The straw stunk of piss.

Though it was better than rocks, Stina thought, unable to smile.

She rolled onto her back, wanting to get away from Jorunn, who lay next to her, breathing into her face. She sounded like a blowing horse.

Closing her eyes, Stina tried to remember her little cottage in Ullaberg. It had not been much, though it had always smelled sweet. Sweet smelling and quiet, apart from the sounds drifting in through holes in the walls and around the window when the wind was blowing from the east. She would often hear fighting, arguing, crying people through that window.

Times had become hard all along the Eastern Shore. Famine and disease grew more prevalent. Destructive weather sent as punishment from the gods gave them no reprieve. Punishment for what, Stina wondered, yawning.

What had they all done to deserve such misery?

She tried to keep her mind in Ullaberg, seeing herself sitting in her creaking chair by the fire. It wobbled, but it was comfortable, and she liked wobbling before the flames, knitting socks for Magnus and Lotta. For Alys too.

Alys.

Alys the dreamer.

Though, if Alys was truly a dreamer, why had she stayed in Ullaberg with Arnon for all those years?

And why had she not seen those men coming?

Someone was drumming.

Or was it her heart?

Alys wasn’t sure as she approached the clearing. It was afternoon, she thought, seeing the warmth of the dappled light filtering through the trees. They were green, bright, and vivid. It was summer, but she shivered, feeling cold all over.

Voices drifted towards her from amongst the trees – women’s voices – and Alys crept forward, pine needles slippery beneath her bare feet. She didn’t feel afraid, though she didn’t know where she was, or what she was seeing.

And stopping suddenly, she reached out, hand on the gnarled bark of an ancient ash tree.

‘You can’t. You can’t!’

It was Agnette. Alys recognised her voice before she saw her. She slowly poked her head around the tree, not wanting to be seen.

Two women sat on a log in a tiny clearing. The path was worn beneath their feet, as though it was a place people often came. A place to be alone.

‘I must,’ said a woman Alys didn’t recognise. She had a round face, with a pointed chin, thick eyebrows and soft lips. Her glowing auburn hair hung in simple waves over a pretty yellow dress. She looked elegant, like a lady.

A very sad lady.

‘If I don’t, what will happen next? Reinar will kill me, I’m sure of it!’ ‘Kill you?’ Agnette was horrified. ‘He’d never! He adores you, Elin.’ Elin turned away from her friend. ‘But everything he touches dies!

Everything!’ Her eyes were frantic, filled with madness and pain. ‘His luck is gone. The gods have abandoned him! Even Gerda admits to that. His bad luck is dooming us all!’ Tears leaked from her hazel eyes, flooding her face. ‘His bad luck killed my babies!’ And now she was sobbing, head in her hands. ‘You must help me, Agnette! Help me escape this cursed place!’

Alys stared at Agnette, who looked confused, trapped, eyes filled with sympathy. She was pregnant, though her belly was not as pronounced as it was now.

‘Alright,’ Agnette whispered, glancing around. ‘I’ll help you leave, Elin, I will. But where will you go?’

Elin leaned in closer, wiping the tears from her sad eyes. ‘I know a place.’

Hakon couldn’t sleep.

He had wanted to be there, to see Mother work her magic.

He didn’t believe in magic, but he did believe in power. And if Mother could harness the power of the gods in her grubby little hands, then who knew what trouble she was capable of causing those stubborn Vilanders.

Karolina sniffed, edging away from him.

Hakon’s mind barely lingered on her before it was back on Mother, who was in her cottage with the temptress Falla, calling to the gods.

He sighed, eyes wide now, imagining what it would feel like to be that powerful. Wondering how long it would be until he sat on the Alekkan throne, the head of the usurper king, Ake Bluefinn, at his feet.

And smiling, Hakon rolled over, closing his eyes, seeing his father’s face.

‘There was a wolf.

And her name was Ulura.

And she was larger than any wolf in the forest.

Ulura was Vasa’s wolf, and she would send her out as a warning.’

Alys frowned, staring up at her mother, who bent over her in the darkness, the orange glow of the fire rising behind her back. ‘Why?’ Alys was five. It was her favourite word.

Her mother smiled.

‘Well, Vasa is a dark goddess, one might say. She brings death and pain, though she thinks it only fair to give warning.’

‘A warning of death?’

Her mother nodded. ‘When you hear Ulura’s cry, you know that Vasa is coming, so it’s time to say your goodbyes.’

Alys gulped, big eyes blinking in the darkness. ‘And what does Ulura sound like?’

‘A storm,’ her mother breathed, leaning forward to kiss Alys’ head. ‘She sounds like a storm.’

Mother had slipped her wolf hood over the top of her head, and now she pranced around the circle on her hands and knees, growling.

Falla wanted to laugh, but she started shaking with fear instead, hand still patting the drum, unable to stop.

That growl…

It was terrifying.

Someone was drumming. Alys woke with a start.

Someone was drumming. She could hear them.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, then the smell reminded her and she shook, reaching down for the fur which had fallen onto the reeds.

The drumming rolled over her body like a wave, urging her to move. And creeping out of bed, Alys wrapped the fur around her shoulders,

her mouth dry.

No fire was burning. She couldn’t even see the glow of an ember as she crept forward, hands out, trying to find the rattling door.

And then a handle.

Grabbing it in her right hand, she turned it, almost disappointed that it opened; half-wishing she’d been locked in, unable to go outside. She wanted to run back to bed, to hide and wait and see.

But she had to keep going.

She was a dreamer. She had to keep going.

Shutting the door behind her, Alys walked away from the cottage, towards the giant tree that stood not far from her door. Valera’s Tree, they called it, named for the Goddess of Love. Its branches were thick with frozen leaves, rustling angrily. There was no light. No moon. No stars. Thunder boomed, out of time with the drumming; crashing sounds, louder and louder, shattering the silence of the night. Rain fell heavily, the storm raging around Alys as she walked away from the tree now, soaking her through.

The drumbeat pulsed rhythmically as Alys stepped into the square. She had little memory of the place, and she spun around, trying to see what was happening, certain she was dreaming.

It had to be a dream.

And then she saw a strange woman creeping towards her, swathed in dark robes which flapped about her, the wind trying to tear them to pieces. She was middle-aged, grey hair loose in the wind. ‘You must help them!’ she cried, ‘for I cannot! I cannot! Ulura is coming! Can you hear the wolf? Ulura Blood Hunter is coming for us all!’

Alys tried to move towards the woman, but she slipped in the mud, stumbling onto her knees.

And then a hand on her arm, pulling her up. Reinar.

‘Can you hear it? The drumming?’ he shouted, voice raised above the storm.

Alys nodded as she stood, rain streaming into her eyes.

‘What is it?’ Reinar’s heart was racing, his body chilled by the icy rain. He’d run out of the hall without a cloak, and turning around, he saw men coming: Bjarni and Ludo; Bolli and Holgar were there; Amir and Tulia too. He turned back to Alys. ‘What’s happening?’

Alys saw images of his crying wife, and she blinked, trying to focus. ‘It’s the wolf!’ she called. ‘The wolf is out there!’

No one knew what she meant. Tulia grabbed her brother, and they hurried towards a guard tower, heading for the ramparts, Ludo and Bolli following closely behind.

Reinar spun around, pointing at Torvig, who was doing up his swordbelt, squinting, trying to keep the rain out of his eyes. ‘Follow them! See what’s happening! It sounds like it’s coming from the forest!’ He turned back to Alys, who shook, teeth chattering before him. ‘What wolf?’

‘Vasa’s wolf. Ulura.’

Reinar’s eyes popped open. ‘Go back to your cottage!’ he yelled, pointing into the darkness before running after Torvig.

Alys stood there in the torrential rain, jumping as thunder clapped overhead, watching as the wind ripped thatch from tiny cottages, sending it tumbling through the square.

And then a white cat bounded past her, trying not to be swept away. A white cat?

Alys swallowed, turning after it.

Stina was on her feet, gathering as many women into her arms as possible, trying to keep them all calm.

‘What is happening?’ Jorunn begged the guards who had the doors open, peering outside. ‘Tell us! Please!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Stina soothed, breath smoking around her face. The barn was frigid now, all of them shivering uncontrollably.

The guards stood by the doors, gripping axes, neither looking certain about what to do.

‘Go out there!’ Ilene urged. ‘Hurry! Find out what’s happening!’

The inner wall ramparts were solid, made of stone. Reinar and Sigurd had worked with Stellan to replace loose stones and repair any holes not long before his seizure. The ramparts were solid, but the wooden boards beneath their boots bounced as they thundered around them trying to make sense of the drumming.

Trying to hear through the storm.

It sounded like an army was approaching. But then the drumming would shift.

Sometimes it came from the forest. Sometimes from the bridge side.

Sometimes from the pastures to the east.

Reinar tried to clear both his throat and his mind, wishing he’d brought Alys with him. He grabbed Tulia. ‘What can you see?’

She shook her head, her braid slapping her back. The wind was so strong now that they had to grip the rampart wall to keep upright. ‘Nothing! I can’t see anything! What could it be?’

Reinar shrugged, not wanting to say. And then they heard it.

A howl.

Trees shook, and Reinar froze.

Bjarni was beside him, panting. Eyes wide, he kept scanning the wind- swept forest in the distance, trying to see any sign of a wolf. ‘That’s no ordinary wolf!’

‘Alys says it’s Ulura!’ Reinar cried, eyes on Torvig and Amir. Amir had no idea what he was talking about.

Torvig’s mouth hung open, but he quickly closed it, shaking his head. ‘Impossible!’

Reinar glowered at him, swaying in the wind. ‘You don’t believe in the gods anymore?’

‘Of course I do! But why would Ulura be here?’

‘Why do you think?’ Ludo growled at Torvig, too terrified to be cautious around the notoriously thin-skinned man. ‘Because we’re all about to die! That’s why she comes! It’s the warning!’

Reinar looked from one man to the other. ‘There!’ Tulia yelled, pointing at the forest.

And turning towards her, Reinar followed her arm, catching a glimpse of movement. The trees, blowing about at the mercy of the malevolent wind, were almost parting now.

Something was coming.

More men flooded the ramparts.

‘I want my archers!’ Reinar turned, screaming down into the square. ‘And fire! Somebody find me fire!’

Sigurd hobbled into the hall. He’d heard the wolf’s call too.

It was like nothing he’d heard before.

Agnette was there with Gerda, both of them shaking, gripping hold of one another.

For almost the first time in her life, Gerda looked thrilled to see Sigurd. ‘What’s happening?’ She rushed to him, hands on his arms.

Sigurd blinked, listening. He could hear the wind more than anything now. The drumming had faded, though it was still there, lurking in the distance like a heartbeat. ‘I heard a wolf.’

Agnette gripped her belly, eyes bulging. ‘That was no wolf, Sigurd! You have to find out what’s happening!’ She looked at her ashen-faced cousin,

who was teetering before her, trying not to pass out.

Sigurd nodded, turning, limping towards the doors.

‘Here!’ Agnette called, hurrying after him with a broom. ‘Use this to help you walk!’

Sigurd took it, glancing back at Gerda. ‘Barricade the doors! Lock yourselves in!’ He saw Martyn, Stellan’s old steward, shuffling towards him. ‘Help them, Martyn! Get this place secure!’ And leaning on the brush part of the broom, Sigurd tried to quicken his pace towards the doors, Gerda and Agnette staring after him.

Alys followed the cat, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she was following the cat.

She could hear voices above her as the warriors ran around the inner wall, calling to one another. More men were gathering in the square, though there would not be enough if Ulura had truly come to Ottby. There wouldn’t be enough warriors in the whole Eastern Shore to turn her back.

The cat stopped outside a door, sitting down, peering up at Alys.

She blinked, lightning jagging above her head, a tiny glimmer of light.

It was the dreamer’s cottage, and hurrying to push open the door, Alys ran inside, eager to get out of the rain.

The cat followed after her, bounding over to the chest, jumping on top of it.

Alys remembered the books, and she edged slowly forward, trying not to trip over whatever lay hidden in the darkness.

The chest was open, the wet cat sitting on top of a book. And then it moved, knocking it onto the dirt floor.

Mother had them all in her thrall.

Oh, the power, the sheer, unrivalled, intoxicating power! It pounded in her chest, it sparked in her fingers, and throwing back her head, she roared again, padding forward.

She could see trees, though they were like shoots of grass.

Rampart walls like pebbles and twigs. She was immense.

Unstoppable.

Hungry.

Sigurd hobbled into the square, teeth gritted, listening to the howl reverberating around the tall inner wall.

Shivers shot up his injured back, down his arms. He stumbled, trying to make the broom more comfortable, easier to manage. The ground was mucky, the rain washing it over his bare feet like a river of mud. He moved forward, tugging the broom out of the deepening muck, over and over, hearing Tulia now, running the archers on the ramparts.

‘Nock! Draw! Aim! Release!’

Sigurd couldn’t have fired an arrow if he’d tried.

He kept moving in the direction of the warriors who waited in the square, half of them being screamed at by Torvig, who had them moving towards the inner gates.

‘What is it?’ Sigurd yelled, trying to get his attention.

But the wolf howled again, and he could feel the earth move beneath his feet, unbalancing him, sending him crashing down into the mud.

Alys picked up the book, trying to still her shaking hands. The cat jumped again, hopping onto a stool, peering down at her.

At least that was what Alys saw in her mind.

The cottage was too dark to see anything more than shadows.

Too dark to read a book, but she flicked through its vellum pages anyway, waiting for a clue as to what she needed to see.

She didn’t get one.

Dropping the book and feeling panic start to freeze her mind, Alys crawled over to the cat, wondering what it wanted from her. Wondering if it was trying to help her.

Hands out, and feeling her way, she came to the stool, touching the cat, who jumped down again, knocking something to the ground. Alys was quick, hand out to where she heard the noise, feeling a small tin.

A tinderbox.

Torvig loomed over Sigurd like an ice giant.

Then he stuck out a hand.

‘What is it?’ Sigurd gasped, grabbing hold of the irritating broom again, not wanting those prickly bristles sticking into his armpit, but quickly realising that he had little choice.

‘Wolves, can’t you hear?’ Reinar wasn’t around, and Torvig was in no mind to be polite.

‘That’s not wolves!’ Sigurd called to him as Torvig hurried away.

But Torvig wasn’t listening as he left Sigurd behind, running to gather his men together.

The inner wall seemed to be moving now, every howl shuddering it anew.

And then more growling, throaty and deep, as though it existed within them, pulsing in their veins, rendering them captive, imprisoned in the wolf’s thrall.

Up on the ramparts, Reinar turned as lightning shattered the sky, seeing the familiar figure of his brother stuck in the mud. ‘Sigurd! Get back to the hall! It’s coming! Hurry! Get inside now!’

Mother laughed, and it sounded like a clap of thunder rocking the cottage.

Jumping out of her chair, Falla dropped the drum onto the flames, shrieking in fright.

Mother spun towards her, jaw slack, eyes aflame, thoughts slow and muddled.

She was no longer in the forest, crushing the trees, no longer breathing on those rampart walls, terrifying Reinar Vilander and his men.

She was back in her cottage with Falla.

The storm retreated like a wave being sucked out to sea. And all those on the ramparts felt the sudden shift in things.

Reinar held up a hand. ‘Hold!’ he called to Tulia, his hoarse voice suddenly loud.

He was wet through, dripping. Confused.

Tulia spun towards him, angry, but she felt it herself: a lightness. In the pitch-black night, everything suddenly felt lighter.

The trees were no longer moving before them. The rampart walk felt solid beneath her feet.

Something had changed.

She held her breath, eyes on Reinar, waiting to see what would happen next.

‌, ‌

Sigurd felt confused as he made his way back to the hall; wet through, covered in mud, and irritated. Quickly running out of energy.

And then he saw a flickering light, a warm glow seeping under a door, and he turned, limping towards it.

‘What were you thinking?’ Mother spat, slapping Falla across the face, knocking her down to her knees. ‘What were you thinking, you stupid little bitch?’

Falla scrambled back to her feet, ready to attack the old crone. She wasn’t about to be beaten like a nuisance dog. Like a weak wife. That was not who she was. Dark hair sweeping across her shuddering back, she curled her hands into fists.

Mother gathered her senses quickly, her mind and body becoming one again. She threw off the wolf hood, leaving it on the ground, incensed, blood surging around her body; hot and angry and ready for violence.

Falla dropped her shoulders, uncurling her fists, quickly realising that Mother was an enemy not worth making. She held her face, wincing. ‘It was an accident.’

Mother spat on the flames. ‘I was not finished!’

Falla could tell. ‘The noise surprised me. I… I got a fright.’ Her thoughts were cloaked in a haze, and they felt disordered, her tongue thick in her

mouth. She didn’t feel as though she was making any sense. ‘I thought it was here. Behind me.’

Mother glared at her, hand out as though she was grasping a cup. She stumbled back onto a stool, waiting. And hurrying to the water jug, Falla poured a cup of cool liquid, rushing it into Mother’s hand. ‘Open that door,’ Mother breathed, not wanting the door opened at all. But there was no point now.

It was over.

Falla opened the door, taking a long breath of cold air, feeling the rain on her face, wishing she was in bed with Lief’s giant arm around her, his heart beating steadily beneath her hand.

When she returned inside, Mother was still staring at her. ‘You felt the wolf? You heard her?’

Falla nodded. ‘Saw her?’

Falla shook her head.

‘But she was here, was she not?’

Falla was confused, grasping for the right thing to say. And then her head cleared. ‘Yes, I felt her. She was here.’

Mother smiled, her face finally relaxing. She glanced down at the wolf hood. ‘Yes, she was here. And she was there. And though I did not finish,’ she glowered at her daughter-in-law, ‘they will never sleep easily again!’

Sigurd pushed open the door, stumbling inside the cottage.

Alys, who was kneeling before the fire, jumped to her feet, helping him to a stool. ‘Are you alright? You shouldn’t be walking about yet.’

Sigurd didn’t disagree with that statement. ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, dropping the broom to the floor, face contorted in pain. ‘I had to see what was happening, though it appears to have stopped now, whatever it was.’ He frowned, eyes on the cat. ‘That was Salma’s cat.’ He didn’t like dreamers, and he had no affection for cats either.

Alys glanced at the cat, who had crept towards the fire, sitting before it, purring, enjoying the warmth and the light. She didn’t know what to say.

And glancing around the cottage, seeing the book on the ground, she didn’t know what to do either. ‘The cat led me to that book,’ she whispered.

Sigurd’s frown deepened, his stomach growling. ‘Well, that would be interesting if it were true.’

‘You don’t believe me?’ Alys shook, turning towards the flames, hands out, eyes moving straight back to the book.

‘That a cat led you to a book? And a wolf howled in the night like Ulura herself?’ Sigurd shrugged. ‘I don’t believe those things are possible, no. I don’t believe in gods and dreamers and magical cats.’

‘Why not?’ Alys picked up the book, sitting on the stool, turning the pages. ‘Why don’t you believe in anything?’

‘Oh, I believe in many things. I believe the sun rises in the east, it sets in the west, and then night comes. I believe in summer, winter, spring and autumn. I believe in what I see with my own eyes, not in dreams or visions or whatever dreamers want to have us believe. And I don’t believe in stories.’

Sigurd looked grumpy, angry even, and Alys forgot the book and the cat and the wet dress clinging to her frozen body. ‘What happened to you?’ She wanted to touch him, as though that would help her to see. Sometimes it did. Sometimes when she brushed past a person or held their hand, she saw flashes of their life, past and present. But Sigurd Vilander was like a dark mountain she couldn’t see inside at all.

‘Happened to me?’ Sigurd snorted. ‘I formed my own opinions, made up my own mind.’ He rubbed his hands together, eager for the flames, trying to ignore the cat. He looked at Alys instead. ‘My brother wants you to solve his problems. Help him to make up his mind.’

Alys froze, pieces of her dream returning. She glanced at the bed where Elin Vilander’s bracelet lay beneath her pillow. ‘He seeks answers.’

‘He seeks comfort,’ Sigurd almost snarled. ‘He wants to believe in something. Whether it’s the truth or not won’t matter. He just wants comfort. Assurance. Isn’t that what everyone wants from a dreamer?’

Alys didn’t know. ‘But not you?’

‘I seek nothing. I see life in front of me. I don’t wish to uncover my destiny. I don’t believe anything other than this exists. This moment. Now.’ Sigurd was almost warm, and the rest on Alys’ stool had stopped his leg throbbing.

He wriggled, wanting to leave.

‘So you will ignore the wolf? Pretend it didn’t happen? Go back to the hall and your bed and your woman and close your eyes?’ Alys felt irritated now, amazed by his stubbornness. ‘Not help your brother?’

Sigurd sat up straighter, feeling the pressure she was applying to that old wound. ‘My brother? I’ve done nothing but help my brother. I’ve stayed here for my brother when I should have left. There’s nothing for me here now. Nothing for any of us. But Reinar won’t see it, so I stay here for him. Until he’s ready to go.’

‘But what if he wants to stay? If he believes it’s his destiny to stay here?’ Alys didn’t know what she was saying, or why she cared. She felt the book on her knee, the cat by her side, the warmth of the fire, and Sigurd’s intense blue eyes considering her question. It was hard to look away.

‘Destiny is a story, whatever you choose to believe. Reinar’s believed the same story his whole life, and that story was told to our mother by a dreamer, and likely it was just a lie. But Reinar…’ Sigurd shook his head, trying to stand. ‘I wanted to see if you were alright, but I should be going. Gerda will want to know what’s happening. Agnette too.’

Alys nodded, hopping up, grabbing the book before it dropped to the floor. She reached for the broom, helping Sigurd to slip it under his arm. ‘I will check your wounds tomorrow,’ she said as he grunted, turning for the door.

He stopped, looking back at her. ‘An old dreamer lived here. I don’t know why she came. And that was her cat. Whatever they wanted with Ottby and Reinar…’ Sigurd glanced at the cat, who appeared to be watching him intently. ‘Perhaps they aren’t done yet?’ And swaying slightly, he bent his head, wobbling outside.

Alys watched him disappear, merging into the windswept shadows that rushed past her door.

They gathered around the fire, confused.

Behind them the hall was packed to the gunwales with wide-awake men and women, all of them wanting to know what had just happened. Gerda had ordered ale and food brought to the tables, though she did it with some hesitation. Trying to appease the twitchy villagers while endeavouring to

make their stores last was like balancing on a rolling barrel, and she found herself in a permanent state of unease.

‘It was Ulura!’ Balder, the tanner, called. He stood by the doors, though with one of the loudest voices in the fort, he was easily heard. ‘It must be! It must! She came with a warning. We all heard her!’

Nods and cups banging on tables, mud-thick boots shuffling across floorboards.

Reinar was growing anxious, wondering where Sigurd was. He’d sent Ludo to look for him, though there was no sign of either of them now. Tulia didn’t appear worried as she stood. ‘Who is this Ulura? A myth? A story? You truly think we saw a magical creature?’ She laughed, and it sounded harsh and mocking.

It always surprised Reinar that his brother had found someone just as cold as Gerda. Someone unable to show any emotion but anger and disappointment.

Bjarni shoved Reinar’s leg with his knee, unable to release his hands which were being gripped by a quivering Agnette.

‘We saw something, Tulia!’ Balder called back. ‘And so did you! I see the colour of your face. Like snow, it is! As pale as mine!’

Laughter then as Balder Forness had skin as pale as an ice-lake during the Freeze.

‘I heard wolves!’ Tulia called over the noise. ‘And so did you! Not one but many! A pack! It was a pack of hungry wolves!’

Reinar ran a hand over his beard, fur cloak warm around his shoulders now, brought out by his mother. He was grateful for her fussing for he was frozen solid.

The hall doors swung open and in came Ludo, a muddy-looking Sigurd slumped against him.

Reinar looked relieved.

Tulia glared at Sigurd, wondering where he’d gone, confused by the look in his eyes.

‘Tulia’s right! It was a pack of wolves! You could hear them all around us!’ Reinar’s shoulders relaxed now, his familiar easy-going grin firmly back in place, despite the hour and the terror he could see on his people’s faces; the fear bubbling inside his own chest. ‘You think that noise came from one wolf? From Ulura herself?’ He snorted, heading back to his chair, wanting to shrug it off.

Needing them to see him shrug it off.

There was a lot of mumbling and murmuring. More boot shuffling. ‘Drink up!’ Gerda called, on her feet, finger pointing a servant back to

the kitchen for more cups. ‘After that storm, you’re all going to need something to relax you again!’ Her body shivered uncontrollably, her own smile faltering.

Ludo brought Sigurd through the crowd as they started arguing amongst themselves about who had heard what. He saw Reinar heading to the high table, wanting to get away from the conversations.

He knew what they’d be talking about. Another omen.

Another threat.

Another sign that the gods had cast him out; fingered him as one bound for Vasa’s dark cave.

Sigurd dropped down onto a bench, wet through, eyes on Reinar. ‘A pack of wolves?’

There was no hint of a smile in his brother’s eyes, but his mouth still curled at the edges, lifting his golden beard. ‘A big pack, I’d say. We’ll need to decide what to do about it tomorrow.’

Torvig came to join them, eyes on the crowd. ‘You’ll have hard work convincing them of that.’ He grabbed a cup of ale from the table, shuddering. ‘Fuck it’s cold.’ The wind still howled, the rain still fell, though the eye of the storm had thankfully passed.

And now they were left in the maw of a mythical beast. At its mercy.

Tulia brought her brother to join them, both of them puzzled.

‘Perhaps the noises were confusing?’ Amir suggested. He was as tall as his older sister; the same deep-brown skin; the same almond-shaped eyes. ‘The drumming… it could have been thunder and wind. Rattling doors. Palings.’ He was reaching, but a few of them nodded.

Agnette wouldn’t leave Bjarni’s side. ‘We all know what that was. All of us.’ She eyed Tulia and Amir. ‘Even if we don’t know the legend and believe in the gods, not one of us here thinks anything else happened but that Ulura came to warn us!’

Reinar wanted to slam his hand over his cousin’s big mouth. He glared at Bjarni, who looked as though he felt tempted, but seeing the panic in his wife’s tired eyes, he took a breath.

‘It doesn’t matter what we might think,’ Bjarni grumbled, eyeing Agnette. ‘It only matters what they think.’ He inclined his head towards the front of the hall where groups of warriors were gathering with their worried-looking wives. ‘We can’t afford to lose any more of them.’

‘But we will,’ Sigurd warned, taking the cup Tulia handed him, sensing her tension. ‘You know it, Reinar. We will.’

‘Maybe you should talk to Alys?’ Ludo suggested quietly. ‘She might know what it was.’

Sigurd looked away, watching Gerda, who couldn’t stand still. He could see the fear in her eyes; the realisation that they would not be able to hang on much longer. Not if more men left. ‘I don’t see what she’ll be able to tell you,’ he grumbled. ‘Any dreamer will only tell you what you want to hear. Look at Salma. She should have told you the truth about what was coming.’

Reinar’s head snapped around. ‘What truth? Your truth, Sigurd? Is that the truth you want me to hear? That this is all a waste of time?’ His voice hissed through grating teeth, barely discernible over the thrum of the hall. ‘We all know what you think, Brother, but this is our home. You want us to run? To hide? Be chased away by Hakon Vettel and his useless cousin? You want two vengeful boys to take Ottby away from us? To take Stornas?’

The argument was old, and Sigurd didn’t want to have it again.

And by the looks on everyone’s faces, no one wanted to hear it again either.

‘Go see Alys,’ Agnette urged, finally unsticking herself from Bjarni, moving towards Reinar. ‘She’ll help, I know it.’

‘Alright.’ Reinar smiled at Agnette, hand on her shoulder rather than over her mouth. ‘Alright. Why don’t you finish up here, then head for bed? I’ll speak with Alys. I doubt anyone will be sleeping tonight.’

There was nothing to feed the cat.

Alys had not had a cat since she was a girl, and she was struggling to remember what cats liked to eat, besides mice. Though, did they really eat mice, she wondered, her tired mind wandering. Or was it just the game they enjoyed?

Blinking, she tried to concentrate, lifting her hand from the book, feeling a heat beneath her palm.

The writing was fresh, splotches of ink littering the vellum, as though the writer was in a hurry. As though she had woken from a dream, desperate to get her thoughts down before they slipped away.

Alys blinked, surprised by the thoughts that flooded her own mind.

It was as though a door had been opened, light shining in, and suddenly she could see so clearly.

Running her finger down the page, she started reading. It took some time. The owner of the book had taken little care over forming her letters. But it was Alekkan, and she could understand it, almost perfectly.

It was a spell.

A nightmare spell.

Alys froze, staring into the flames, seeing how it had all played out.

Wondering who had done it, and why?

The knock on the door had her almost tipping off the stool, book in hand.

‘Alys?’

Alys left the book on the stool, and, with some hesitation, opened the door. Reinar rushed in, shaking rain from his cloak, eyeing her closely. ‘You weren’t sleeping?’

‘No.’

He stepped towards the fire, surprised to see the cat, who knew Reinar well, and as he sat down on a stool, the cat curled around his legs, purring. ‘You’ve found Winter, then?’ he grinned, wet hand smoothing down that sleek white fur. ‘Salma was very fond of her cat. He went everywhere with her. He slept on her bed while she was dying, but he disappeared after her pyre. I didn’t think we’d see him again.’

Alys took a stool beside him. ‘Winter? I think he might want to stay.’ ‘And you?’ Reinar turned to Alys. ‘Do you want to stay? Here, in

Ottby? Not be sold as a slave?’

Alys was unsettled by the question. Surprised too. She had thought it was decided. ‘I… don’t want to be sold as a slave. No. Nor do I wish my friends to be sold either.’

Reinar smiled. ‘But you don’t want to stay here? I must force you?’ ‘Well, I don’t expect you’ll have to try very hard. There’s nowhere for

me to go. Not on my own.’ She blinked, seeing Elin Vilander’s face in her

mind.

‘What?’

Alys shook her head, dismissing his question. ‘You came to talk about the wolf?’

Reinar moved closer. ‘Yes, but you saw something about my wife, didn’t you? Did you have a dream?’

Alys squirmed, realising that she was going to make a terrible dreamer if she couldn’t mask her thoughts and feelings, even when there was barely any light to see by. ‘I did, though I woke before I found out much. The drumming… it woke me.’

For a moment, Reinar didn’t care about wolves or drums or that most of his men were about to run for the hills. He gripped Alys’ hand. ‘What did you see? Tell me.’

Alys glanced down at his hand, gulping. ‘I saw her talking to someone.’ ‘Who?’ Reinar’s tone sharpened.

‘I don’t know,’ Alys lied, not wanting to get Agnette in trouble. ‘It was your wife, Elin, who was speaking mostly. She talked about wanting to go away.’ Alys felt Reinar release her hand, drawing it back to his leg. ‘She worried about your… bad luck, that it would end up… killing her.’

Reinar’s shoulders curled forward, his mouth hanging open. The pain in his eyes mirrored the pain in his heart. ‘She wanted to leave?’ His voice was hesitant.

Halting.

He looked up at Alys. ‘She wanted to leave me?’

Alys nodded. ‘She wanted help, someone to help her find a way to escape.’

‘Escape me?’ Reinar felt numb, visions of his wife kissing his hand, holding it to her heart. Keeping it there, wanting him to feel how it beat for him. How full of love it was. How desperate with need.

She was fearless, bold, eager to be a warrior like Tulia. She thought she would look good in trousers.

Making him laugh, forget all his worries. Making him moan…

Reinar blinked.

How long ago had that been?

He shivered, standing. ‘I… ‘ He couldn’t go on. ‘Come in the morning, to the hall. We can…’ He scratched his head, blinking away the tears which

burned his eyes, hiding them from the dreamer. Though could you ever truly hide from a dreamer? ‘We need to talk about what happened. About the wolf.’ Reinar didn’t turn around as he opened the door.

Alys nodded, confused by her feelings. She felt guilt and pity, yet this man had stolen her away from her children. Her home.

Reinar hurried through the door, quickly closing it behind himself.

The cat looked after him, before turning back to Alys, head cocked to one side, lifting a white paw to his mouth.

‌, 4‌

No one slept much and those who had woke early, ate quickly and left the hall to take the mood of the fort.

It did not take long.

The mood was darker than a moonless night. In winter.

In The Murk.

No one had a look on their face resembling hope. No one appeared ready to fight for Reinar and Ottby. Everyone looked far more inclined to pack their chests and leave.

Except for Ludo Moller. He grinned at Sigurd, who was limping beside him. ‘I wish we’d seen something. I thought I had, but Bjarni kept getting in the way. He’s like a bear in that cloak. I couldn’t get past him!’

Sigurd was determined to get walking, wanting to ignore the pain in his leg. There was too much to do. Reinar hadn’t even emerged from his chamber, yet this was the time to be out in the square, getting everyone riled up for what was coming next. Whether it was Vasa’s wolf or Hakon Vettel’s army didn’t matter. If Reinar was determined to cling to this old fort, they needed to be ready to fight. ‘Agnette’s trying to make him as fat as she is,’ Sigurd laughed, watching his cousin waddle after Bjarni, who was hurrying after Torvig.

‘I think she’s succeeded!’ Ludo felt ill, but someone had to put on a smile. Thoughts of the wolf had terrorised him all night. He’d slept occasionally, but mostly he’d just lain there, listening, waiting to hear another howl.

And then Alys was there, walking towards them, and he smiled again, watching the white cat bounding after her. ‘Isn’t that…?’ he said to Sigurd, who sighed in annoyance, limping away from the dreamer and her new cat.

Ludo followed after him, lifting one hand to Alys in greeting. Alys stopped, her attention snapping to Agnette.

And Agnette stopped, turning around, feeling it. ‘Do you need something? Is it the cottage? I’m sure it still stinks. Perhaps I can find a few bags of rosemary to hang around the walls?’ She left Bjarni to Torvig and walked towards Alys, lifting her hem out of the thick mud. ‘Though, after last night, I’m not sure I can put my mind to anything but sitting in a corner and shaking.’ She smiled, though her lips quivered as she waited for Alys to speak.

‘Reinar wants to see me. To talk about the wolf, I expect. But also about his wife and what I saw in my dream. About you.’

Agnette lifted her head, swallowing some more. ‘Me?’ She glanced around the square, wanting to see if anyone was listening, though with the return of their warriors, it suddenly felt louder. More men roamed the ramparts, calling out to each other. There was a heightened sense of urgency, knowing that winter was coming. Hakon Vettel too. And they were rushing to be ready before both descended upon the fort in an almighty storm of snow and swords.

‘I’d rather not tell him about you, but it will be hard to keep it all hidden. I’ve not seen everything, but I know his wife asked you to help her leave. To escape.’

Agnette rushed a hand over Alys’ mouth, eyes popping open. ‘Ssshhh!’ she implored, trying to think. ‘I… no one knows about that. No one. I didn’t want to hurt Reinar. Never!’ She spoke in breathless whispers, feeling her chest tighten, wondering if she could trust the dreamer to keep her secret. ‘I couldn’t hurt him, but Elin was so unhappy, and Reinar was blind to it. He was so unhappy himself after the babies died, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Not to Elin, not even to Sigurd. I’m not sure he’s spoken a word about it to anyone. I think Elin felt so alone, and her mind… I worried that if I didn’t help her leave, that she’d… kill herself. She had become so strange. Her thoughts were turning dark. Disturbing.’ Realising that she still had her hand over Alys’ mouth, Agnette pulled it away, gasping at a stitch in her side. ‘Elin was my friend since we were girls. I was torn, but I didn’t want

her to do anything she couldn’t undo. I thought if she ran away for a while, she’d change her mind. Come back. Be different somehow. Better.’

Alys felt exhausted. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all, so she’d spent the rest of the night with her head buried in the book. And now she wanted to go and see Stina and the Ullaberg women, but instead, she had to trek to the hall in the bitter cold, in her bare feet, through the sloshing mud, littered with thatch and twigs.

Agnette suddenly noticed. ‘You have no boots!’ She felt terrible, her mind a scattered mess. ‘Come on, come with me to the hall. I’ll find you a pair of mine. Come to think of it, you can probably wear Elin’s. She didn’t take anything with her. She didn’t want Reinar to suspect she’d run away.’

‘Oh.’

Agnette hurried on, turning back to Alys with a sigh, blonde hair tumbling out of a yellow scarf. ‘I’ll tell him. I’ll find you a pair of boots, then I’ll tell him everything.’

Hakon wanted to know everything, but Mother bunched her lips together with a determination not to reveal anything until they were alone.

And sensing how desperately Hakon wanted to be alone with Mother, everyone quickly dispersed, leaving the two of them at the high table, Karolina playing with Anders in front of the fire.

He turned to Mother, hands open, his lack of thumbs on full display. ‘So?’

Mother leaned towards him. ‘What is it that you want, Hakon Vettel?’ They sat at the high table together. There were many seats between them, though neither made a move towards the other.

Hakon was surprised by how surly she was, seemingly unwilling to reveal how it had all gone. It worried him. ‘Did something go wrong?’

Mother considered his question, spitting out a cherry pit. Blood-red juice dripped down her sagging chin, reminding her of the potion, and she shivered. ‘Nothing went wrong at all. I did what I intended. It was breathtaking!’ Her eyes lit up now, and she turned them on her lord.

Hakon smiled, pleased to hear it. ‘So we will attack? Now?’

Mother laughed. ‘You are such a hungry dog, aren’t you? You must have been an annoying child, always wanting to suckle!’ She cackled, her wild curls bouncing, jowls jiggling. ‘But a mother’s milk takes time to come in, just as my plan will. Wait. Just a while longer. You want that bridge? You want to roll right through Ottby, over those Vilanders, then be patient, Hakon. A siege will deplete your resources and your time. Word of that siege will be carried to Ake Bluefinn, and he will return from the West.’ Mother eased her way towards the frowning lord. ‘There are many ways to arrange the pieces of this puzzle. And you, of course, may choose your own path. But do not forget that we made an arrangement advantageous to both our needs. We are hungry for revenge. We want Ake gone. We want you on that throne. Stay with me, and I will get you there.’

Hakon reached for his cup of buttermilk, thinking how right Mother was. He had been an impatient child, always burning his fingers or his tongue, trying food that was too hot, touching cauldrons and skillets in a rush to satisfy his hunger. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. Or, if you’re not, perhaps I will wait anyway. As you say, Mother, revenge is important to both of us. And if the gods are on our side, if they favour us as I’ve always believed they do, then we’ll be in Stornas before my son is walking.’ His eyes drifted to Karolina, who held Anders up to his father, trying to please him.

Hakon was pleased, seeing those sturdy little legs, and he looked at Mother, who nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said with a throaty growl. ‘I believe you will.’

Agnette had given Alys a pair of her own boots, not wanting to take Elin’s. Not before she’d told Reinar everything. And not wanting to be around when Agnette told Reinar everything, Alys had slipped out of the hall.

She grew more uncomfortable as she walked. People stared. Red-faced children poked out their tongues at her. Others smiled as they raced past. Women pulled their men away, some gossiping, many frowning.

Alys didn’t know any of them. It was surreal. And oppressive.

The fort was larger than she’d realised. Its inner wall was high, casting gloomy shadows over the muddy square. Alys felt imprisoned. Ullaberg had been small – more a gathering of cottages along the shore than a true village – and she’d enjoyed brief moments of peace as she walked that beach every morning.

Arnon liked to sleep.

Arnon had liked to sleep, she reminded herself as she passed the training ring, where a handful of warriors were practising with wooden swords. That reminded her of Arnon too. He had been an arrogant man, always fighting bare-chested, shunning the use of armour. Alys shivered, unable to stop seeing the image of her dead husband. Sigurd’s arrow had gone straight through the eye of the wolf tattooed over Arnon’s chest. That evil-looking creature had curled over his belly, up to his neck, down to his waist. She had stared at it for eleven torturous years, always wanting to look away. But she never could. Arnon hadn’t let her.

But Sigurd’s arrow had killed him.

Though now, there was another wolf. And what did that mean?

‘Are you stuck?’ came the abrasive voice of Tulia Saari as she left her brother in the mud, walking to the railings. ‘You seem to have been standing there for some time. Perhaps you are lost?’

Alys was immediately intimidated, pulling one of Agnette’s boots out of the mud, horrified that they were already filthy. ‘No, well, yes. I wanted to see… the women.’

Tulia turned Alys around. ‘The barn’s that way. I’ll walk you. I don’t imagine anyone minds that you’re walking about freely?’ She lifted her wooden sword in the air, calling over her shoulder to Amir. ‘I’ll come back later!’

Alys didn’t know.

‘Well, I expect Reinar will come and find you soon. He likes having a dreamer. Perhaps that’s because he doesn’t know how to think for himself?’ Tulia felt cross, mad at Reinar Vilander, the most stubborn man she’d ever met, which was saying something, knowing Sigurd as she did.

‘Well, a dreamer’s insight is desired by many,’ Alys supposed quietly. ‘At least that’s what I’ve seen. I’ve never been a real dreamer before.’

‘Then why start now?’ Tulia wondered, trying not to stare at the woman. She was not young and silly like some. She seemed mature; the same age as her, perhaps? Pretty to look at, in a simple kind of way, though

her hair needed a comb and she smelled a little ripe. ‘Why become a dreamer all of a sudden? Just to save your skin?’

‘Yes,’ Alys admitted freely. ‘I saw the ships coming. I knew they would attack us. I had to say something.’

Tulia nodded at Torvig, who ignored her, eyeing Alys as he passed. ‘Arsehole,’ she muttered under her breath, still smiling. ‘So you spoke up at the right moment, saved Reinar and Sigurd, and now you’re a free prisoner. Not a slave, as such, but bound to Reinar as his dreamer. And where will that lead you when magical wolves are coming to kill us all?’ She laughed, rubbing her eye, trying not to yawn. It had been a disturbed night, but the day would run away from them before they got anything done.

Alekka was like that, Tulia knew, the colder months bringing days so short that you barely had time to open your eyes and make a plan before you stopped being able to see. Her tired eyes sharpened suddenly, focused on a warrior she knew, who was lugging a chest onto a cart, his wife and children beside him.

‘The barn’s up there. You can see the guards. I have to find Reinar. Looks like the first of the departures, though they won’t be the last to run. It’s been that way for months now, but after last night…’ And with a final glance at the dreamer, Tulia spun around, heading for the hall.

They had not made much progress.

Was that true?

It felt true to Magnus, who was hungry and cold and irritated with his sister, who, since revealing herself to be a dreamer, had become very bossy, always insisting that he was going the wrong way.

‘Lotta!’ Magnus twisted in his saddle, lips clamped together, eyebrows low over tired eyes. ‘I’m the leader!’

‘Why?’ Innocent-eyed Lotta wondered, pink lips pouting, pulling her pony to a stop.

Magnus didn’t know what to say to that. ‘Because you need me to be,’ he decided, eventually. ‘And I can be a good leader, if you let me. And a good leader always needs a helpful dreamer.’ Lotta appeared to be listening more and pouting less, so he went on. ‘I want to take your advice, and I’ll

listen to you, but I still have to make the decisions because I’m the leader. Mother wanted me to be. You know that.’

Lotta sighed, shoulders heaving. She was hungry too. And Magnus was right.

‘I’m just worried,’ she whispered, spinning around, searching the muddy path they had trekked down. ‘We have to get to Grandfather’s cottage. I see bad things coming. I feel them.’ Lotta quickly grabbed hold of Clover’s reins as the pony started prancing forward, wanting to get on. She tugged her to a stop, turning around to stare at her brother, who quickly caught up with her.

‘It’s just hard. Mother’s instructions are not easy to understand sometimes.’

Lotta frowned. ‘Well, if you let me look at them, I could help. I can

read.’

‘Of course you can read, I know that.’ Magnus felt himself getting cross again. ‘And what do you mean, you see bad things?’

Lotta closed her eyes, listening. ‘Someone is coming, Magnus,’ she hissed, opening them wide. ‘Someone is coming now! What should we do?’

Magnus spun around, trying to hear what Lotta could. And then he did.

Horses were thundering in the distance, riders coming down the path. ‘Quick!’ Magnus cried, nudging Daisy towards the trees. ‘Hurry!’

After spending far too long trying to calm the women down, Alys pulled Stina away to a corner of the barn to talk privately.

‘Do you really believe it was Ulura?’ Stina wondered. She felt exhausted. The nattering, sniffling women of Ullaberg had kept her awake for most of the night. And, she had to admit, she had been sniffling and shaking as much as the rest of them. The sounds outside the barn had been terrifying, the drumming invasive. She could feel it throbbing inside her body, as though the threat was still present.

Which it likely was.

Alys stared at her. ‘No, I think it was something else.’ She looked away, not knowing how to say it. ‘I think it was magical.’

‘Of course it was.’ Alys blinked.

‘I’ve seen magic,’ Stina told her in a hushed voice. ‘There was an old woman who lived in Ullaberg when I was a girl. What she did every season was magic, I’m sure. Blessing the land, encouraging the soil to be fertile. Sacrificing. Sprinkling it with blood, and who knows what else. I think everyone was too afraid to ask!’

Alys had seen similar things herself. ‘Of course, but this was different.

This was dark.’

Stina nodded. ‘It felt dark.’

Thoughts floated in and out of Alys’ mind, mostly about Magnus and Lotta, though thinking about them now wouldn’t help her get out of Ottby and back to them. Then one stuck. ‘If this Hakon Vettel has a dreamer, perhaps she’s working some sort of magic? Trying to get rid of Reinar that way?’

Stina stared at her curiously, tucking her dark-brown hair behind her ears. ‘You seem to like this Reinar. Our captor.’ She frowned. ‘Our enemy.’

Alys squirmed, edging away from Stina, shaking her head. ‘I must help him and be useful to him. If I’m not, he won’t release me. And I’m going to try and get him to release you too.’

Stina pulled her closer, smiling sympathetically. ‘You’re a good person, Alys, a kind woman, always trying to help, but see the truth this time, please. The Lord of Ottby or the Lord of Slussfall… they’re only interested in gaining power and gold and killing each other to do so. You must see that? You’re a weapon Reinar wants to wield. And if not him, then someone else. He will not let you go. You can’t believe he will?’

Alys was suddenly conscious of the smell of the barn, and the need for a drink. She wondered where Winter the cat was. Where Magnus and Lotta were on their journey. If they were well fed. Whether Agnette had told Reinar. And then she looked at Stina. ‘I believe I will be free, yes. I don’t know how. Not yet. But I feel that Reinar Vilander is a good man. His brother too. I just need to find a way to remind them of that.’

Stina sighed, squeezing Alys’ hands, knowing there was no way through. Over the years she had tried to convince Alys that Arnon would never change. And now, here she was again, wanting to rescue someone new, make them into what she believed they were meant to be. ‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ she said at last. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting away from

Ilene and her sniping!’ And winking at Alys, Stina pushed her towards the door. ‘And until then, maybe you could see about getting us more food? I think our appetites have finally returned. If they want to make use of us or sell us, they shouldn’t try to starve us!’

Alys nodded, wishing she could take Stina with her, perhaps some of the others too. They were not bad women, she just didn’t know most of them well enough. They had always looked at her with pity, and now they eyed her with suspicion and envy.

Swallowing, and ducking her head away from those twenty-five pairs of enquiring eyes, Alys motioned to the guards to let her out of the barn.

And lifting a hand, Stina watched her go.

The three men urged their horses after the children, who had escaped into the forest on their waddling ponies.

It did not take long to catch them.

‘Why are you running away?’ The oldest of the three asked, his grey- flecked beard so long it touched his swordbelt.

Magnus’ eyes wandered down the beard to the belt, where he noted a number of weapons sticking out beneath a thick cloak just covering the top of a pair of muddy boots. They appeared old but well taken care of, Magnus thought, shivering. He looked up, wanting to be brave for his sister, though the man had a hard face: sharp cheekbones; scars running down the side of a prominent nose, cutting through the top of his upper lip, twisting it menacingly. ‘You were ch-chasing us.’

Long Beard laughed, dismounting, stretching his back with a groan and a fart. They had been riding for days, heading for Slussfall, eager to report back to their lord. ‘You are lost?’

Magnus wasn’t sure.

‘We’re not lost!’ Lotta insisted bravely, jutting out her tiny chin.

Long Beard’s companions dismounted, coming to join him, eyes on the pretty little girl and her red-faced brother.

‘How old are you?’ Long Beard wondered. ‘Five?’

‘I’m nearly nine!’ Lotta grumbled crossly. ‘I’m not five!’

Magnus wanted to tell his sister to shut up. They didn’t need to be talking to these men any longer than necessary. ‘We’re going to visit our great-grandfather.’

Long Beard’s companions looked even more terrifying than him.

One wore a leather eye patch. He had long black hair, some tied in a multitude of tiny braids, the rest hanging down his back in a tangled mess. Tiny blue symbols were tattooed across his nose; across his forehead too. His eyes were small, dark and beady, and he screwed them up even smaller as he considered the two children.

The other man was the youngest of the three, and he was almost handsome, though his hair was mostly shaved off, exposing a head covered in scars and swirling tattoos, that made him appear sinister and threatening.

Both men had swarthy-looking complexions, or perhaps they just didn’t like washing, Magnus thought distractedly. Their swordbelts, which they exposed as they moved their long cloaks around, were stacked just as plentifully as their leader’s.

Magnus felt ill. All three men were obviously hardened warriors.

‘Well, where does he live, then?’ Long Beard wondered, his eyes on Lotta, who seemed fearless as she glared up at him.

‘In Torborg,’ Lotta said. ‘I thought we were on the wrong road, but my brother wouldn’t listen to me. He thinks he knows everything.’

Magnus was horrified to hear her blabber on, revealing all their plans. ‘Well, if you’re heading for Torborg, you can take this road. It’s a little

longer, but easier, I’d say. Your brother has the right of it there. Those two beasts don’t look up for much, though.’ He inclined his head to Daisy and Clover, who did appear ready for a long rest. ‘You can come along with us, if you like? We can show you the way?’

Long Beard’s young companion smiled, showing off a few silver teeth.

That made Magnus even more anxious. His father had warned him never to do business with a man with silver teeth, for a man willing to put silver into his mouth like that was surely a madman. ‘Thank you,’ Magnus croaked, almost losing the ability to speak. ‘But our ponies would only slow you down. We’re not in a hurry, so we’ll go our own way.’ He stared at Long Beard, who didn’t blink as he continued to watch Lotta. Magnus tried to think quickly, but his mind was blank, and terror had frozen his limbs.

Their ponies were slow.

He had two knives. One was blunt.

And there was Lotta. And Lotta was a dreamer.

And armed men with eye patches and silver teeth didn’t need to know that his sister was a dreamer.

But Long Beard narrowed his eyes; one dark brown, one almost green. And he grabbed Lotta from her pony before Magnus could even blink.

‌, 5‌

Reinar’s talk with Agnette had not gone well.

His cousin had always been feisty, strong-willed, and capable. But since falling pregnant, she had become increasingly emotional, and as soon as she’d explained how she had helped Elin escape the fort, she’d burst into tears.

After that, it was impossible to get mad at her, though he was. He truly was.

Agnette had finally left his chamber, nose blocked from crying, wanting to find Bjarni, and Reinar had remained behind, stunned by the blow. He had always dreamed of marrying Elin, from the moment she’d arrived in Ottby with Torvig and their father. She was ten-years-old, eyes filled with sadness because her mother had died. Agnette had taken her under her wing in a flash, and since Agnette spent all her time with Sigurd and Reinar, Elin did too.

Reinar had spent eighteen years of his life with her. Eighteen years of hearing her voice and seeing her smile.

And now he had lost her.

There were so many things he had to attend to, but Reinar couldn’t move. He sat before the fire which had died down to little more than a single flame now. The chamber was so cold his breath puffed out in white whispers.

He didn’t notice.

Elin was gone, and she didn’t want to come back.

The knock on the door was loud, and Sigurd didn’t wait before pushing it open, popping his head inside. He was with Tulia, leaning on her. ‘We

have problems, Brother. You need to come to the square.’

Reinar shook his head, standing. ‘I’m sure we do.’ And turning around with a sigh, he left the flame to die, grabbed his cloak, and followed them outside.

The men kept the ponies, tying them onto their own horses.

Long Beard threw Lotta onto his horse, sitting her just before the saddle’s pommel. Eye Patch had Magnus in front of him, one arm firmly across his chest.

‘What are your plans?’ Silver Tooth asked from Long Beard’s left. ‘Shall we eat them?’ He poked his tongue out at Lotta, who didn’t even look his way. She felt too scared to do anything but stare straight ahead. There was no sign of her dreams now. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Magnus kept glancing at his sister, hoping she was alright, but she remained silent, hiding beneath her ice-blonde hair. It worried him.

The way Long Beard kept stroking Lotta’s hair worried him too. The man looked filthy, especially his hands, which were almost black. His face didn’t look much better. Magnus wondered if it wasn’t just dirt, but dried blood staining his skin, and the thought of that made him tremble.

‘Can’t imagine they’d make much of a meal!’ Eye Patch laughed. ‘A little bony for my taste. Better to chop up the ponies. Cook them over a fire! Haven’t eaten a pony in many a month, and those two are the plumpest I’ve seen by far.’

Lotta spun around in terror, and Magnus was relieved that she appeared to be alright, though she looked scared. As he was. Yet he’d insisted that he was the leader. And so far, he hadn’t come up with any ideas for how to get them out of this mess.

The men had ridden them back down the road to Torborg and then turned abruptly into the forest, taking them down an old track, far away from Jonas’ cottage.

Magnus didn’t know where they were going now.

‘Well, that’s one option for sure,’ Long Beard smiled. The little girl was like a faerie, he thought, her hair shimmering in the sun before him. Trees bent over their path from either side, creating a tunnel, but the leaves had

long since fallen from their spindly branches, and the sun beamed down on them, almost warm.

He felt Lotta still before him.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll keep your pony.’

Magnus wanted to leap down and pull his sister away from that man, but he couldn’t move at all. He stared at Lotta, wondering if she could read his thoughts like she’d said. Hoping she’d been telling the truth.

‘Don’t imagine Hakon will be pleased about the delay.’ Silver Tooth was the only one of the three who looked uncomfortable with the situation, besides Magnus and Lotta. ‘We’re to report on what we’ve seen. Doubt he wants to wait till first snow. He’s too much like his father to sit still.’

Long Beard kept his sleepy-looking eyes focused ahead, watching a doe skip across their path, disappearing into the forest. ‘Why don’t you go after that beast and stop fretting. Be useful for once!’ But they both knew there was no chance of catching such an agile creature when it had a head start. ‘Besides, Hakon made me the leader of our little crew. He trusts me. I served his father. He knows I’ll get back to him when I can. He wouldn’t expect us to destroy another set of horses. We’ll have none of his silver left before long if we keep buying horses! We can afford to take our time.’

Silver Tooth sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve. His throat hurt and his head was pounding. That was certainly one of the things they’d be able to tell Hakon Vettel: how sickness was ravaging the Eastern Shore, from Orsund to Runvik and beyond. He’d never felt so ill. He glanced at Eye Patch, who was coughing, and at Long Beard whose eyes looked bloodshot.

Perhaps the children weren’t the only reason he’d decided to slow down?

‘We’ll ride till dusk, camp for the night and see how we feel come morning,’ Long Beard said, his rasping voice firm. ‘Perhaps we’ll cut loose for a while then? Make up some time? Be good to get to Akaby. Might find some takers for the boy.’

Magnus blinked, shivering all over, listening to the ragged breathing of the stinking man whose hand pushed against his chest, holding him in place.

Wishing he could hear his mother’s voice.

The square was noisier than it had been in months.

Though not with trade. Not with training. Not with games. And certainly not with celebration.

Many were leaving.

‘But why?’ Reinar called to Hartvig, who he’d known since they were toddlers. Their fathers had been friends. Their brothers too. ‘Ottby is your home! I know it’s hard –’

Hartvig spun around from where he was packing his saddlebags. He was newly married, and his morose-looking wife waited on her horse, lips set in a straight line as she tidied up her braids. ‘Hard? Reinar!’ Hartvig was a good man, useful with a spear. A bow too. ‘This is no longer just hard. And it’s no longer whispers either. The gods have spoken! You heard them last night! We all did!’ He turned back to his saddlebags, trying to stuff in another waterskin, which was proving difficult as his horse kept moving away from him, not liking the loud voices. ‘You should leave, Reinar! All of you should! You heard that warning last night. Vasa is coming!’

Alys watched from a distance, Agnette and Ludo beside her.

Agnette poked Ludo. ‘Why aren’t you over there? I think Reinar could use some help.’

‘He’s got Bjarni and Torvig. Sigurd too. And Tulia. I don’t want to get in the way.’

Agnette felt anxious, turning to Alys. ‘He didn’t take it well. About Elin.’

Ludo looked on curiously, eyebrows raised.

‘I helped her to leave,’ Agnette admitted, glancing up at him, guilt in her eyes. ‘She wanted to, desperately, so I helped her. And now,’ she sighed, ‘now they do too. Everyone wants to leave Ottby, it seems. Maybe we’re the fools? Maybe everyone sees something we don’t?’

Gerda strode up to them, eyes blazing with irritation. ‘Agnette! Stellan is sitting at the table, waiting for you. I thought you were taking him for a walk before the rain comes down again?’ She felt tense, eyes on the departing warriors. She had just as many problems in the hall, with some of her servants packing their chests and joining the exodus, leaving with their husbands and children, desperate to get away before Vasa or Hakon Vettel came to claim them.

Agnette turned back to the hall. ‘Don’t panic, Aunty, I’m on my way.’ And glancing at Bjarni whose cheeks were redder than usual, she sighed,

bunching up her dress and trekking away through the mud.

‘And you,’ Gerda snapped, peering at Alys. ‘What use are you to my son when you can’t help him keep his people? For without those people, we may as well open the gates and invite the monsters in!’ And yanking Ludo’s arm, she dragged him towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention you, Ludo Moller. We must help Reinar. We must!’

Alys watched them go, gasping, sharp pains assaulting her chest. The sun had abandoned the fort, and she felt cold, sensing rain coming.

It wasn’t that.

She turned around slowly, her skin prickling, as though someone was there.

As though something was wrong.

Tulia’s brother was walking towards her with a man she didn’t know. It wasn’t that.

And then she felt it. Magnus.

When Vik returned from his fishing expedition, shimmering catch strung over his back, Jonas was outside readying his old chestnut stallion, Klippr.

‘You looking to leave?’ Vik didn’t speak much. He was used to living alone. Though, he supposed, he’d never spoken much when he was married either.

His wives had always brought that up.

And though Vik had loved both of them, he found it impossible to change. Women were attracted to his stoicism. To his stone-like certainty and strength. He said what he meant, and left it at that. Though once things had progressed to marriage, his wives had wanted more, not realising that he had already shown them precisely who he was.

A loner. A warrior. A man so skilled in killing that he felt uncomfortable without a sword in his hand. It was what he knew. What felt right.

And yet, it had been many years now since he’d last drawn blood. Each one of them more uncomfortable than the last.

‘That I am,’ Jonas sighed, turning to his friend, amazed by the amount of fish he’d managed to attach to his string. ‘You’re going to be smoking for days!’ he laughed, feeling wistful, hungry as he was. Vik was an excellent fisherman, and he knew how to smoke a fish to perfection. If only one of them could make a decent flatbread, but they either ended up charred or sticky, never something useful in between. ‘I’m going to head back to my cottage, stay there a while.’

Vik dropped his string of fish to the ground with a frown. ‘You do remember your cottage, don’t you? That great pile of ash? I think the fire pit was still standing, having done all that damage, but I’m sure you won’t fit in it if you’re looking for a bed.’

‘I remember, and no, I’m taking your tent, if you don’t mind? Since you’ll be so busy smoking and drying, you won’t miss it for a while.’

‘Why are you heading back there, then?’ Vik dumped the rest of his load on the grass, slipping off his damp cloak, looking around for something to drink.

Jonas didn’t want to say. ‘Just a hunch I’ve a mind to do something about.’

‘A hunch?’ Vik sat down at a moss-covered table, sniffing the contents of the jug, which happily smelled like ale. There being no cups about, he tipped it into his mouth, taking a long drink. ‘Could that hunch have been a dream, then?’

Jonas shrugged.

‘Thought you didn’t believe in dreams. Or dreamers. Not anymore.’ ‘Well, what I believe or don’t believe seems irrelevant these days.

Especially when it’s my grandchildren I’ve got to think about.’ Vik wiped his bearded mouth. ‘What’s happened?’

Jonas shrugged again. He felt silly as he left his horse and joined Vik at the table. ‘Alys came to me in a dream.’ He eyed Vik, but his friend hadn’t even moved an eyelid. ‘Eida used to do that. My daughter too. Dreamers, all of them. They have a way of making you know something’s wrong.’

‘And you think something’s wrong?’ ‘I do. I really do, Vik.’

Vik saw the fear in Jonas’ eyes, and he glanced back at his shimmering pile of fish. ‘Well, help me get that lot ready, and I’ll come. You might need the help.’

Jonas shook his head. ‘No, no, that’ll take some time. Besides, it’s two children. Alys sent them to find me. That’s what she said. I don’t need help with two children.’ And standing up, Jonas headed back to his old horse, who was happily chomping into an apple he’d pulled off a tree. ‘It may just be my imagination. I hope it is,’ he said quickly. ‘I do. And if not, I’ll be back in a few days with two more hungry mouths, so you’ll need to have that fish ready!’ He grinned, trying to cover his growing fear that something truly was wrong.

‘But why would Alys have sent her children to you on their own?

Aren’t they small?’

Jonas was tightening Klippr’s saddle, and he froze, shivers rushing up his spine. ‘Yes. They are.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Gerda implored. ‘Nothing you can do to make them stay?’ Her hands were on her son’s fur-covered chest, her eyes imploring him to act.

‘I can lock the gates. I can imprison them. But what would be the point of that?’ Reinar didn’t want to deal with his mother. He looked around for Agnette, who was very good at placating Gerda when she was winding herself into a spitting frenzy. But there was no sign of her. He nudged Bjarni towards her instead. ‘Bjarni will take you back to the hall, Mother,’ he said distractedly, eyes on Alys. ‘I need to get things in order. Those who are gone are gone. Those who will leave will leave. I can’t stop them if that’s what’s already in their hearts. I will do what I can, but there are a lot of stubborn people in this fort, and not many of them seem interested in staying for the fight.’ And brushing Gerda aside, Reinar headed for Alys.

The dreamer was looking in the opposite direction, standing perfectly still, hair blowing to one side as though it was trying to pull her away.

She jumped when he touched her, spinning around.

‘Are you alright?’ The look on her face was one of pure horror, and Reinar felt concerned.

Alys tried to catch her breath. Her body was trembling, her mind tumbling. She could feel the children’s panic, certain that they were in trouble. ‘I am,’ she lied, clearing her throat. ‘Fine.’

‘Can you ride?’ Reinar asked, noticing that she had boots on now, but no cloak. No wonder she was shaking.

Alys nodded distractedly.

‘Good. I’ll grab you a cloak, then let’s ride. I need to show everyone there’s nothing to be afraid of. That there’s nothing lurking in that forest at all.’ And he headed for the hall, hoping he was right.

Hakon and Lief rode behind Ivan, who was leading the hunt with two of their men. Hakon was content to let Ivan take the lead, as it gave him a chance to speak with Lief, who had so far seemed content to follow Ivan’s orders. But Hakon had started to question how this dynamic would play out in reality.

And that reality was approaching like a storm cloud.

“Mother says the first snow will come early this year,” Hakon mused, his temperamental bay horse walking beside Lief’s powerful black stallion, which tossed its head restlessly. “So we must quicken our plans. Ivan is already doing so. We spoke this morning.”

Lief nodded, his cheeks flushed and his nose dripping. “It won’t be easy, snow or no snow. Ottby is protected by two walls. There’s a reason it’s stood for so long, my lord.”

Lief never called him Hakon. He was a serious man, with a dour tone—nothing like Ivan.

Hakon watched his cousin up ahead, laughing with his companions, hardly a way to sneak up on their prey. But Ivan was effective, blessed with luck, and fierce in battle. More than anything, Hakon trusted him completely.

And despite Lief’s years of service to his father, Hakon still wasn’t sure about him.

“I agree. It won’t be easy, but no worthwhile fight is. I have no desire to claim my throne without tearing my way to victory. I want the songs of our conquest to ring through the kingdom like bells after a slaughter. No one sings of a battle won with words and handshakes.”

Now Lief smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. That’s the kind of battle they carve onto saga stones, etching it into the memory of time.”

Hakon liked the sound of that. “And what will those stones say about you, Lief Gundersen? What tales will they tell of your feats?”

“I wouldn’t care if they mentioned me at all, my lord. My only wish is to see you restored to your rightful place, to see the Vettels back in Stornas, where they belong. And with my help and guidance, you will be.”

Hakon could hear it in Lief’s voice: that cold insistence that he not be overlooked in favor of his lord’s younger, less experienced cousin. “Of course, and I’m grateful to you, Lief. For bringing Mother to me. And dear Falla too. My Karolina enjoys her company.” Hakon ducked under a low branch, ready to stop for some ale. He had skins packed in his saddlebags, along with cheese and a leg of pork. “But it’s important to remember that Ivan leads our army. He has my full support. I trust him completely.”

Lief nodded, gripping the reins tightly. His black horse shook its mane over his hands, and he frowned. “Ivan is a skilled warrior. He’s proven himself in battle. But not as a leader. Not yet. You trust him, of course, but character comes sharply into focus when you’re responsible for others.” He glanced at the young men ahead of them—Ivan’s friends, all the same age—joking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. “And perhaps that will be a challenge for him?”

Hakon frowned, no longer interested in Lief’s opinion. “Mother has prepared everything perfectly. Now all we need is the key to the door, and then I will open it.” Hakon urged his horse forward, turning to grin at Lief, wishing he could spark some life in his champion’s weary eyes.

They rode through Ottby’s outer gates, down the wide path that led towards the forest, clouds rushing at them, squawking birds scattering overhead, following each other in rhythmic waves of dark feathers.

Despite the noise of the wolf, and the storm that had torn through the night, there was no sign of damage anywhere.

Alys didn’t notice.

She was wearing Reinar’s wife’s cloak, riding Reinar’s wife’s horse. She didn’t notice that either.

Her children were in trouble, and she couldn’t help them.

The grey mare beneath her was quiet and gentle, and her hooves pounded the muddy path, keeping time with Reinar on his giant black horse.

He turned to stare at her sometimes, struggling to see another woman in that familiar golden cloak. He had bought it for Elin to wear on their wedding day, for they had married in the depths of winter, much to his mother’s horror. But Elin loved the snow and the cold, and she had wanted to marry outside, wrapped in furs, standing beneath trees draped in holly and ivy; winterberries too.

Reinar looked away, tugging his horse to the right, heading down a narrow path, wanting to stop and talk. There was a place he used to go with his friends when they were younger; not married or in charge of anything. They sometimes camped there, just to escape their parents and their chores. And twisting and turning through the trees, his memory sparking, Reinar found his way to a covered clearing; the tree canopy like a tent above their heads; the forest suddenly dark and cold.

He jumped down from his horse, reaching for Alys’ waist, helping her to the ground.

Alys was suddenly aware of how far away from anyone they were, and she swallowed, glancing around.

‘I used to come here,’ Reinar said quietly, leading her to a boulder. It was oddly shaped, as though someone had carved part of it into a table. Smaller boulders had been pushed up against it like stools. ‘With Sigurd, Ludo, and Bjarni. Torvig too. To hide from the women.’ He almost laughed, thinking how differently they had all felt once. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who had run away with his heart. ‘Sit.’ And waiting for Alys to take a boulder, Reinar took another. ‘Tell me what happened last night. Tell me about the wolf.’

Alys didn’t know where to begin. ‘I can’t say for certain, but I think it was a spell. One of the books in the dreamer’s cottage mentions such things being possible. You can create an illusion so real that you hear and see everything as though it’s happening to you. It’s like being in a nightmare. A waking nightmare.’

‘A dreamer would have to do it, then? Create the nightmare?’ ‘Yes. A dreamer who knew dark magic.’

Reinar placed his big hands on the boulder table, thinking. ‘Is that something you can find out? Can you dream of it?’

Alys didn’t know. ‘I have no experience, but I can read more. I can try.’ She didn’t want to think about that dreamer at all. She wanted to find a way to help Magnus and Lotta.

Though, perhaps there were answers to everything in those books? ‘Then you will try, for me. Tonight.’

Alys nodded.

‘And when we discover the truth about the wolf, then, and only then will I ask you to return to dreaming about my wife.’ Reinar saw the surprise in her eyes, but he carried on, not caring what she thought. ‘For I still need to find her. She may have chosen to leave, but I have to know what happened to her. I need to know if she’s safe. If she will ever come home.’

Reinar’s devotion to his wife was surprising, and Alys didn’t want to break his heart further, so she nodded, almost smiling.

‘What you do for me must remain between us, though,’ Reinar warned. ‘My father made a vow to Ake Bluefinn that he would hold the bridge to Stornas. It’s what we’ve always done. There have been threats over the years, but Ottby has remained strong. I can’t lose it now. I can’t have more deserters. Soon there will be none left. No one but Sigurd and Tulia. Bjarni and Ludo. Torvig. Amir. Soon I won’t even have enough hands to crew one ship.’

‘You must find a way to compel them to stay,’ Alys suggested. Reinar’s eyes lit up. ‘And?’

‘Your reputation… it is –’

‘Ruined. Torn to shreds. Shat on. I know all of it.’

Alys smiled. ‘It sounds that way, yes. So you need to do something to reclaim it. Warriors flock to leaders with fame, don’t they? My grandfather…’ She stopped, images of Jonas suddenly flashing before her eyes. ‘He was a warrior. He cared about the man he fought for. He believed in him.’

Reinar looked envious, inhaling a frosty breath. ‘My father was a man like that. He fought with Ake. He was a giant of a man, but look at him now. He sits in that wheelchair, being fed like a baby, a prisoner of his body. Perhaps the bad luck has not all been mine?’

‘And when did it change?’ Alys wondered. ‘Your luck? When your father took ill? Can you think of what happened around then? Did you do something to offend the gods?’

Reinar snorted, doubting the gods could be offended by something he’d done. He quickly frowned, though, seeing the real concern in Alys’ eyes. ‘I’ll try and think. I don’t know.’ He kept staring at her, unsettled. It was hard to see the dreamer in Elin’s cloak. Reaching out, he touched the fur- lined hood, embroidered with flowers. Always flowers. ‘It’s not the warmest of cloaks, but my wife never felt the cold. She wore it year after year, summer or winter.’ He smiled, wondering if that was because Elin had truly loved it, refusing to swap it for a thick fur cloak, even in the depths of winter.

Wondering if she had ever truly loved him.

Alys squirmed; the way Reinar was looking at her made her want to edge away. It was as though he wasn’t seeing her at all. ‘I’m grateful to have it.’

Now Reinar laughed. ‘How polite you are, Alys de Sant!’ His blue eyes sparkled for a moment. ‘Grateful to be stolen away from your home, having your husband murdered before your eyes. Forced to live in a fort about to be crushed by its enemies, with the unluckiest lord in Alekka!’ He shook his head, standing. ‘We should keep going, for there are dreams to have and books to read and memories to stir. And when you’re done, I’ll bring you riding again. Milka has been lonely these past few weeks. I still can’t believe Elin left everything behind, especially her.’ He held out a hand, ushering Alys back to the horses.

Alys could feel Reinar’s sadness return as he walked behind her, away from the clearing.

‘We can ride a little longer, if you like? I’ll take you the long way back to the fort. It will give us both a chance to think.’