Daughters Of The Storm (18 page)

All her joints were swollen and sore.

Yldra's words circled her, their dark import pressing on her. ‘You are destined to take thousands with you into death.' She knew it. She had known it since she'd seen the dragon's indiscriminate fire in the vision. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but it was true. She knew not how it was true, but it was for a certainty.

As she stood, aching and coughing, Bluebell emerged from the infirmary and saw her.

‘Sister? Are you well?' Bluebell strode over, her face grim in the darkening twilight.

‘I ... I am well.' Ash coughed again. ‘I found her.'

Bluebell's eyebrows shot up. ‘Yldra? Is she father's sister?'

‘I don't know. She is certainly a powerful undermagician.'

‘Can you lead us to her?'

‘I think so,' Ash said, ‘but I don't know if we'll be welcome.'
I certainly won't.

‘Which way?'

She coughed again, pretending it was difficult to breathe. ‘I'm sorry. The magic takes its toll on me. We go north and northwest. Into the heart of Bradsey. There's a stone on the edge of a plain ...' Her heart stuttered again as she thought of it.

‘We'll find it,' Bluebell said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Go and get some rest. You look exhausted.' Then she was striding on her way to finish organising their journey, Ash's ever-capable sister.

Ash watched her go, then sank to the grass to breathe the soft evening air. Her mind whirled. If her Becoming meant the deaths of others, then the only way to prevent such horror was to take herself into exile. Away from everyone. Away from her sisters. She could lead them to Yldra's, but then she would have to leave them, lest her Becoming sweep them all away.

Willow took a deep breath and let her hands fall in her lap, the fine silver chain loose over her fingers, the triangle spilling down and swinging slowly. She sat on the grass, in the shadow behind her father's hall. Evening damp pressed against her skirts, a light in a lantern flickered beside her.
Breathe in, breathe out.
But no matter that she told herself to relax, she could not stop the whirling thoughts in her mind. Where
were
they?

Come to me, come to me, most beloved angels, messengers of Maava. Praise Maava, may his glory be great. Come to me, angels, let me hear your sweet voices. Where are your sweet voices? Forsake me not ...

Their silence infected her heart. Why did they not speak to her? Once, perhaps a year ago, she hadn't yet known their voices could be heard and had not realised how empty time and thought were without them. But then the preacher who lived behind her village — the one people warned her to stay away from — had told her about the voices, about how he had been chosen by Maava to hear angels speak in his head. And Willow had wanted that so much. She'd wanted it so much she couldn't sleep at night for feeling her ribs and spine push against her soft flesh inside. Finally, finally, after weeks of prayer, the voices had come.

But here she was, far from home, and nothing but silence.

Come to me, angels, for Maava's love. For pity of sweet Liava and her doomed twins. I would die for Maava, too. You can't leave me alone now. Come to me, tell me what I should do.

Then, when she was about to dissolve into despair ...

‘Here, child. We are here.'
A chorus of sweet voices, whispering across each other.
‘We are here. Be not sad.'

Oh, thank you. Thank you. I ask only what I should do, here, so far from home. My father is dying, my father by blood. I barely know him, but I love him as a daughter should, though he is not my lord. Maava is my lord. May all pray for his might. Praise Maava may his glory be great. The one god, the only god.

‘Your father is a heathen king. Your father will pass, on his death, to the Blacklands.'

Her father in the Blacklands? Maava would judge her by her father's fate, surely. Her heart spiked.
No! Can I not save him? Can I not pray for him? I will pray every second, I will not blink, yet I stop to pray.

‘You may pray. You may hope he dies when you are with him, so that you may ask Maava to transport his soul into the Sunlands. But he is a sinner and may yet not be saved.'

Then the voices turned into the snarling swirl they sometimes did, where words weren't clear but meaning bloomed in her belly, dark and cold. Maava was unhappy with her. She had a heathen for a father. Heathens for sisters. She hadn't done enough to bring them into Maava's light. She brought the triangle to her lips and prayed and prayed until the feeling slipped behind her heart; there it would remain until the next time Maava decided to punish her.

Self-hatred, despair. She took the edge of her trimartyr triangle and dug it into the soft flesh of her wrist. It did nothing more than leave an indentation in among the crisscrossing of faint scars. She pulled the knife from her waistband and lightly scored three
lines across her wrist. Tiny beads of blood bubbled out. She put her knife away, licked the blood off her skin.

No use moping. She had to do something. The angels had told her to be with her father, but Bluebell planned to take him away in the morning. She would have to make sure she travelled too. Maava would want that.

Bluebell wouldn't.

She rose, picked up her lamp, then her skin prickled. She realised she wasn't alone.

Willow turned sharply. Her stepbrother, Wylm, was watching her from around the corner of the hall. She quickly tucked away her triangle. He smiled, nodded. The usual cruel set of his brow was absent. His expression was almost warm. She was taken aback. Then he slipped away.

Her heart hammered. Would he tell Bluebell? Well, perhaps it would be good if he did. It was well past time Willow told Bluebell herself. Maava was the one god. Those who didn't accept that committed their souls to the Blacklands. That was precisely where Bluebell was headed if she didn't accept the trimartyr faith.

The dark feeling again.
I'm sorry, Maava, I'm sorry. I'm a poor sinner. I'm sorry. I will do better. But if I tell Bluebell now, she won't let me travel with my father. I will save his soul. I will send him to you in the Sunlands.
With new resolve, she went to find Bluebell.

She wasn't in her bower, though Rose was there with Rowan, Ash and Ivy.

‘Have you seen Bluebell?' she asked. ‘I need to speak with her immediately.'

Ivy's curiosity was piqued. She stood and approached. ‘Willow, what's all this?'

Willow ignored her. ‘Do you know where Bluebell is?'

‘Over at the infirmary, I think,' Rose said as she brushed Rowan's long, dark hair.

Ivy caught her at the door, dropping her voice low. ‘Why do you need to see Bluebell?'

‘That's my business.' Willow kept walking, head down.

‘Your business is my business. You know that.'

‘I'm going to make her take me tomorrow. With Father.'

‘Are you mad? Why would you want to do that? We could go home tomorrow.'

‘Don't try to convince me otherwise, Ivy. I've made up my mind and I'm going to ask her. No, I'm going to
tell
her. I have to go with Father. Maava wants me to.'

Ivy stopped and pulled Willow to a halt with a firm hand around her wrist. ‘No. No, no, no. You cannot, you
cannot
mention your trimartyr nonsense to Bluebell.'

Willow set her chin. How she despised it when Ivy called her faith ‘nonsense', as though she were as flighty and inconstant as Ivy herself. ‘Why not?'

‘Why not? Because trimartyrs don't believe in queens. And Bluebell rather fancies she'll be one.'

‘I can hardly choose to believe some of Maava's truths and not others.'

‘Your head is made of wood. The moment you mention it she'll stop listening to you.'

A few feet away, the door to the infirmary swung outwards. Bluebell's shadow proceeded her, indistinct against the flickering lamplight. Willow caught her breath, then hated herself for being afraid of her older sister. Whoever stood in Maava's righteous truth had no need to fear.

Willow hurried forwards as Bluebell shut the infirmary door behind her and slid across a bolt. ‘Sister, I would speak with you.'

Bluebell looked up. ‘What is it? I'm busy.'

‘Tomorrow. You've said you leave at dawn. I want to come with you.'

‘No.'

‘You can't say no. Æthlric is my father too. I want to be with him.'

‘Why?'

Willow's heart stammered, but she forced her voice to be smooth and strong. ‘Because he may die. Why should three of his daughters travel with him while the other two wait and hope? Would you be content to wait and hope?'

Bluebell tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowed. Willow could tell she was struggling with saying no. Bluebell was nothing if not loyal to the idea of family.

‘I could be of use to you. You, Rose and Ash will need help on the journey.'

‘We won't need help. Sighere and Heath are coming,' Bluebell said.

‘Heath is going?' Ivy squeaked.

Willow ignored her. ‘Heath is not even a member of this family!'

‘He is your sister's nephew, and he can wield a sword a mite better than either of you.'

Ivy piped up loudly. ‘We should be allowed to come. If you say no, we will simply follow you.'

Willow turned and looked at Ivy curiously.

Bluebell pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead. ‘Find your own horses, pack everything you need, don't ask me to stop and rest along the way and keep your eyes open for danger. I can probably use you somehow. And it goes without saying you don't tell
anyone
what's going on.'

A muffled voice from within the infirmary. ‘Bluebell!'

‘Coming, Dunstan,' she called through the door. She sized up her youngest sisters. ‘Don't fuck up or I'll send you home.'

‘We won't fuck up,' Ivy said, clearly relishing the curse.

‘We will do the right thing,' Willow said, as Bluebell wrenched open the door and went back inside.

Willow turned to Ivy. ‘Why did you change your mind?'

‘Heath.'

‘I thought you wanted to marry William Dartwood?'

Ivy snorted. ‘I don't want to
marry
anyone. Although ...' Ivy pushed her lip out, thinking. ‘Heath would be rather a good match.'

Willow fished the neck chain out of her dress and pressed the triangle against her lips. Never mind her heathen sisters, she was doing Maava's work. She was sure she felt his favour turn to her and, despite the cool misty evening, it was like sunlight on her bones.

Bluebell watched Dunstan as he hammered the last of the nails into the shutter.

‘No way out?' she said.

‘She'd have to pull these out with her teeth.'

‘The door?'

‘You saw the bolt.'

‘But you'll need a lock. So no do-gooder comes along and —'

‘The smithy has made you a box padlock. He'll bring it up tonight.'

Bluebell pushed her long hair off her neck and tied it in a knot, glancing around the room. She and Dunstan had spent today making it into a prison. A comfortable one, but a prison nonetheless. The comfort was a concession to her sisters' opinions, even though she hadn't mentioned to them her plans for Gudrun. She'd intended to lock her stepmother up in here with Osred, but Osred had disappeared earlier that day. Bluebell couldn't help but see it as confirmation of guilt and had sent six men off to try to catch him.

‘Tomorrow morning at dawn, I'll come for you,' Bluebell said. ‘My sisters will be down at the stables, waiting with the cart. Sighere and Heath will be with me. We'll take Æthlric, you take Gudrun. Don't let her scream. Do what you have to, but be careful with her. We can't harm her, in case ... in case I am wrong.'

Dunstan hid a smile.

Bluebell kicked his shin. ‘Fuck you, old man.'

‘I'll be sweet to her.'

‘Pick up her son, too. He's staying at the alehouse. Get Gudrun locked up first then go and bring Wylm down. He's not to be underestimated. He's inexperienced but wily.' She dusted her hands against her tunic. ‘They can keep each other company until I get back.' She tried not to think about how much ill will her actions would arouse. If she was right, then it was of no matter. But if she was wrong ...

‘I'm not wrong,' she muttered. ‘I
know it
, Dunstan. I've always had a sense she's bad for our family.'

He looked back at her. ‘Well, either you are wrong, or your father is.'

She lifted her chin. Dunstan had been her first teacher. He'd dragged her out of bed on her tenth birthday and beat her over the head with a wooden sword until she developed the muscles to lift her shield swiftly and precisely to block him. Six years later, she'd beaten him in practise combat for the first time. ‘Who do you think is wrong?' she asked.