Vale of the Gods

by A. E. Rayne

  And his mind was quickly back on the night they had escaped from Hest.

  And Jael.

  They stopped to take a break.

  Jael dropped to the ground with a groan, unable to feel her arse. She grimaced as Axl approached, swigging from his water bag. ‘I feel like some of Beryth’s mead,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t usually like mead, but that was delicious.’

  Axl was distracted, his eyes on the clouds. ‘Do you think a storm’s coming?’

  Jael looked up. Fyr had disappeared into the clouds again, which were thick but not threatening. ‘I doubt it. If the gods still control the weather, then I doubt it. A storm wouldn’t help us now.’

  Axl handed her his water bag, and Jael took a long drink, reminded of Gant. ‘I wonder how everything is going back at the fort.’

  Fyn joined them, a look of pain contorting his sunburned face.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Cramp,’ he grimaced. ‘My leg.’ And bending over, he tried to straighten his left leg.

  ‘Oh, poor us!’ Aleksander laughed, walking up to the moaners. ‘Poor us who’ve been sitting on our arses all morning. It’s hard work, all that sitting!’ And he looked back at the red-faced warriors who were trudging to a stop behind them.

  ‘Fair point,’ Axl agreed, his attention drifting back to Andala. ‘I hope they’re alright back in the fort. It’s a lot to ask of Edela, looking after everyone.’

  ‘But there’s Eydis,’ Fyn insisted, more comfortable now that he’d stretched out his leg. ‘And Ontine,’ he added shyly.

  ‘Ha!’ Axl was roused out of his dour mood by the look on Fyn’s face. ‘Knew you liked her!’

  Fyn’s cheeks quickly reddened like two apples. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Jael said, handing back her brother’s water bag. ‘Nothing wrong with that. Ontine’s a nice enough girl.’

  ‘Pretty too,’ Aleksander added.

  ‘Oh, noticed that, did you?’ Jael frowned.

  Thorgils arrived with Karsten. ‘Anyone got anything to eat? My saddlebag’s empty.’

  ‘Already?’ Aleksander never failed to be surprised by the size of Thorgils’ appetite.

  ‘We’ve been riding for hours. All day!’ Thorgils insisted.

  ‘It’s not even midday,’ Jael laughed as Torstan and Ivaar approached, Raymon and Rork behind them.

  ‘Midday?’ Thorgils was horrified, looking up, trying to see the sun through the clouds.

  They all laughed then, except for Jael whose attention had wandered to Ayla and Astrid who had walked from the wagon to stretch their legs. ‘Maybe Astrid can find you something to eat?’ she suggested. ‘It’ll save us all the headache of having to listen to you moan for the rest of the afternoon!’

  ‘Well, they are cleaner,’ Draguta admitted, running her eye over the orderly rows of bathed and brushed Followers. Not Followers, she reminded herself. Dreamers. They were her army of dreamers now. She did not wish for them to follow her like dull-eyed fiends. She simply wanted them to obey her.

  To have their unwavering, submissive obedience.

  Briggit had taken the Followers down to one of the coves for a long-overdue bath, a refreshing dip in water cold enough to soothe sunburned faces and chill overheated bodies. It had washed away the filth and the grime of the attack on Angard, the terrifying journey to Hest, the torturous days in the baking sun.

  But it could not remove the stench of fear.

  Draguta could smell it. ‘How long did the tailor say it would take to make them new robes?’ she wondered. ‘Longer than we have, I imagine. Unless we wrap them all in sheets!’

  Briggit didn’t smile. The Followers were clean, but they were still prisoners. Though, she realised, staring at some of the dark patches on the cobblestones, at least they were still standing.

  Not like poor Lillith and Sabine.

  ‘The tailor said many days, my lady,’ Brill mumbled, coming forward.

  ‘What’s that? Speak up!’ Draguta demanded, irritated by her servant’s habit of talking into her clothing. ‘I am up here, Brill! Up here!’

  ‘Many days,’ Brill repeated, her eyes up and blinking now. ‘He does not have enough cloth to make so many robes.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he does,’ Draguta realised, eyeing the tattered robes with distaste. ‘So we shall have to make do. Though what they are wearing is hardly as important as what they will do, is it?’ she smiled, turning to Briggit.

  And for the first time all day, Briggit smiled back.

  Eadmund had left the castle through the kitchen door, wanting to be alone. Yet there was Evaine, right where he had not expected her to be, talking to Tanja who was bent over, washing Sigmund’s clothes in the stream. Sigmund was lying on a swaddling cloth in the grass, naked and wriggling, enjoying the attention of one of the cooks who was cooing over him, an apple in her hand.

  The sun glared at him and Eadmund frowned back, turning to leave, but he heard his mother’s voice, and he saw her blissfully happy face as she cradled him in her arms, Eirik standing by her side. And he turned back, heading towards his son.

  ‘Eadmund!’ Evaine almost squealed in delight, lifting her shoulders and pushing out her breasts, wishing she was wearing her most flattering dress, but Tanja was washing that too. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  The cook made a hasty exit, and Eadmund bent down to smile at Sigmund, who seemed to recognise him. He wanted to think that he recognised him. And squatting down, he held out a finger for Sigmund to grip hold of, which his son eagerly did, trying to stick it in his mouth.

  ‘I told you he’d missed you,’ Evaine breathed, crouching beside him.

  Eadmund sighed. ‘Evaine.’ He glanced at Tanja, who quickly looked away. He didn’t mind speaking in front of Tanja, but he didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Yes?’ Evaine’s face was bright as she sat down next to her son, looking up at Eadmund expectantly.

  ‘You don’t care about Sigmund. You never have. I’m sure there’s a part of you that feels something, but I imagine that part is so small you can barely see it. You only care that he can help you get what you want. Which is me.’

  Evaine almost toppled backwards.

  ‘But he can’t. He can’t help you because I never loved you, Evaine. Not once.’ She looked as though she’d been stabbed but Eadmund kept going. He reminded himself what Evaine had done to Edela. How she had trapped him, bound him, pushed him away from Jael. And he kept going. ‘I was sad and lonely after Melaena died, and mostly drunk. I didn’t say no when I should have. I didn’t really want to be with you. I just didn’t want to be alone. I never loved you, Evaine, and I never will.’

  ‘But...’ Evaine spluttered. ‘But...’

  Eadmund leaned in closer, trying to get her to see. ‘Even if Jael was dead, I wouldn’t choose to be with you. If she chose someone else, I wouldn’t choose to be with you. I can’t love you, Evaine because I can’t find anything to love about you.’

  Evaine couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find a way to twist and turn Eadmund’s cruel words into something resembling hope. She couldn’t find any part of what he’d said to cling to. Lifting her head, she stared into his eyes, seeing the truth laid bare, feeling her life’s purpose unravel, pain flooding her heart. And standing up, she turned and strode across the grass, heading far away from Eadmund and everything she had believed in.

  Everything Morana had promised her since she was a girl.

  Ontine and Eydis were talking.

  Biddy was amazed. ‘That took some time!’ she exclaimed, plonking herself down next to Edela who had taken a break and was enjoying the company of Selene and Leya Skalleson. They had brought her a kitten to play with, and she was happy to take some time to talk to them, eager to rest her aching arm which had been circle making all day long.

  ‘When my Jael was little, she used to play with my cat,’ Edela smiled at the girls. ‘She was a very special cat. Not like this kitten. My cat was a magical
cat. Have you ever seen a magical cat?’

  The girls shook their heads, big eyes blinking.

  Isaura watched, smiling, not worrying about Thorgils for a brief moment.

  ‘Well, a magical cat can talk, you know,’ Edela went on. ‘But only a dreamer can hear it. Only a dreamer can understand what it says.’

  ‘But what does it want to say?’ Selene wondered, frowning. ‘Why do they talk to you?’

  ‘To help. They want to help. Sometimes they want something to eat, of course. A tickle. A bowl of milk. But sometimes they have a warning.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Well, a magical creature will warn you if you’re in danger.’

  ‘Oh.’ Selene looked down at the black kitten who was starting to get heavy in her little arms. ‘Are we in danger?’ she asked the squirming creature. ‘Can you see any danger?’

  ‘Where’d the sun go?’ Thorgils grumbled, shivering. ‘How is it this cold?’

  Torstan looked worried beside him. ‘Those clouds look thick enough for snow.’

  Thorgils had no appetite for the first time all day, which was another bad sign, he knew. Looking ahead to where Jael rode by herself, he wondered if he should go and have a word. He hadn’t seen that raven for a while, though the clouds were low. Perhaps she was lost in them?

  Jael could feel the chill of the afternoon air too. She could hear the silence of on-edge warriors trekking behind her. Even the horses were quiet.

  And as for the birds...

  They were crossing a meadow dotted with pretty flowers. White and yellow. Red and blue.

  It was so quiet.

  Jael was waiting for a storm. Listening for thunder.

  The clouds were a deep, dark grey, thickening and swirling like billowing smoke. She pulled on the reins, waiting while Axl, Fyn, and Raymon joined her, wondering how far back Aleksander was.

  ‘What is it?’ Axl looked worried.

  Jael didn’t answer. The hairs on the back of her neck were up, and as she turned around, she could see that the clouds were moving towards them at pace.

  Not clouds.

  It was a fog. A thick fog, coming in on each side of them.

  ‘Thorgils!’ Jael spun around. ‘Blow the horn. Let’s stop! That fog’s coming in fast! Fyn, ride down the line and warn everyone to bunch up. We need to stay together. Get to the wagon. Tell Ayla what’s happening!’

  She heard the wail of the horn as she turned around and then the loud warning cry of Fyr as she flew out of the fog, aiming straight for them.

  Draguta made Meena join in.

  ‘You will watch and learn,’ she insisted, sensing Meena’s discomfort grow as she peered at the Followers who had formed a circle around them. ‘I shall be in the centre. You may stand on one side of me, Briggit on the other. Three dreamers at the centre of a circle of power.’ Her eyes sparkled in anticipation for she had made the most intriguing discovery in the Book of Darkness, and she was eager to put it to the test.

  Slipping the Ring of Taron from her purse, she slid it on her finger.

  Meena watched, suddenly cold all over. Surprised that it felt cold.

  That was never a good sign.

  They had walked to the Crown of Stones, and though it was day and not night, Meena was shaking all over. The sky was grim, cloudy, threatening rain. Not even the bright light from the fire could dispel the terror she felt to be standing in the middle of those ancient stones again, surrounded by Followers.

  And then Draguta’s smile flashed through the gloom. ‘Now, we dance!’

  37

  ‘Shield! Houses!’ Jael screamed, though by the time she’d finished yelling, the fog had consumed them all.

  She couldn’t see Axl.

  ‘Jael!’

  Her brother sounded far away.

  ‘Axl?’

  ‘Jael!’

  Jael drew her sword. She couldn’t see anyone. She couldn’t even see Tig beneath her, but she could feel him trembling.

  Fyr was up above them somewhere, warning them.

  She tried to listen, spinning around, faced with wall after wall of fog. Suffocating, panic-inducing fog. Was it fog? She could smell something odd, her head suddenly hazy. ‘Aleksander?’ Slowly turning Tig around, Jael nudged him forward, one cautious step at a time. ‘Thorgils?’

  No one was there.

  Nothing was there.

  Just fog.

  And then a face. Ivaar.

  And he was swinging his sword, trying to kill her.

  Ayla and Astrid had been building up their fire as the temperature dropped. And just before the sound of Thorgils’ horn, Ayla had thrown one of her bundles of herbs onto the flames. ‘Into the circle!’ she cried to Astrid, dragging her inside, closing it after her. ‘Bruno!’ she called out. ‘Bruno!’

  He didn’t reply.

  They heard the sudden clanging of swords as the fog seeped into the wagon.

  ‘What is it?’ Astrid whispered, shaking as she edged closer to the fire. ‘Ayla, what’s happening?’

  Draguta chanted loudly, drawing a symbol in blood on her forehead, more symbols on her bare forearms. She spun around in the centre of the circle, flames crackling behind her, blood splattering her dress, eyes mad with ecstasy as the power of the spell surged through her. And dropping to her knees, bloody knife out, Draguta saw the symbol clearly in her mind, and eyes blinking now, she hurried to scratch it into the earth with the tip of her blade.

  Meena tried to see what she was doing as she swayed near Briggit, but the herbs were pumping powerfully in the fire, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Draguta was just a white-and-red blur as she came back to join them, and they were quickly moving again.

  Meena found herself tripping over her boots as she clumsily followed Draguta and Briggit in a dance that everyone seemed to know but her. Her feet felt too big, too slow, and she stumbled again and again, following after Draguta, listening to her deep voice thumping like a drum.

  Like a beating heart.

  It was inside her chest. Echoing in her head.

  Draguta was inside her.

  ‘Ivaar!’ Jael shouted, bringing Toothpick up to block his strike. ‘What are you doing?’ And then the fog shifted, and Ivaar was gone.

  Hearing screams, she spun around as a man she didn’t recognise ran towards her with an axe, aiming for Tig. ‘No!’ And reaching down, she started to bring her blade towards his arm when she felt a bite on her own. ‘Aarrghh!’ And spinning around, Jael saw Fyr digging her beak in through the tiny links in her mail. ‘Aarrghh!’ Turning back around, the man with the axe was gone, but another was there, and he yanked Tig’s bridle, trying to climb up to her.

  And then Fyr pecked Jael’s other arm, and her mind cleared as she kicked the man in the face, knocking him back into the fog, spurring Tig on. ‘Wind!’ Jael yelled as Fyr flew off, black wings quickly lost in the stinking fog. ‘We need wind!’

  Ayla gripped two symbol stones, trying to let her fears for Bruno dissipate, hoping she could release all thoughts of him from her mind. She needed to find Veiga, the Tuuran Goddess of Weather.

  She needed help clearing the fog.

  Astrid’s head was swivelling, eyes moving from Ayla to the thick white mist which had settled just outside the circle, almost touching her. It smelled so strange that she tried not to inhale as she leaned in, listening to Ayla chant.

  ‘Faster! Faster!’

  Meena could hear Draguta’s voice riding her like a horse, urging her on, her feet skipping now, as light as air, faster than she imagined possible. Her eyes were open, watching the Followers as they wove around her in circles; dark robes merged into a fog so thick she couldn’t see.

  She couldn’t see out.

  She had to keep going.

  She had to keep dancing.

  Thorgils was off his horse.

  He couldn’t see her anymore, but he could see Torstan who had his sword out, aiming for his throat. ‘What?’ He was furious. ‘What are you doing?
’ And unsheathing his own sword, Thorgils reversed it, slamming the pommel into Torstan’s chin. His friend stumbled backwards, just keeping to his feet, and Thorgils surged through the cloying fog after him.

  ‘Thorgils!’ Jael had heard him. She was trying to get to him. She had to stop him. She had to stop all of them. And then Aleksander was behind her, his hands around her throat.

  Jael threw herself forward, rolling him over the top of her, onto the ground, pointing Toothpick at him, wanting him to stay down. ‘It’s the fog! It’s doing something to us! Stay down! Stay down! Swords down!’

  ‘Aarrghh!’

  Jael heard the scream of agony, and distracted, she turned away just long enough for Aleksander to slide away from the tip of her sword. He was quickly up on his feet, slashing at her with his own sword, and then Fyr swooped in through the fog and bit him on the neck.

  ‘Fuck!’ Aleksander spun around, swinging for the raven who flapped away from his blade, biting the other side of his neck before disappearing back into the fog. Aleksander grimaced, shaking his head, blinking at Jael. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s the fog! It’s making us kill each other!’ Jael exclaimed. ‘Come on! I can hear Thorgils!’

  Bruno’s roar drew Ayla out of the trance. She lurched forward, close to the flames. The wagon was not large and nor was the circle she sat inside with Astrid.

  The tense look on Ayla’s face told Astrid that it hadn’t worked. Whatever Ayla had been trying hadn’t worked.

  ‘Bruno!’ Ayla couldn’t leave the circle, but she could hear more screaming.

  And then the door to the wagon slammed open, and Bruno stood there, blood dripping down his arm, a knife in each hand.

  Ready to kill them both.