by A. E. Rayne
‘Mmmm.’ Ake didn’t know how to begin. ‘It’s worse than bad. Winter is coming, and we’re all going to be fighting up to our armpits in the snow, that I can tell you.’
‘Fighting who?’ Sigurd wondered, eyes on Tulia, who looked lost as she tried to find a seat. But meeting his eyes, she quickly turned away, heading out of the hall.
Ake smiled. ‘A storyteller. A friend. A man who seeks revenge. One who was chosen by the gods himself. An army of such magnitude that we’ll struggle to contain them by ourselves.’
Reinar’s eyebrows were up. ‘Sounds bad.’
‘We need to get this fort put back together quickly, and then we’ll sort out your wayward neighbours,’ Ake sighed. ‘That was an unpleasant surprise. And not one I needed right now. We must create a wall across the South, for the North is revolting. And if we don’t hold the line, there won’t be one of us left to tell the tale.’
Alys had helped Stina and Eddeth in the barn throughout the afternoon and into the evening. All three women were exhausted, and the men before them, who had been bandaged and stitched, were trying to rest or sleep now.
‘I think we’re done!’ Eddeth announced with a sneeze. ‘Oh, the dreams we’ll have tonight! And the nightmares!’ She felt excited beyond words, eager to get back to her cottage and start packing. In all her life, she had never been on an adventure before, and her body tingled with anticipation.
‘Are you sure you want to come?’ Alys wondered to Stina, who was yawning, covered from head to toe in pitch and dust and cuts. ‘Reinar said he’ll return everyone back to Ullaberg soon. You don’t have to come with us. It won’t be easy.’
‘That it won’t!’ Eddeth chuckled with delight. ‘We will be tested by the gods themselves!’
Ignoring her, Stina nodded firmly. ‘I want to come. I want to find the children with you, Alys, I truly do. And getting away from here...’ She glanced around nervously, though there was no sign of Torvig. ‘I want to come with you.’
Alys was pleased. ‘Then go and sleep. I must say goodbye to Agnette and Bjarni, and Ludo promised to help organise some horses. I’ll meet you both in the stables at first light. I don’t want to get caught saying goodbye. We just need to be gone. Quickly.’
Stina looked pleased, though the thought of seeing Torvig terrified her. She hoped he would be too busy in the hall, celebrating with the Vilanders and the king to come looking for her.
‘Stina? Are you alright?’ Alys wondered as Eddeth left. ‘You can sleep in my cottage, if you like? If you’d rather? Though there’s only one bed.’
‘No, no. No,’ Stina insisted. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Happy to be leaving.’
Alys slipped her arm around Stina’s waist, ready to agree.
But she couldn’t.
Sigurd had staggered out of the hall, wanting to find Tulia. She wasn’t in their chamber. Not up on the wall. Not near Amir’s body either. Tulia liked her own company, and would often wander off to find some peace and quiet, but he knew that sometimes she was just being stubborn and couldn’t ask for what she wanted, which was to be comforted.
She couldn’t ask at all.
Though Sigurd doubted that Tulia wanted to be with the man she blamed for her brother’s death.
Eventually, he found her in the stables with her horse, talking to him, crying with him. He saw that when she turned around, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks wet with tears.
‘What?’
‘I just wanted to see if you were alright.’
‘I’m not. Anything else?’
‘No.’ Sigurd turned away, heading for the doors. He stopped, spinning back around. ‘I’m glad you were here. You and Amir. You saved lives. You helped those women many times today, I saw that. Amir too. I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry you stayed, because I always want you with me. I always want to be with you.’ He stared at Tulia in the darkness, flames flickering in sconces along the walls, but not enough to show more than angles and shadows; sharp and harsh. He couldn’t see her beautiful eyes now.
‘I suspect that’s because you’re selfish, Sigurd Vilander. Always thinking about yourself. About your mother, who is mean to you, or your father, who is ruined, or your brother, who you wish you could be. And now, when I’m gone, you’ll have all the time in the world to think about yourself.’ She ran a hand down the cold cheek of her dappled stallion, always amazed by the silkiness of his coat; reminded of her home in Kalmera, and the beautiful silks her mother had worn.
‘I hope you change your mind, but I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.’
‘Once you wanted to leave too, or have you forgotten?’
‘No, I remember, but now I know where I belong. Ottby is my home. I must stay by Reinar’s side because that’s the oath we took. To defend the bridge. To protect the king. To keep Alekka free from the Northern threat.’ He thought about what Ake had warned was coming, and swallowing, Sigurd headed for the doors. ‘I’d rather do all of that with you, but I don’t blame you for wanting to go.’ And pulling open a door, Sigurd slipped outside.
Tulia watched the door bang shut, her shoulders slumping, tears flowing now. It wasn’t Sigurd’s fault. None of it was. None of it.
She shook her head, sliding down to the straw, tears dripping onto her knees. Her arm was aching, and she realised that she’d never let anyone take out her arrows. The wounds stung, and for the first time in hours, she could feel something that wasn’t anger or grief.
She saw Sigurd’s face, and she wanted to go to him. Then she saw Amir falling before her, and she burst into tears, unable to move.
Alys smiled at the cat who sat on the cloak.
She would take the cloak with her, but not the cat. Which felt odd. Winter was more than just a cat, she was certain. And she worried that leaving him behind was the wrong thing to do, but tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her, and she staggered towards the bed, desperate to lie down.
Winter waited as she wriggled and shuffled about in the bed, listening to it creak angrily, before curling into a ball, his back against Alys’ chest, purring.
‘You have the loudest daughter,’ Bjarni grinned as Agnette yawned beside him, clutching their tiny baby to her chest. She was trying to feed her and not managing it effectively. He didn’t know how to help her, but Agnette could barely keep her eyes open.
‘I need to sit up,’ she groaned. ‘She needs to eat something. I need her to eat something.’ More yawns as Bjarni helped to prop her up. ‘She’s very loud, isn’t she? Gerda’s not going to be happy.’ It made Agnette laugh. ‘I can’t believe I managed to push her out.’
‘Well, I think Eddeth and her big knife were quite motivating in the end, weren’t they?’
‘They were!’ Agnette lifted her daughter’s head higher, trying to get her in position. The lamps were bright, though she was so tired, she could barely see. ‘I’m just so relieved, Bjarni. That she’s here. That you’re here. I can’t believe what happened in the fort. What Hakon’s dreamer did. What Alys did. That Ake came!’
‘Ssshhh,’ Bjarni soothed, sensing that the baby was starting to fall asleep. ‘Why don’t I take her for a while? Let you sleep?’
‘But she needs to feed.’
‘She also needs to sleep, and so do you. Leave her with me awhile, and you can close your eyes.’ And gently, if not slightly awkwardly, Bjarni took the swaddled baby from Agnette, working hard to keep her head supported, not wanting to drop her. ‘You sleep, my sweet Agnette, and I’ll think of a name.’
‘You?’ Agnette grumbled, wriggling down into the bed, eyes quickly closed. ‘After what I went through? You think I’ll let you name her?’
Bjarni chuckled, watching his wife’s head drop to one side, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled, peeking at his daughter’s face. ‘Lara?’ he wondered, wrinkling his nose. ‘Or Hilda, for my mother?’
‘We’re not naming her after your mother!’
And laughing softly, Bjarni lay his head back o
n the pillows, feeling like the luckiest man alive.
Alys stood in the straw. It stuck to her bare feet, and she wanted to shake it off. She needed to leave the barn.
Why was she in a barn?
Turning, she could hear voices, a door banging.
It was dark, and she didn’t recognise the place. There were no horses, though some animals had obviously been living there. Old tools hung from nails along the wattle and daub walls. She saw bales of hay. An old cart.
It was Ullaberg, where she had hidden their supplies, their saddlebags for the escape.
Alys spun around, hearing a voice.
‘You think you can leave me, Alys? My love, my wife!’ Arnon walked towards her, arms out. ‘Thought you could try to escape again? Take my children from me?’
His smile terrified her. She saw his naked chest, his hand in a fist, bare feet, just like hers as he stepped towards her.
‘I’ll never let you leave me, Alys. We are bound by law, by love, by the oath we took before the gods. I will never let you leave me, not even in death!’
Alys tried to back away, but her feet were stuck in the straw, and she couldn’t move. Voices whipped around her in the darkness: the old dreamer, Lotta, Reinar, the sound of the wolves, the raven, and Stina.
She froze, shivers racing up and down her spine.
The man before her was no longer Arnon.
It was Torvig.
And she could hear Stina screaming.
Tulia walked slowly back to the hall. She had fallen asleep in the stables, surprised by that, and though she felt no better, she knew that she wanted to find Sigurd. She wanted to make it right. And she needed him to take out her arrows. The pain in her right arm was excruciating now. Rubbing her eyes, she turned down the alley, taking the quickest route back to the hall. It was dark, and she tried to blink open her eyes, not wanting to trip over anything.
She felt light-headed. Dizzy.
And then she heard a shout.
‘Help! Tulia! Help me!’
Tulia recognised the dreamer’s voice, and she quickened her pace to where Alys stood, fully dressed, outside a shed. ‘What are you doing?’
‘He... I..’ Alys had been trying to break down the doors. ‘It’s Torvig! He’s taken Stina. He’s in there, hurting her! I dreamed it!’
The moon shone brightly, and Tulia could clearly see the panic in Alys’ eyes. She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the old shed, but it was better to check just in case. And she certainly wouldn’t put it past Torvig. So, stepping back, Tulia aimed her boot at the meeting of the doors, watching them bend and shudder but not part. Tired and irritable, she stepped back and did it again, feeling them give some more. And on the third try, they flung open, and quickly drawing her sword, Tulia stepped inside, Alys right behind her.
Torvig hurried to shut the doors behind them, aiming his sword at Tulia’s chest. ‘See... now we have a problem. Oh, how I didn’t want to have this problem.’
Eyes on Torvig, Tulia shuffled her legs apart, feeling the slip of the mucky straw beneath her boots, the throbbing pain of the arrows in her arm, the sword oddly heavy in her hand. She glanced at Stina, who was whimpering in the distance, trying to cover herself up. Moonlight shone through a myriad of holes in the roof and walls. The shed was small, but big enough to house a three-wheeled wagon wrapped in cobwebs; a lot of tools in need of sharpening and repair; the odd tree stump too.
‘Alys, take her and go,’ Tulia ordered, eyes on Torvig’s sneering face.
‘You think I’ll allow that?’ Torvig snorted, watching Alys pull Stina out of the straw, helping her to stand, but there was nowhere to go. He was blocking the doors. ‘You think I’ll allow any of you to leave?’
Tulia burst out laughing. She’d had enough of the day, and she’d certainly had enough of Torvig Aleksen. ‘You want to kill me? Fine. Try it and die. But them?’ She didn’t look around. ‘Why do you need to kill them? Because they can’t defend themselves? You like hurting them? That’s the game?’
Torvig’s smile was gone now, and he lunged at Tulia, smelling the blood on her. She was wounded. Weak. He could see the broken arrows sticking out of her arm.
Tulia yelped as she ducked out of his path, watching him skid past her. The surface was deadly, and she cursed herself for not getting those arrows out earlier. They were going to cause her problems.
Torvig didn’t appear injured at all as he spun back to her, sword arcing through the air, aiming for her head. He was not quite as tall as Tulia, though, and her blade was longer. She parried his with ease, gritting her teeth against the burning pain in her arm. ‘Alys! Leave!’ she yelled. ‘Get her out!’ And quickly swapping her sword into her left hand, Tulia carved it towards Torvig’s waist.
Torvig slipped on the straw, sword dropping, and Tulia’s blade cut across his belly. He had taken off his mail after Ake arrived and now wore only a light tunic. He bellowed in anger, teeth clamped together, stumbling backwards.
Tulia, though, was still in full battle gear, and she swapped her sword back into her right hand, kicking Torvig in the balls, wanting to knock him over. But he held his balance, coming for her again, crouched over, growling. They circled each other, pain contorting their faces.
Alys watched them both, holding Stina close. She could see the doors, and she would aim for them the moment it was safe, though when that would be, she had no idea.
Tulia kicked Torvig again, left leg this time, straight in his bleeding waist.
‘You bitch!’ he spat, realising that he had to get her down to the ground quickly. He knew how she fought. All that pointless kicking. All for show. And gripping his sword in both hands, he scythed it towards her breasts.
Jumping back, Tulia slipped on the straw, panic in her eyes, knowing she’d lost her balance. She tried to keep hold of her sword, and she did, but as she fell, Torvig was over her, kicking it out of her weak grip.
Tulia rolled quickly, screaming as she leaned on the broken arrows. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she ducked away from Torvig, who was struggling to keep his own balance.
‘You’ve no weapon, Tulia.’ Torvig was enjoying himself now. ‘No weapon for you!’ He saw Tulia’s eyes snap to her sword, lying in the straw, calculating how quickly she could scoop it up, and he kicked it away. ‘But I have one I’d be happy to give you.’ And lunging, he jabbed his sword at her, one, two, three times.
Tulia jumped back, hopping from side to side, trying to stay on her feet, conscious of the blood pouring from her wounds now, her ears a buzzing frenzy. She saw a glimpse of Sigurd in her mind, leaning over the railings, watching her fight, blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine.
Jerking to the right, she could feel the scrape of Torvig’s blade across her arm, knowing that she’d lost her knives in the battle. She didn’t have another weapon.
But Torvig did.
And swapping his sword into his left hand, he dragged his knife from behind his back, throwing it at Tulia’s face. Tulia dipped to the side, away from the knife, her eyes snapping to Torvig’s sword, which was coming for her next. Taking the grip in both hands, Torvig jumped forward, two steps in quick time, making Tulia scramble backwards.
Too quickly.
And losing her balance again, arms in the air, trying to keep to her feet, she fell onto the straw with a grunt.
The sound was odd, Alys thought, shivering.
And Tulia didn’t move.
‘Stay there,’ Alys whispered to Stina as Torvig bent over Tulia, who had fallen onto an enormous ship nail, which now protruded from her throat as she lay in the straw, dying.
‘What a shame, a very sad, sad end. But there you go. A woman fighting a man? That was never going to end well. For her.’ Torvig spun around suddenly, surprised to see Alys standing there, holding Tulia’s sword.
He burst out laughing. She appeared to be shaking. He could almost hear her teeth chattering with nerves. He could certainly hear Stina sobbing, begging Alys to stop.
&
nbsp; Alys.
It was a pretty name.
And she was a pretty, pretty thing, as Reinar had noticed. Sigurd too. He’d seen that. And now Sigurd would be looking for a new love. But he wouldn’t have this one. Not her.
Alys heard Tulia gurgling. She remembered her dream, and she gripped the sword tighter, willing her legs to stop shaking.
‘Shall we play awhile?’ Torvig mused, running his tongue over his teeth. ‘Is that what you’d like, dreamer? Before I kill you both? Only two to go. I’ve plenty of time to hide your bodies before dawn.’
Alys blinked, images of Arnon standing before her, body glowing in the moonlight. ‘My grandfather...’ She swallowed, feeling the cold sword grip in her hand. It felt oddly familiar. ‘My grandfather is Jonas Bergstrom.’
Torvig was surprised. ‘Well, you kept that quiet, didn’t you? A famous warrior indeed. But whatever happened to him? I haven’t seen him in years.’ He edged closer, watching as Alys stepped back, her eyes never leaving his.
She looked ready to cry.
‘He took care of me,’ Alys breathed, heart racing. ‘He taught me everything.’ And she took one hand away from the sword, feeling the weight of it. It was Tulia’s sword, and it felt too heavy for her. It reminded her of those times her grandfather had made her practice with his sword instead. ‘You never know whose sword you’ll end up using, Alys,’ he’d told her. ‘In a fight, you can’t be picky. Work with what you’ve got. Kill to survive.’
Torvig could barely contain himself. ‘He taught you how to fight?’
Alys was lost. She could see her husband beating her. Hurting her. Threatening her. And not once had she picked up a sword. A weapon. Not once.
Not once.
Tears of anger burned her eyes, and she blinked them away, needing to see. Badly needing to see. The straw was littered with danger; Tulia had shown her that.
She could smell that Tulia had died. She could hear it. Feel it too.
She thought of Sigurd and Reinar.