by A. E. Rayne
Yet how was that possible?
His arm felt as though it was being crushed by a giant.
Kicking and wriggling, Ivan tried to move as the hand swung at him again. He swayed left and right, back scuffing dirt, screaming as the sharp tip of a claw caught his cheek. The vatyr moved, shifting its weight onto its right leg and Ivan felt a release, quickly freeing his arm, back on his feet, ducking another blow to the head.
Turning, he started running, legs trembling, almost giving way.
Eyes up, Ivan aimed for the trees, hoping to find somewhere to hide.
And then he was jerked backwards, the growling vatyr swinging him by the cloak.
Eddeth screamed, clinging to Stina, who was too frightened to even breathe.
‘Stay behind me!’ Alys cried, unleashing Tulia’s sword as the vatyr lunged at Hakon. She felt her blade slice through nothing, and stumbling, she righted herself quickly as the creature turned to grab her. Alys ducked, Eddeth tumbling to the ground behind her. Stina rushed to pick her up, shrieking in terror as the vatyr turned its glowing eyes on her.
Njall burst into the tent, Rikkard behind him. Rikkard had picked up a spear, though he was not skilled with it, and Njall charged ahead of him, aiming for the dark creature.
‘We can’t kill them!’ Alys shouted as more of the tent was ripped open, another angry vatyr looking to kill the Lord of Slussfall. The tent poles started tumbling down, unbalancing everything.
‘Aarrghh!’ Eddeth yelped, hit on the head, falling to the ground again.
‘Give me the spear!’ Njall yelled, brushing off the branches and sheets that had dropped on his head. And grabbing Rikkard’s spear, he stabbed to his left, keeping his right axe hand just as busy, head swivelling, trying to see.
Thunder crashed overhead, and Alys saw a glimpse of something from Salma’s book. For a moment, she was back in Ottby, inside her cottage, Winter curled up beside her, purring, while a storm raged outside. She’d read that book without taking much of it in, but a few things had stuck. So stepping back, Alys let Njall take on both creatures alone, slipping behind Rikkard. She sheathed Almasa, dragging out her small knife, and quickly nicking her palm, she threw the knife to the ground and unsheathed the sword again, gently pressing its tip against her bleeding hand.
‘Aarrghh!’ Njall was knocked to the ground, the bigger of the two vatyr looming over him, hissing.
‘Alys!’ Stina panicked, the other creature aiming straight for her, roaring with intent, fangs gleaming in the firelight.
Jumping back in front of her two friends and a frozen Rikkard, Alys ducked a clawed hand, grunting. She backhanded her sword, trying to drag it across the vatyr’s leg. It lurched away, screeching, leaving its friend to knock Alys off her feet.
‘Alys!’ Eddeth dragged Stina back to what was once the tent flap. ‘Help! Help!’
The vatyr had surrounded them.
There were flashes of lightning; just enough to see eyes and teeth, shapes moving.
Lief couldn’t breathe. He could hear them coming closer, their growling sounds rumbling deeply, rippling all around them. He felt nauseous, thoughts scattered. He needed to hold the shield wall, but he could sense that his men were ready to run. Bowels turning to liquid, they wanted to flee.
But they had to protect the camp.
Falla. The servants. The men and women behind them, relying on them.
They had to protect them all.
‘Hold!’ he yelled, voice breaking. ‘Hold the wall!’
Ivan could hear the desperation in Lief’s voice as he ripped his cloak out of the vatyr’s claws, charging away from the creature again. He blinked, trying to see, thoughts skipping ahead to how he would find a weapon, to where he could go.
Eyeing the trees, he aimed for them again.
And then he pulled up, two vatyr leaping over the bushes towards him, bodies hunched over, claws out.
Snarling.
Lief could hear the creatures behind him now, and he twisted his head, looking over his shoulder, eyes bursting open.
They’d been outflanked.
The vatyr were in the camp.
‘Hold!’ he yelled, heart thumping, trying to see the tent he’d left Falla in. ‘Hold here!’ He pulled out of the shield wall, arms trembling now. The archers behind him were having no luck, their arrows flying straight through the vatyr, stabbing into the ground.
But still, he called for half of them to follow him. ‘Kurt! Eino! Bring your men. With me!’ And not waiting to see if they were behind him, Lief ran towards the centre of the camp, eyes on the giant shadows looming over the tents.
Njall couldn’t move. The vatyr had him pinned to the ground, lightning streaking through the sky above his head, revealing a face devoid of any features; just eyes and teeth; long, sharp fangs dripping saliva, coming straight for him.
Alys was trying to get back to her feet as the other creature growled, lunging at her. But seeing that Njall was about to be killed, she rolled, lashing out with her sword, stabbing Njall’s attacker through its side.
The vatyr’s shriek of pain was like a thousand ravens taking to the sky, and Stina, Eddeth, and Rikkard threw their hands over their ears, crying out. Alys staggered back to her feet, both hands around her sword, panting, one eye on Njall, who wasn’t moving, her other eye on the two vatyr, who were howling before her now.
Large, dark bodies curled over, masking glowing teeth and fangs, until they resembled storm clouds, twisting and turning and bleeding into one another.
And then, like smoke, vanishing up a hole in the roof, they were gone.
‘Aarrghh!’ Ivan rolled quickly, feeling the scrape of claws down the side of his neck. He scrambled to his feet, panting, no memory of where his sword was, but he held a knife in his hand, and, hair in his eyes, he stabbed it forward.
Blinking.
Suddenly aware that the vatyr had gone.
Alys and Stina helped Njall to sit up, all three of them trembling.
Njall shook his head, trying to hear. ‘What? What happened? Where did they go?’ He grimaced, feeling around his wounded throat, already bleeding down his tunic. And then, eyes up, he glanced at the mound of furs, rain falling into the broken tent. ‘My lord!’ Up on his feet quickly, he peered at Hakon.
Stina and Alys followed him, but Hakon hadn’t even stirred, and then they were all shrieking as Ivan ran inside.
‘Are you alright?’ He was breathless, heart thumping.
‘Well, until you gave me a heart attack, yes, perfectly fine, thank you,’ Eddeth muttered, stepping quickly towards the bed, checking on Hakon.
‘Has it stopped?’ Stina wondered as Ivan looked towards his cousin.
‘I think so, yes.’ He was breathless, still in shock. ‘Vatyr. They... killed many, then vanished.’ Ivan shook his head, thinking how close he’d come to having it removed from his body. ‘I don’t know what happened, but my cousin, is he alright?’
Eddeth nodded. ‘Sleeping like a baby! Lucky man. I think tonight’s taken years off my life. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a sip of chamomile tea!’ She glanced at Ivan, who was staring at Alys, rolling her eyes.
Every man with a pulse was always staring at Alys.
Ivan finally drew his attention away from Alys, glancing around at the mess of the broken tent. ‘Njall, help Rikkard put everything back together, then send him to me. There’ll be a lot of injured.’ He ignored Eddeth, whose mouth was open, hanging on his every word, instead turning back to Alys. ‘Once we ensure it’s safe, I’ll send him back for you. We’ll need your help.’
Alys nodded, chest heaving.
She just wanted to leave the Vettels and their army behind. She needed to escape and find Magnus and Lotta, but even the gods seemed to be conspiring to draw her further and further away from her children now.
Lief held Falla in his arms outside the servant’s tent, feeling her trembling against his chest. ‘They’re gone. All of them.’
‘But what’s to stop
them coming back?’ Falla felt ill. Exhausted. The gaping hole Mother had left behind was becoming a great chasm they were all about to tip into. She’d resented the dreamer, constantly irritated by her, but she hadn’t realised how much she’d relied upon the old woman. Mother had been stronger than any of Hakon’s warriors. Wiser, braver, more dangerous and much more useful.
And now, without her?
She panicked, seeking Lief’s reassurance. ‘We have to get back to Slussfall! We have to get to safety!’
‘We will, as soon as Hakon is recovered we can start moving again.’
‘Hakon? He’s not the king Alekka needs,’ Falla hissed. ‘You know that. Nor is Ivan. Can you imagine either of those fools in charge? Look at what happened in Ottby! Mother tried her best to help Hakon, and look at what happened to her!’
‘You need sleep, my love,’ Lief soothed, wanting to stop Falla there, knowing that a door, once opened, could never be truly shut again. ‘I must go back, see to the injured. Don’t think about Hakon anymore, please.’ Falla was his weakness, he knew, but he could not become consumed by ambition, lost in a haze of greed and desire.
He couldn’t.
8
Ake looked sad as he took his leave of Stellan. ‘You must come to Stornas, visit Estrella and the children. My daughters are growing tall! Both of them!’ His grin was wide, but his eyes stung with tears. His son had died four months ago. Stellan didn’t know that. A sickness had taken him, as it had taken many children in Stornas over the summer. It was part of the reason he’d left, wanting to head west, to put down any hint of rebellion, hoping that the time away from Stornas and its many problems would give him the chance to grieve. He bent down to hug Stellan, feeling as terrible as ever, the grief eating him up inside. ‘You keep holding the fort, old friend, and I’ll see you soon.’ Standing, he nodded at Gerda. ‘I thank you for your hospitality as always, Gerda. The memory of those spiced sausages will keep me hungry all the way back to Stornas!’
Gerda was pleased with the compliment, smiling broadly. ‘I shall send some to you when we make another batch. They’re Reinar’s favourite too.’ She glanced at Reinar, who looked distracted, not paying attention to the king at all. He had dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. She frowned, hoping to get his attention, wanting him to look Ake’s way.
Reinar could sense her displeasure, and he smiled at the king, eyes brighter now, though just as tired and grainy. ‘I wish you a quick journey home, my lord.’
Ake laughed. The snow was coming down in thicker and thicker flakes, clumping together, and he was ready to head back into the hall and sit by the fire for the day. ‘Yes, well, it’s a good wish to have! I wish you luck finishing off the Vettels. And once I’ve made my plans, and Algeir has seen to Hovring and Vika, we’ll meet. Head north. I must assemble an army big enough to withstand all our enemies. It will take some time, and a lot of talking!’ Ake felt the tension in his body tighten a notch, not looking forward to that. ‘And, in the meantime, I’ll await news from the Eastern Shore and my loyal men doing all my hard work for me!’ Turning, he headed for his mighty horse, Frey, who kept flicking his head, not enjoying the snow in his eyes. Ake grabbed the reins in one hand, wrapping them around the pommel, and sticking a boot into a stirrup, he threw himself up into his fleece-covered saddle. His steward hurried towards him, handing up his polished helmet, ringed with a thin band of gold. And shoving it on his head, Ake grinned down at Reinar, who’d been joined by Bjarni and Sigurd now. ‘Keep me informed. I want to hear everything you hear. Everything that’s happening with our pesky neighbours. All your progress.’
Reinar nodded, happy to see Sigurd, who looked as though he’d spent the night crying. Or drinking. Likely both. They would put Tulia’s body on her pyre in the afternoon, and he knew Sigurd would be dreading that. ‘I will. Of course.’
Raising a hand to Stellan, and Bolli, who stood behind Stellan’s chair, looking just as bleary-eyed as everyone else, Ake nudged Frey towards the bridge gates, thoughts immediately turning to his wife, eager to be home.
Reinar glanced at his miserable brother, then up at the sinking snow clouds. ‘Well, that’s not going to make the day any easier, but we need to get those gates back on.’
Sigurd nodded, almost looking forward to it. He wanted to use his hands. He wanted to do, not feel. And avoiding looking up at the inner wall, which just reminded him of Tulia and her archers, he headed after Bjarni, who was walking towards the broken gates.
Reinar hurried to catch up with them. ‘We need to think about training, getting ourselves ready to leave. Ake’s left us eight hundred men. They won’t want to camp out on the field for long. And we’ve got all those Slussfall prisoners to see to as well. Best we get moving as soon as we can. Ludo! You head out to the field. Take Berger and Svenn with you! Let’s see how many of those catapults can be repaired easily. Bring them all into line. I’ll inspect them this afternoon. If we can still see by then!’ He clapped Sigurd on the back, feeling him flinch. ‘Sorry! I keep forgetting how many holes you have in you now!’
Sigurd shook his head, not caring. The pain in his shoulder didn’t bother him; the pain in his back or his leg either. That pain would recede. That pain would not break him. But grief... the finality of loss...
He dropped his aching eyes, wanting to disappear.
Then sensing his brother’s worry, he lifted his head, attempting a smile. ‘Not sure either of us are going to be much use, but we can still yell orders, I suppose.’
Reinar nodded. ‘That we can.’ And he headed through the gates, forcing his mind away from Alys and Elin and especially Tulia and the pyre to come, trying to convince himself that there was no time for any other thought in his head now but defeating the Vettels.
The camp was a mess.
The morning had dawned bright and clear, and Alys, Stina, and Eddeth walked around the fires in silence, still shocked by the damage the vatyr had wrought in the night. They had been helping the injured, using what supplies they could find. Most of those men had been taken care of now, though many had lost limbs, some scarred for life.
Ivan’s men had been working since dawn to bring the bodies out of the trees, into the clearing, where a long pit was being dug. The Lords of Hovring and Vika had been laid out separately, and their remaining men stood over their lords’ headless bodies, trying to understand what had happened.
Stina turned away. ‘I never imagined anything like that was real,’ she breathed, worried eyes on Alys. ‘I... how did you know what to do?’
The smell of death and blood was overpowering.
Alys felt sick, reluctant to speak. She could still hear the voice of the god who had come to her, and she wondered who he was. Eddeth kept whispering that it was Thenor, and that made Alys even more unsettled. She blinked, trying to bring herself back into the moment, listening to the cries of the injured, many still writhing in pain, begging for help. ‘Something I read in Salma’s book. About using dreamer’s blood as a weapon. A way to defeat evil. I didn’t think it would work, though.’
‘Well, I’m glad it did,’ Stina sighed. ‘So glad.’
They were not alone.
Njall walked behind them, eyes on the women, his neck expertly stitched by Stina, his ears still ringing.
Eddeth’s lips were clamped together, trying to resist the urge to speak. Even she was aware of how dangerous her twitchy lips could make things for them.
Alys was pleased, slipping her arm through Eddeth’s. ‘Are you hungry?’ She saw Falla Gundersen crouched over a fire, hood back, beautiful red cloak lying in the slush. ‘Smells like porridge.’
Stina looked ill at the thought of food, but Eddeth’s eyes brightened. She almost thought about speaking but nodded instead.
Alys turned to Njall. ‘Can we stop here? Find something to eat?’
Njall tugged on his long beard, looking for all the world as though he would say no, but he nodded. ‘But then we must go back to the lor
d’s tent. He will need you.’
Stina looked away from Njall, feeling self-conscious. After what Torvig had done to her, she felt under threat from every man who came near her. She stepped closer to Alys, who was smiling at Falla.
‘May we join you?’ Alys asked, catching a hint of irritation in Falla’s eyes, sensing that she didn’t appear to enjoy helping others. And then she froze, seeing a glimpse of Falla with Lotta, holding her daughter’s hand, feeding her, trying to keep her warm.
‘Is something wrong?’ Falla wondered, struggling back to her feet.
Alys shook her head. ‘No, I think we’re just tired. It was a strange night.’ She shivered, deciding that strange was not quite the right word for it, still seeing those gleaming white fangs snapping at her.
Falla turned to one of the servants. ‘You may serve the women some porridge, if there’s enough?’ She swallowed, feeling ill. The waves of nausea sometimes disappeared quickly. Other times, they lingered for hours, and she didn’t want to even move.
The servant nodded, ducking her head, looking for more bowls, doubting she’d find any.
‘Are you unwell?’ Alys asked, eyes on an ashen-faced Falla.
She shook her head dismissively. ‘I am with child. The mornings can be... difficult.’
No one spoke.
Lief arrived, pleased to see Njall with the three women. ‘And how is the lord this morning?’ He addressed Eddeth, whose eyes popped open, not trusting herself to say one word.
Stina rushed ahead of her. ‘We’ve only just finished helping the wounded, but he was resting comfortably when we last saw him.’
‘And will he recover?’ Again Lief addressed Eddeth, who was trying to avoid his dark eyes. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us?’ He was tired, impatient and suspicious.