by A. E. Rayne
Ivan turned to Lief, watching his discomfort grow. Happy to see it.
Lief didn’t like the attention. ‘Hopefully, we’ll have some news soon, my lord,’ he muttered. ‘My wife is looking forward to making a new home in Stornas. It will reassure her to be settled. I’m sure it will help move things along in the right direction.’ He stared at Ivan, realising that Ivan was the odd one out: no wife; no children to speak of; no understanding of how the rest of them truly felt at all. And despite his own discomfort at discussing such personal matters, he almost smiled.
‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Hakon called, enjoying the sight of the treeline in the distance, beckoning them forward. The sun was glaring as it rose in the sky, sending its bright rays into his eyes, and he was keen for some shade. ‘Once we get our wives settled in Stornas, we can start making plans. For all our families!’
Hakon eyed Ivan, happy to watch him squirm.
He knew his anger would fade, his disappointment too. But Ivan needed to realise the privilege of his position. And with them only one day out from Ottby now, Ivan’s position was quickly becoming more important than ever.
Reinar left Bjarni to finish pushing Stellan around the square while he walked Alys back to her cottage. ‘You look ill,’ he said, opening the door and ushering her inside. ‘Have you seen something? Something about what happened to your neck?’
Alys shook her head. ‘I haven’t, but Eddeth has some ideas in her book. She thinks the dreamer has help from the gods. That they have given her power. Enhanced her gifts.’
Reinar sat down on a stool with a thump. ‘Do you believe her?’
Alys wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t think it matters either way. I couldn’t breathe. Something or someone was choking me. I thought... I thought I would die. So, whatever Eddeth thinks doesn’t matter as much as what we do to try and stop the dreamer.’
‘Walls won’t stop her.’
‘No,’ Alys agreed, opening the tinderbox, eager to warm up the cottage. ‘But maybe symbols and herbs can?’ Reinar looked so doubtful that she felt foolish.
‘Symbols and herbs?’
Alys saw an image of Lotta in her mind, and she blinked it away. ‘It’s all we have. I can try and dream, and I will, but a dream is not a weapon.’ She could hear that old woman’s cackling voice, so triumphant now that she had her daughter. ‘I’ll go and find Eddeth again. She must have returned from the forest by now.’
Reinar nodded. ‘I have to focus on keeping Hakon’s warriors out of the fort, Alys. I can’t worry about his dreamer. I can’t do anything to stop her.’
‘No, I know. I’ll do what I can, I promise.’
‘Your neck looks painful.’
‘It’s not.’ Alys turned her eyes down to the tinderbox, not wanting to see his concern. Not wanting to encourage him at all.
Reinar could sense it, and he stood. ‘Can I get you anything else? Anything you need?’
Alys tried to think as she scanned the cottage. ‘I’ll need more wood. A lot more wood. I... wouldn’t mind some weapons.’
Reinar blinked. ‘Weapons?’
‘Yes, I must be able to protect myself if I feel something coming for me.’
‘But can you? Perhaps you need a warrior with you? Someone outside, guarding the cottage?’
Alys shook her head. ‘No, but knives would be useful. An axe. Some arrows.’
Reinar laughed. ‘Sounds like I should send you to Tulia after all. Perhaps you’d be some use on the wall?’ He was joking, though Alys didn’t smile. ‘I’ll get Ludo to bring you everything you need, don’t worry.’
‘Thank you.’
Reinar stared at her, knowing he had to leave. He had questions, although most of them would be pointless if they didn’t get through the next few days. ‘I am grateful to you,’ he said quietly. ‘And whatever happens, I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That you’re here. Sorry and glad. I...’ He was quickly awkward, dropping his head. ‘I should have made different choices.’ And lifting his eyes, Reinar stared at her. ‘But, I suppose, if I had, you wouldn’t be here, and I’m glad you are.’
Alys felt odd. Her hands, which had been fiddling with the tinderbox, suddenly froze. She looked away, eyes on Winter, who appeared to be watching both of them.
She didn’t know what to say. Reinar didn’t either. And so he headed to the door.
‘I hope I can help,’ Alys said, not wanting him to leave, as much as she was eager to be alone. ‘I’m here for a reason, I know that now. I only hope I can make a difference.’
‘So do I.’ Reinar pushed open the door, taking a deep breath as the noise from the square suddenly filled the cottage, his shoulders tensing. And taking one last look at Alys, he disappeared outside.
Tulia had her women on the inner wall with Amir’s, making sure they knew their places. They certainly knew the calls now, and they could work in unison, listening to her commands. She felt oddly protective of them as they stood there, worried eyes seeking the invisible enemy in the distance. Some of them would die. Die to save the men who had stolen them away from their homes and families.
She sighed, looking at Ilene, who was the only one with a smile on her face.
Amir didn’t want her on the wall – he’d said as much, more than once – though Tulia couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather stick in the way of Hakon Vettel’s arrows.
Except Torvig of course.
‘When will they come?’ Ilene wanted to know, hand on hip.
Tulia blinked irritably. ‘Tomorrow? The day after? I don’t know.’
‘I thought the dreamer would have told you?’
Tulia ignored her, turning to the other women. ‘You can see clearly from here. And if the sky stays like that, you’ll see the arrows coming. Hear them too. This cover here,’ she said, pointing to the tall, thick part of the rampart wall, ‘that’s where you’ll hide. The arrows will come in waves. We’ll wait here for one to pass, then move into the gap again.’ Tulia usually struggled to be gentle, sympathetic, or particularly understanding, but she felt a responsibility to these women, and she spoke slowly, wanting them to understand her. Sigurd always made fun of her accent, and Tulia knew that sometimes it was hard to get her words out, but she needed the women to hear her. ‘The fire arrows won’t be for you. It’s too much to think about. The flame is a distraction you don’t need. We’ll leave those for me.’
Hulda nodded. Estrid too. They wanted to live. She could see it in their eyes.
They listened intently.
‘Any questions?’ Tulia scanned the group, willing Ilene to keep her mouth shut.
‘What if we run out of arrows?’ Estrid asked.
‘Then head for the stairs. Get down into the square, find more. Most of their arrows won’t hit a target. You’ll be able to collect an armful and hurry back up to the wall.’
Estrid nodded, and Ilene looked as though she was about to open her mouth when Tulia spun away from her, heading for the stairs. The sun was already high in the sky, but the air was crisp and cold, and she was eager to get to the hall.
Away from Ilene.
Torvig was peering at the map. ‘You shouldn’t put the women on the inner wall.’
‘Well I’m not going to put them on the low wall,’ Reinar frowned. ‘I can’t afford to lose all my archers too early.’
Torvig snorted. ‘They’re hardly archers, Reinar! Most of them have barely held a bow. I know you need all hands on the walls, but you can’t expect much from those slave women. I doubt they’ll live longer than the first assault. What a waste that will be.’
Sigurd didn’t want to agree with Torvig, but he worried that he was right. ‘Well, whether that’s true or not, they’re best deployed on the inner wall. It’s safer. Those on the low wall need sword skills. Once the archers are overwhelmed, once their siege towers reach the walls and their men start to climb, we’ll need a physical presence to knock them back.’
Reinar agreed. ‘They’ll stay
where Tulia’s placed them.’ He leaned over the map, moving the wooden archer figures to the inner wall. One for Tulia’s group, one for Amir’s. ‘You’ll have your men down on the low wall, Torvig.’
Torvig looked happy about that.
‘I’ll be with you,’ Reinar went on. ‘Sigurd will be up with Tulia and Amir. Ludo, you’ll run the square, and Bjarni...’ He turned to his oldest friend. ‘I want you here. In the hall.’
‘What?’ Bjarni looked shocked. ‘The hall?’
Reinar nodded. ‘Think it through. They’ll be bringing catapults. They’ll launch boulders if we can’t burn them first. They might crush the hall. I need you to watch everyone in here, especially Agnette and Father. Gerda too. You may have to move them in a hurry to save lives. I’ll send Eddeth in with her salves and bandages. Rienne can help her.’
Agnette smiled, pleased to hear that Reinar was making Bjarni stay close. Terror rose and fell inside her body, and she felt close to tears most of the time. She feared what would come. Feared that she would never get to meet her child, or that Bjarni wouldn’t.
He squeezed her hand, and she turned to him, swallowing.
‘And where will Alys be?’ Sigurd asked, eyes up as Tulia opened the doors, ushering in a blast of cold air.
‘In her cottage,’ Reinar said, his voice almost a whisper, wondering if that was the right thing to do. ‘By herself.’ He was quickly convinced that it was definitely the wrong thing to do.
‘She should be in here with us,’ Agnette insisted.
‘Who?’ Tulia wondered, taking a cup of ale from Sigurd with a weary grin.
‘Alys. She should be in the hall.’
Tulia was quickly frowning. ‘Wouldn’t she be better off dreaming somewhere? By herself?’
‘Perhaps,’ Reinar said. ‘Though I’d rather she had help. If Hakon’s dreamer tries something... if she tries to get into the fort, she’ll need some help.’ He ran a hand over his beard, thinking. ‘Eddeth could stay with Alys.’
Agnette nodded. ‘Of course Eddeth should stay with Alys! After what happened to her neck?’ She shuddered, gripping Bjarni’s hand. ‘What’s to stop the dreamer from doing that to any of us?’ She frowned at Tulia. ‘We need more than archers for this fight, wouldn’t you say? Hakon Vettel’s surely going to throw more than arrows at us.’
Eddeth bustled into Alys’ cottage without knocking. Once the door was open, she wedged it with a stool, and, without speaking, headed back outside to bring in her baskets. There were three of them, each one heaving with herbs and other items in corked and wrapped jars that Alys couldn’t identify.
The smell was overpowering.
Alys helped her. There were bowls too. A cauldron filled with stew. And a pillow and fur.
‘I shall stay with you!’ Eddeth declared with a lop-sided grin. ‘Reinar thinks he ordered it to be, though little did he know it was my intention all along! For where else would I rather be as the battle rages on than by your side?’
Alys felt grateful for the company. ‘You can sleep in the bed.’
‘Bah! I often sleep on the floor,’ Eddeth insisted. ‘Comfort makes me itch. I prefer to stay in a permanent state of unease. Keeps the mind alert!’ She tapped her head, hurrying back outside. ‘Though I must get Rigfuss. He hates to be alone!’ And she disappeared into the darkness, hoping she wouldn’t find the cat wedged under her bed again.
Alys’ eyes moved to her own cat, quickly surprised she saw Winter that way. Arnon had hated animals with a passion. Magnus had adopted a stray puppy once. A secret puppy. She hadn’t known about it until she found it inside one day, eating from Magnus’ plate. He loved the puppy so much that she didn’t want to break his heart and get rid of it immediately. But Arnon had found it first. He had heard it wailing in the night, lonely and cold in the shed.
He’d wrung its neck to shut it up.
Alys closed her eyes, wanting an escape from the cruel memories.
With Arnon, everything had been cruel. Out of her control.
Yet, she was a dreamer, and according to Eddeth, dreamers could be powerful creatures indeed. Those favoured by benevolent gods and goddesses, at least.
Opening her eyes, Alys wondered what it would feel like to be powerful. She glanced down at the book, eager to find an answer, a way to keep Hakon Vettel’s dreamer out of the fort.
Out of her dreams too.
Falla had been pregnant for weeks according to Mother. And now that the reality of it was sinking in, she could feel it herself: those slight changes in her body; the waves of nausea she had put down to travelling in the wagon; the overwhelming tiredness and her aching back. So she was not thrilled to be dragged off as the army made camp for the night, into the forest with Mother, who had shoved a basket at her, insisting she stay close.
They had left Lotta behind with Ulrick, who was happy to be with her again. He pulled Lotta to him, looking her over, seeing if the old dreamer had hurt her in any way. ‘Has she fed you? Given you water?’
Lotta didn’t want to talk to him any more than she wanted to talk to Mother. She nodded, eyes returning to the fire they sat before. Ulrick crouched beside her, making a spit out of twigs. He’d caught two rabbits, killed and skinned them, eager to feed Lotta a good meal. She appeared ill in the glow of the flames.
Listless.
‘We’re not in Slussfall,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘But once we’re done with this battle we’ll head North again, get you settled in the cottage, in your very own chamber. Wait till you see it. It’s got a bed piled high with pillows. Bergit made them herself. Blankets too. She’s an expert weaver, you know. A skilled woman indeed.’
Lotta showed no interest in anything he was saying. She only wanted to hear talk of returning to Ullaberg so she could find her mother and brother. She didn’t want to go with Ulrick to his wife. Tears filled her eyes, and she couldn’t see. Everything blurred around her, including Ulrick’s voice. She heard the fires popping, men yelling to each other as they erected tents and shelter. Horses whinnied behind her, goats bleating too. The smell of cooking awakened some small part of Lotta that was actually hungry, and she was right back in her cottage, sitting at the table.
‘Don’t eat so fast!’ she heard her mother’s warning. ‘Lotta! You’ll burn your tongue!’
Lotta smiled, welcoming that familiar voice, trying to remember their table, her chair, the sound of the waves from the beach, Magnus chattering incessantly beside her.
‘Lotta, please, just hold on. I’m coming.’
Lotta spun around, shivering.
It was her mother’s voice, she was certain.
‘I’m coming for you, my darling, just hold on.’
And clasping her cold hands together, Lotta bent her head forward, watching her tears splash over them.
37
Dreaming was impossible with Eddeth snoring on the ground beside her.
Rigfuss snored too.
Alys rolled over to the wall, realising that she could no longer smell death in the cottage. Now it smelled of herbs and smoke and Eddeth.
The fragrant aromas reminded her of her mother, which was odd, she thought. Her mother had died when she was six; her father long before that.
Alys closed her eyes tight, wanting to remember what it had felt like to have a mother’s love; caring arms, a soothing voice in her ear. That unspoken certainty that she was protected. Loved.
Eddeth cried out suddenly, rolling over, muttering to herself, and Alys was wide awake again.
Agnette stared up at Bjarni, who was leaning over her, smoothing hair away from her face. No matter how many combs he bought or made for his wife, how many scarves, or leather thongs, her hair was always a wild mess.
He smiled.
‘You look scared,’ Agnette said.
‘What?’ Bjarni frowned at her. ‘I’m smiling, aren’t I?’
Their chamber was bright with glowing lamps. Agnette didn’t like to sleep in the dark, and Bjarni liked her to be happy, so
he always made sure there were more candles and lamps in their chamber than Gerda ever realised.
‘Your mouth may be, but your eyes are popping out of your head, Bjarni Sansgard. I know that look. You’re worried. Scared. Fearful.’
‘Alright, alright, I get the point.’ And leaving Agnette’s hair alone, Bjarni flopped back down beside her. Their bed was small, and since Agnette had almost doubled in size, there was barely any room to roll over. He sighed. ‘Things will get tricky soon. Very soon. It’s hard not to worry about you and the baby.’ He gently touched her belly, leaving his hand there, wanting to feel those elusive kicks, which, so far, only his wife had experienced.
‘Nothing much we can do but ride towards the storm.’
Bjarni turned to her. ‘That sounds familiar.’
‘It’s what my grandfather used to say. He survived many a storm, and he always used to tell us that when you’re in a ship, and you see that sky turning black, clouds coming towards you at pace, waves rising like mountains... all you can do is ride towards the storm.’ Agnette felt terror herself, but she didn’t want Bjarni worrying about her. She was perfectly capable of doing that all on her own.
Bjarni sighed, feeling his body loosen ever so slightly. ‘Well, sounds about right. We can’t pick up the fort and run away.’
Agnette laughed. ‘No, so we hold our heads high and face what’s coming. The threads of our destiny have already been woven. We can’t turn around and hurry to unpick them all, hoping to weave something else!’
‘Do you believe that?’ Bjarni moved his hand down towards hers, squeezing it, feeling it tremble. ‘That the gods have already made up their minds about us?’
‘Oh, yes. Our child too,’ Agnette said. ‘The gods know all about him.’
Bjarni closed his eyes, tired now, wishing he knew what the gods did. Wishing he was a dreamer. Though, perhaps not, he decided, for that was a heavy weight to bear. Holding everyone’s destiny in your mind. Uncertain who to save and who to let die...