from what I hear. The people appear to have had enough of their lords. Enough of their weather. They’re determined to head South.’
‘Well, there’s more than enough room,’ Ivan suggested. ‘Why wouldn’t Ake let them in?’
Lief thought again that Ivan always appeared smarter when he said nothing. The moment he opened his mouth, he just reminded Hakon of the terrible mistake he’d made putting his cousin in charge.
He tried not to smile.
‘They’re not coming on their own, Ivan,’ Ulrick said calmly, enjoying the warmth of the flames that were almost licking his sodden boots. ‘They’re being led by an ambitious warlord. More than one. Ake’s throne is like a beacon. Everyone’s heading for it. But one man, in particular, may cause him problems. That man sees himself as the chosen one, from what I hear. He has ambitions to become the high king.’
Hakon turned to Ivan, eyebrows sharp. Even Ivan looked intrigued. ‘And you think that’s possible, Ulrick, that this man is destined to become the high king?’
Ulrick was a man who had dealt with many lords over the years, and he wisely shook his head. ‘I think the gods hid the Sun Torc. Broke Alekka in two. They never wanted another high king. I doubt they have an appetite for such a return. For one man to claim so much unfettered power?’
Hakon looked concerned.
Ivan tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Why worry, Cousin? Now? When we’re freezing our balls off? Stuck in this blizzard? If you look too far into the future, you won’t keep your whole mind on what lies ahead of us now. We have to survive the next few days. Get to Ottby. Keep as many of our men alive as possible. It’s getting worse out there.’
For the first time, Ivan looked and sounded serious, and that concerned Hakon more than anything. This was everything they had worked for since his father had died; everything they desired to achieve together. He nodded, eyes on his cousin. ‘You’re right, as always. This man, whoever he is, will be dealt with in time. When I sit on the throne, I’ll have you bring him in, Ulrick. You can do that, I know.’
Ulrick smiled, nodding. ‘That I can, lord.’
Hakon handed around a bowl of nuts, which were almost frozen and a danger to teeth, but the cold and the exertions of ploughing through the blizzard all day had made them hungry, and they each took a generous handful, happy to be chewing.
‘So, Ake is out West, and Stornas is commanded by?’
‘Algeir Tarkel. One of his toughest men. Experienced. Miserly. In complete charge.’
Hakon didn’t look discouraged. ‘But Ake must have taken most of his army?’
‘Algeir has enough men to hold the city. More than enough. Ake always leaves a hefty garrison.’
‘Have the Vilanders asked for reinforcements?’ Lief wondered.
Ulrick turned to him, nodding. ‘I would guess so. Reinar Vilander i
s in a bad, bad way. His fort is depleted now, so he’s been sending men out begging. I know he’s been asking his neighbours, so he’ll surely have asked Stornas.’
Hakon laughed. ‘What good news you bring us, Ulrick! Just as I’d hoped. And now that your companions are dead, all the rewards will go to you, old friend! As they should!’ And reaching across the fire, Hakon banged his cup into Ulrick’s. ‘Now if only you could do something about that fucking blizzard, I would shower you in gold!’
The old woman, the maiden, and the little girl.
The three stages of life, Alys thought, watching the hooded figures, all three of them sitting around a fire, hoods up, heads bowed.
Alys had fallen asleep with thoughts of her grandfather and her children swirling around her mind. She was worried about them, wanting to know if they were safe, but in this dream, more than anything, she needed to find a way to protect the fort.
Hakon Vettel’s dreamer was coming.
Alys had felt her.
And that dreamer could kill.
Her illusions and tricks were not just meant to play with their minds. She was trying to hurt them. End them. Remove the threat they posed to her master.
These things Alys knew, unspoken as they were.
But she felt them in her blood, and in her bones too, her certainty growing with every breath she took.
‘Dark magic is a gift!’ came the voice; deep and threatening; rough-edged, rasping. ‘There are spells, potions, curses, so many things one could stumble upon, dreamer or not. You can read a book, hear a chant, and you might believe you could cause harm to your enemies or bring great fortune to your door through evil means. But there you would be sorely mistaken!’ The old woman’s voice rose and fell. ‘For dark magic is a gift from the gods. And not everyone is fortunate enough to have received that gift.’
The shadows of the young girl and the young woman remained perfectly still, while the wide figure of the stooped old woman started to move around them, hips swaying, cloak flapping. Holding her hands out to the fire, she began to lift the flames, making them taller, brighter; watching them twist and spark, lighting up her face.
Alys held her breath as the flames revealed that terrifying face.
Feet still, she forced herself to keep watching, knowing that this was all for her. That this was her enemy.
‘But the gods chose me!’ Mother cackled, hood falling back to reveal a round face, eyes like two full moons. ‘Alari came to me when I was at my lowest. When my sons were burning, killed by that vicious bitch, Jael Furyck. She came to me in a dream. I saw myself sleeping, lying in bed. I stood there watching as Alari bent over me, blowing in my ear, whispering, chanting. She put her hand on my chest, drew a symbol on my forehead, and I was changed. Reborn. No longer just a dreamer, but a dark witch. That is what Alari anointed me. A dark witch! She who has the ear of the Goddess of Magic herself. I am a vessel for her. Her servant!’
Waves of terror washed over Alys’ body.
Every instinct told her to run, knowing that this woman would see her, that she would reach into the fort and kill her.
That she would come for her, awake or asleep.
She had to turn around and leave.
But Alys stilled suddenly, watching as the old woman walked back around the fire to the little girl.
‘And now, I have you, dearest child, my greatest weapon of all,’ she breathed. ‘For what I learned through my own experience with death is how weak we are. That true darkness resides in the ability to take that which someone loves most of all. Our human hearts make us vulnerable... so vulnerable and weak.’ She paused, dragging the little girl towards her, pulling down her hood. ‘Now turn around, Lotta, so your mother can see you!’
Alys froze, mouth falling open in horror.
And then everything went dark.
35
‘Could be today,’ Sigurd yawned, stretching out his leg. It was feeling strong again, and he was conscious of how soon he would need to be fighting off Hakon’s warriors. He didn’t want to be weak before he even began. The wounds in his back didn’t trouble him until he lay in bed at night, or tried to dress or use a bow. Sigurd shook his head.
It was not ideal.
They stood on the low wall, staring at the frozen field that led to the forest, now buried in snow.
Reinar remembered riding into the forest with Alys, and he felt odd.
He remembered riding into the forest with Elin too.
‘Could be. Though the snow might have slowed them down. Maybe even killed a few horses or men.’
‘Ahhh, now you’re just trying to make yourself feel better,’ Sigurd grinned. ‘Likely Hakon has more than enough horses and men not to notice losing a few. Not sure he’d care either way. Not if he’s anything like his father.’
That was true. Reinar’s scouts had been slowly returning over the past few days. He had sent them further inland, hoping those more remote lords would have men to spare, though none had offered their help. All were too worried about the threat posed by Hakon’s men, whether that threat was imminent or not.
‘Father always said you had to pay attention to your own plan. Not theirs. They can defeat you without ever unsheathing a sword or unleashing a boulder.’ Reinar tapped his head, almost feeling Stellan standing between them, one hand on each shoulder as he’d done since they were boys. ‘If they get inside here. If they make you believe in their invincibility. If they make you focus on your weaknesses, then you’ve already lost.’
‘He did.’ Sigurd nodded, eyes dropping lower. The fort was protected by two walls, both thick with stone and ringed with ramparts that offered solid protection for their archers. Built that way to make it nigh on impenetrable.
They had strengths.
Stone and fire. Oil and warmth. Food and shelter.
Arrows too.
They might not have the men to send them in great numbers anymore, but Tulia’s women were getting stronger, and there would be enough arrows to terrorise Hakon’s army for days.
If they could keep them safe.
‘Stellan held this fort for Ake, but for us also,’ Reinar said, turning to his brother. ‘For our family. For who we would become.’
Sigurd nodded.
Reinar swept an arm around the fort, chest tight. ‘Those who remain will fight for us, but we have to lead because Ottby matters to us. To our family. Our father’s oath is our oath. We will hold the fort, and we will hold the bridge.’
Sigurd could sense his brother’s body vibrating, his eyes sharp and determined as he leaned on the rampart wall, and it gave him a lift. A sense of purpose.
‘I know Tulia wants you to leave, but you can’t, you know that.’
‘I do.’
‘We have to fight together, for Stellan.’
‘We will. They won’t get in. We won’t let them.
‘No, we won’t let them.’
Hakon was astounded.
Thrilled.
He eyed Mother with an open mouth. ‘You did this?’
When it came to his ornery old dreamer and her gifts, Hakon wasn’t sure what was true and what was Mother merely twisting reality into what was most pleasing to her lord’s ears. Her lord’s ears were numb with cold but eager to hear what she had to say.
Mother smiled back, eyes on the melting slush. ‘Well, I put in a... request,’ she chuckled. ‘We are lucky I have such useful friends.’
It was not warm, but the snow was melting so rapidly beneath a generous sun that Hakon didn’t care about his ice-cold face and his numb hands. ‘You are a wonder, Mother Arnesson!’ he announced gleefully, turning to Lief, who could still not raise a smile. His eyes were on Mother’s tent, where a sleepy-looking Falla had emerged with the girl.
For all the help Mother was being, Lief felt uneasy about his wife becoming a part of whatever darkness the old woman was conjuring up. He didn’t want to lose Falla. She was more precious to him than anything, and he’d seen how capricious Mother could be; ho
w quick to anger. He only hoped that Falla would do everything she could to keep the old woman happy.
‘We should move quickly, lord,’ Lief suggested as Falla made her way to the nearest fire where servants were dishing up bowls of hot porridge. ‘We could make great progress today if we head off soon.’
Hakon nodded, his appetite for progress greater than his appetite for the steaming porridge, which he didn’t enjoy anyway. ‘I agree. Where’s Ivan?’ He scanned the smoky campsite, cloak sweeping around him.
‘Still in his tent, lord,’ Lief said, sensing Falla watching him. ‘He’s yet to emerge. I believe he has... one of the servants in there with him.’
Hakon turned away, hiding his irritation. ‘Well, you don’t need my cousin to get your own men moving, do you, Lief Gundersen? And the rest of them surely know what to do!’ He felt incensed. Ivan took his position as head of the army as seriously as he took everything else. He was an exceptional warrior, a talented leader, but he lacked discipline. He gave into every desire and whim, with little thought for consequences.
And though Hakon was generally predisposed to let Ivan be Ivan, now, when everything was on the line, when they were this close to victory, he wanted to kill him.
His eyes remained sharp as he turned to Ulrick, who was looking uncertainly at the girl. ‘Mother and Falla will take care of her,’ Hakon said distractedly, further irritated. He didn’t want to be thinking about girls or women at all. ‘You needn’t worry, Ulrick. The safest place to be in all of Alekka is by Mother’s side. She’s a powerful woman, as you can see by this beautiful sunshine!’ And beaming again, Hakon headed for his horse, shutting all thoughts of Ivan out of his mind.
Alys found Stina with Ludo and his group of women. He was red-faced and flustered, trying to ensure that everything would work seamlessly, but the women were always bringing up ways to improve upon his ideas, and Ludo was starting to doubt who was in charge.