Daughters Of The Storm (29 page)

Ragnar turned and seemed to notice Wylm for the first time. ‘You speak our tongue?'

‘I am trained in diplomacy. I am the son of Æthlric's queen, Gudrun of Tweoning.'

Ragnar nodded to the big man. ‘Let him stand. Unbind his hands.' He crouched as Wylm sat up and offered his hands to be untied. ‘Why do you bring him to us?'

‘I want to kill Bluebell. I have heard that Hakon still lives and I want an alliance with him to take her down. Her father is sick, dying. Now is the time to act.'
Please don't kill us, please don't kill us.

Ragnar considered him, lips pursed among the bright whiskers. ‘How do I know you are who you say you are?'

‘He could be making it up,' the big man said.

‘The child has the ring,' said another.

‘So take the ring and kill them both.'

‘Hakon would want to see them.'

Wylm caught his breath. The whispers were true. Hakon hadn't died at his brother's hand.

‘He has a randrman who could tell if they were lying.'

‘The boy can't lie. He's simple.'

Laughter erupted. ‘Bluebell's son is a simple.'

‘Hakon will enjoy that joke.'

Their voices swirled around him and he struggled to keep up with what they were saying. But he heard one word over and over: Hrafnsey. The Island of Ravens.

Finally, Ragnar made his decision. ‘If these two are who they say they are, Hakon will want them alive. We sail this evening.'

‘We are going to see Hakon?' Wylm asked.

‘You'd best not be lying,' Ragnar said. ‘For Hakon's randrman will know and it will be the axe's edge for you.'

‘I'm not lying,' Wylm said boldly. ‘I fear no practitioner of magic.' But he did. There wasn't a thing about this situation he didn't fear.

Their longship was pulled up on the muddy beach about five miles from where they'd intercepted him. From here, Wylm could see the smoke of the village of Græweall, where he had spent the previous night. Eni was at his wit's end, rocking from side to side and muttering as they tried to lead him onto the ship. Finally, they capitulated and let Wylm take him and sit with him under cover on the floorboards, with some barrels and a few skinny sheep. The raiders took an hour to organise themselves and pack their belongings. Wylm could feel the thuds and creaks of the ship as they did, while Eni's bony body trembled as though he might shake to pieces.

The fog had finally lifted and the sky was clear and pale blue as the raiders pushed the ship over mud and rattling pebbles and into the water. The ship found its weight in the water, bobbed softly. One by one, the raiders climbed in and took up oars, while Ragnar strode to the back and took the tiller. Wylm could see his legs from his place among the stored goods.

They lifted their oars and started to row, out past the currents into deep, dark water. A horn sounded. The sails came flapping down and they tacked against the wind, picked up speed.

Eni clung harder to Wylm, whimpering.

‘Sh, now, lad,' Wylm said. ‘All will be well.'

The ship arrowed north, towards Hrafnsey.

Willow's throat was sore and her mouth was dry from praying. She no longer needed to whisper her prayers under her breath: Heath kept his distance from her, so when she sat in here with Father, it was as if they were alone in the world together. Sometimes she ran out of words to pray with and settled for saying Maava's name over and over. But then the angels would hiss and spit and she would start again.

‘Take my father's soul. Forgive him his many sins. Take my father's soul into the Sunlands. Maava, great and good, listen to this poor sinner ...'

And the angels' voices died away.

All except for one.

Willow felt the angel in her head, like a thorn lodged in the soft part of her brain. It waited for her, cool and disdainful. She stopped praying.

‘What is wrong, angel of Maava?' Willow said, her heart speeding.

‘
Sinner
,' it said, its voice sizzling sharp against her ears.

‘I know I am a sinner. I know. I pray for Maava's love.'

‘
You are one of them.
'

Willow's fingers began to shake. ‘One of ...' Then she realised the angel meant her family. ‘No, no. I'm not. I have come to Maava's light.'

‘
Whores, witches, kinslayers
.'

‘No, they are only heathens. I'm trying to bring them to Maava. See me? I'm praying night and day for the soul of the greatest heathen king in Thyrsland.'

Æthlric began to stir, mumbling. One of his fits was coming on. She froze a moment, but knew she couldn't cope alone. She went to the door and opened it, calling out for Heath.

‘
Murderers, plunderers, adulterers.
'

Behind her, her father had begun to moan, low and long, like a wounded animal. She turned. His hands danced in spasms on the bed covers. The angel laughed in her ears.

‘
He is no great king. And you are a sinner.
' Then the voice was gone.

Æthlric flung back his covers and tried to get up, shouting at her incoherently.

‘My lord, you must be calm,' she said to him, trying to smooth his covers over. ‘Heath! Heath!' But Heath wasn't in the house.

Æthlric had sat up and was struggling to push himself into a standing position. Willow threw herself on top of him, straddling him, using the weight of her body to push him back down. He grunted. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him, and he slowly sank back down onto the bed. The knotted fingers of his right hand closed around her wrist.

Behind her, the door opened. ‘Willow?'

‘He tried to get up,' she said to Heath. ‘He's calm again.'

‘I'm sorry, I was in the —'

‘Bluebell?'

Both Willow and Heath were stunned into silence. Willow looked down at her father, whose lips were moving silently now.

‘Did he say ...?'

‘Bluebell,' Willow replied. ‘He said Bluebell.'

Her father's fingers went slack, drifting down from her wrist and landing on the covers. He slept again.

Willow climbed off the bed, her heart hammering. She could still feel the ghost of her father's touch, tingling cool on her wrist.

Heath couldn't hide his smile. ‘Do you think it's possible he might recover?'

Willow shook her head. ‘I don't know. Perhaps.' Her heart filled with light. If he lived, Willow could convince him to take the faith. She could convince them all. Ælmesse would convert, and the angels wouldn't judge her any more. Of course. Of course. This was why she had been born, why she had come to Maava. Through her father's illness, she would work a miracle. She would save the souls of her countrymen and make sure Thyrsland came to the trimartyr faith. She almost laughed, the giddy relief was so light.

Then she realised: all along she had been praying for the wrong thing. She ought not pray for his soul. A living man could save his own soul. From now on, she would pray for his life so that her glorious destiny might rush upon her, bright and clear.

From Stonemantel, the most direct route to Bradsey was to skim up along the coastline, but the west coast of Thyrsland was rugged and endured intense prevailing winds that had bent its trees into grotesque postures of submission. So Ash, Rose and Bluebell stayed with the inland road twenty miles from the sea, an overgrown track that led over the dramatic, heather-choked moors. They passed no other travellers and Ash had the feeling they were riding off the edge of the known world.

Rose was silent, sulking. Bluebell responded by pretending she didn't notice. Ash lost herself in thoughts about her power, her
Becoming, and how she was to try to make a future for herself. Now she had spent so long allowing her second sight to be open — or at least, not actively shutting it down — she had realised her ability to read what was going on around her was patchy. Sometimes, the sight was wide-ranging, intense, rolling over her like an ocean wave. Sometimes, it was like seeing through a chink in a wooden board: no matter how she positioned herself, she couldn't get a complete picture. And there seemed to be no pattern to predict it by.

How she longed for good advice. She knew she wouldn't find it at Thriddastowe, where the old seers would be jealous or alarmed. She hadn't even found it with Byrta and her hopes Yldra might help had been quickly dispelled. She had thought of asking Bluebell for advice but Bluebell, for all her knowledge and experience in war, would surely have nothing to offer beyond sympathy. Perhaps she would say, ‘What does it matter if you can't predict your second sight? Just use it when you can.' She wouldn't feel Ash's sense of urgency.
What is happening to me? When will it stop? Will I survive it?

Out here on the lonely moors, far from the world of men, she could feel the creeping magic everywhere. It was skulking in the tangled heather, it was draping itself from the crooked rowan trees, it was slouching cool and dark in the crevices between rocks. The further north they moved, the stronger this sense of organic magic grew. A force neither hostile nor kind; rather, coolly neutral. Indifferent. It was a feature of the landscape here, as much as rolling green hills were a feature of the landscape in Ælmesse, or dense elm forests were a feature of the landscape in Netelchester. And, today, they were still miles from the plains of Bradsey, where the magic was thickest, roiling across the ground like fog.

Rose slowed so she was riding alongside Ash, and said in a harsh whisper, ‘When do you think she'll let us stop for a rest? We've been riding five hours with barely a break.'

As Rose said this, Ash became aware of the tired ache across her back and thighs.

‘Even her dogs are nowhere to be seen,' Rose continued, looking around. Her long hair was stuck to her face by the wind. ‘They're probably sensibly having a rest, a few miles behind us.'

‘They'll find us,' Ash said, ‘but if you're tired, you should ask her for a rest.'

‘And give her another chance to put me in my place? I think not.'

Ash urged her horse forwards. ‘Bluebell, when are you thinking of resting?'

Bluebell stirred, almost as though from a dream. ‘Hmm? I suppose we can rest now if you want to eat. But I'd hoped to get to Sceotley and stay there for the night. It's only an hour away, and then we're past the moors.' She looked around, almost as though she was sniffing the air. ‘I don't like it out here. Something unseen lurks, as though it's watching us.'

Ash glanced over her shoulder at Rose, raised her eyebrows to say, ‘See? You only had to ask.'

‘Let's keep going then,' Rose said. ‘I can stand another hour if it means a soft bed.'

Ash's body had been preparing itself for rest and now she had to tell it to keep going. She shifted in her saddle, finding a new position for her back to settle in. She thought about Bluebell's comment: something unseen, watching them. This place would surely be crawling with elementals. Did she dare? But before she could even make up her mind, the sight was opening up.

What surprised her most was the stillness. She'd imagined elementals bustling about, darting between rocks and trees, going to ground as they felt her eyes on them. But they were motionless. Hundreds of them, lined up along the side of the track as though she and her sisters were a procession and they had come out to ...

Watch. They had come out to watch. To watch Ash.

Wonder and fear boiled up in her gut. She looked at them with frightened eyes, and they looked back at her. Guardedly, sometimes hopefully, sometimes with angry apprehension. She moved past them, and they were perfectly still. Her sisters were unaware of the audience; her horse didn't shy.

Then she remembered what the oak spirit had said to her.
Your voice is
aræd. She wanted very much to test if this was true, but fear kept her words inside. Besides, what would her sisters make of her shouting out commands to nobody?