Daughters Of The Storm (46 page)

Bluebell urged him forwards, up the hill. Six tall figures made of straw stood on either side of the path. They made Bluebell's gut twitch, almost as though they were looking at her. Isern began to shy, dropping his head and snorting. Thrymm hung back.

Bluebell dismounted, left them there, and continued on foot. She walked right up to one of the figures. Dead beetles were its eyes. Bluebell blew hard into its face. It didn't move.

But she didn't see the one coming from behind her. It put its rough arms around her waist. Her skin crawled. She drew her sword and spun round, calling out and cutting it in two. Then she slashed the others in half, as insurance, whistled for her dog and stalked up the hill to her aunt's house.

The door was only shoulder height, painted green. Bluebell pushed it open and peered into the dark, smoky inside. A woman sat by the hearthpit, weaving with straw. She didn't look up.

‘Yldra?' Bluebell asked.

‘Ugh. You stink of horse magic,' Yldra said.

‘I —'

‘Close the door, you're letting the light in,' Yldra said. ‘We have a lot to discuss.'

Wengest and Rowan had been gone for three days and Ivy was starting to worry. The morning after her encounter with Wengest, she had woken to find the bed next to her empty, and Nurse nowhere in sight. Wengest's bower, too, was empty, and she was forced to acknowledge they must be together somewhere. She was met with stony silence from Wengest's retainers, and her meals were brought to her wordlessly in her bower every day.

Wengest had clearly ordered everyone to tell her nothing.

By the fourth day, she had grown sick of waiting in her bower and walked down to the gatehouse to see if she could charm somebody into divulging something. Once again, she was met with resistance. So she went down the slope and walked for a little while around the base of the fort. She saw travellers and traders come and go; the whole world buzzing on as it always had.

Ivy felt young. She felt foolish. She wished she had never pursued Wengest and she certainly wished she had never said anything about Rose's infidelity. It was so clear now that it had been the wrong thing to do. Most of all, though, Ivy felt afraid. Because the consequences seemed as though they would be very serious.
Bluebell would punish her without mercy. Her hopes of a happy, comfortable life would flee from her fingertips.

Her foot hit a soft patch of ground, and she stepped back and swore softly. Cow shit. Her silk slipper drenched in cow shit. She slipped her shoes off and threw them on the ground, then found a place to sit and put her head in her hands to cry. It wasn't her fault! It was Rose's fault. Rose should never have taken a lover. Rose was a queen; she should have known better. Perhaps Bluebell would be angrier with Rose than Ivy. Perhaps Ivy would escape blame all together. Right now, she wanted to be back home in Fengyrd with Uncle Robert and Aunt Myrtle. She was sick of being herself.

Hoofbeats in the distance drew her attention. She looked up and saw a small retinue approaching. She recognised Wengest's standard. Wengest was back! Relief flooded her body. She stood and strained her eyes to see Rowan, sitting on Nurse's saddle. But there was no Nurse, and certainly no Rowan. Wengest was returning only with two soldiers.

She hurried down towards the road to greet them. Wengest barely slowed when he saw her.

‘Wengest!' she called as they thundered past. ‘Where is Rowan?'

‘Go back to your bower,' he grunted, without a backwards glance.

Ivy stood on the road in their wake, tears welling in her eyes. He wouldn't have harmed the child, would he? No, of course not. Nurse hadn't returned either. They were somewhere together. But why take them away from Folcenham?

Ivy swallowed hard. It was to punish Rose, wasn't it? And Ivy knew she needed to be far away from Netelchester when Rose returned.

Her bare feet were soft on the hard road. She returned to her bower and immediately began to throw her clothes and shoes into her pack. Sighere had left for Blicstowe nearly a week ago. She wished she'd gone with him. But she wasn't afraid to travel alone.

The door to her bower burst open and Wengest stood there, surrounded by sunlight. She froze, a linen shift rolled up in her hand.

‘Ivy,' he said, not meeting her eye.

‘Wengest,' she replied. She began to understand he was ashamed of what they had done. If he was angry at her, it was partly because he had lost his head with her. ‘Where is Rowan?'

‘With Nurse.'

‘And where is Nurse?'

‘With Rowan.' He folded his arms in front of him. ‘They are both safe and comfortable. I love my daughter, Ivy. I would not punish her for her mother's wrongs.'

Ivy felt compelled to defend Rose. ‘Only a little wrong, surely.' She held her index finger and thumb a little apart. ‘No more wrong than what you were doing with the serving girl. Or with me.'

Angry redness spread up his neck. ‘Don't you dare compare our situations. I am a man and a king. She is a woman. A mother.'

Ivy shrank back.

He took a deep breath. Collected himself. ‘I can't have you here,' he said.

‘I'm going,' she replied. ‘I'll leave today.'

‘You can't travel alone.'

‘I don't mind, I —'

‘I am organising something. Prepare yourself to travel in the next few days. In the meantime, stay out of my sight.'

‘I will,' she said, stinging with shame and guilt.

He nodded curtly, then left.

Ash hesitated at the top of the path, looking down at Unweder's house. The chill of the gully was on her cheeks. Here, it was cold like winter, as though spring had passed Unweder by. The hedges
were bare, and a few mottled brown and yellow leaves still hung from the branches. She had a sense of standing on the edge of a precipice. And yet, what was she to do? She couldn't be alone. Not forever. And she was certain he could help her understand her power. If she had to be in exile, and if he had said he would welcome her back, was this not the perfect place for her to be?

She went down the path and knocked at the door. No answer. Knocked again. Then gently pushed it open.

‘Unweder?' she said softly. Inside, the house was warm. Embers still glowed in the hearthpit. Unweder wasn't here. She felt lost suddenly, as though it was a sign and she wasn't meant to be here. She turned, intending to leave.

On the long bench, several small jars stood in a line. Curious, she approached. She picked one up. Empty. The others, too, were empty. She wondered what they were for. She wondered what kind of undermagic Unweder practised. She put the jar down and turned away from the door. Hanging from nails around the house were small charms and decorations: pottery shapes on ribbons, small mirrors, straw and feather weavings. She approached and lifted from a nail a long piece of string with a tiny clay pot on the end. It had a cork in the end. She put her fingers over it, then changed her mind. Unweder might be annoyed if she spilled whatever was inside. Hanging it carefully on its hook, she looked down and saw a large wooden chest. The latch wasn't closed. She reached for it to open it.

The door swung open. ‘Don't touch that!'

She whirled around, heart thudding in her throat, red-faced with guilt and embarrassment. Unweder stood there with a brace of rabbits in his good hand.

‘I was going to put the latch down,' she stammered.

He strode over and pushed the latch down himself. ‘Promise me you won't touch that. Everything else is yours to see and
explore. Just not that chest.' He was short of breath, and she wondered if he had sensed her and run back from wherever he was.

‘I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Your things are private, of course.'

‘I trust you.' He went to the bench and laid down the rabbits. ‘I'll explain later.'

‘You don't need to explain at all.'

He smiled at her. ‘I'm so glad you're back.'

She smiled too, cautiously. ‘You don't mind?'

‘No. You are very welcome to be here and to stay as long as you need to. I can make you a bed on the floor here by the hearthpit.'

Ash wondered if she should doubt his intentions. But she pushed the thought away. If Unweder had any sexual desire in his body, it was slight and it was buried. She recognised this about herself too: she was not formed for love and family as other women were. ‘I will earn my keep,' she said. ‘I can hunt and fish. I can grind flour and make bread. Whatever you need.'

‘We can work together,' he said, carefully putting the little jars aside. ‘When you've settled in. I expect you need to grieve the loss of your family.'

She frowned. ‘They're not dead.'

‘They are dead to you, no? You can't see them again?'

Words stopped up in Ash's throat.

He approached. His tone was gentle. ‘I don't mean to be cruel,' he said, ‘but you need to understand what you are doing. What you have already done. You have left the world as you know it. And now you will build a new world, starting in here with me.'

Ash felt afraid of him then. His insistence weighed like lead, and she had a desperate urge to run away.

But then he smiled again. ‘There's no right way to feel, Ash. Take your time. I am quiet and I am out a lot during the day. You take your time deciding what you want. You can leave whenever
you like, though I would be sorry to see you go.' He indicated the rabbits. ‘Would you care to help me prepare dinner?'

The routine tasks helped. Skinning and gutting the rabbits, preparing the turnips and carrots, chopping and boiling and stirring. Then, when the stew sat in its pot cooking and thickening, they sat opposite each other by the hearthpit and drank a cup of mead each. The smell of meat and spices made her stomach pang.

‘Last time you were here you said you had many questions,' he said, ‘though you only had time for one.'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Would you like to ask me another?'

She shifted on her stool, crossing her ankles in front of her. Her bare feet caught the fire's warmth. ‘Very well. Why can't I control this power?'

‘Give me a specific example.'

‘My sister Bluebell has been asking me for weeks if I can see my father's fate. I get glimmers, but no clear picture. And yet, when I was in Thriddastowe I often had visions of other people's fates. People far less important to me.'

‘If you haven't a prophetic gift, then you haven't a prophetic gift.' He shrugged. ‘I'm the same. I get flashes, often trivial. Nothing of moment, and nothing when I most want to know.'

‘Really?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘Does it not drive you mad with frustration?'

‘No. That isn't my gift. I stopped trying to develop the ability a long time ago.'

For some reason, this thought filled Ash with incredible relief. She imagined Bluebell asking her to see the future, and simply saying, ‘I can't. That isn't my gift.' But then she remembered Bluebell wouldn't be asking such things of her ever again.

‘What is your gift?' Ash said.

‘It's complicated. I'll explain another time. What do you think yours is?'

Ash bit her lip. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘You have no idea?'

‘I have an idea. Though I'm frightened to say it in case I'm wrong. In case you form expectations of me I can't fulfil.'

‘I have no expectations of you.'

Ash dropped her voice, though she didn't know why. ‘I can see elemental spirits.'

‘Good.'

‘And I can ... I can tell them what to do.'

He went very still, though he was still smiling at her. ‘Also good. Very good. A very useful skill to have.'

‘What does it mean, though? Why would I have this power? They don't like it. They seem both fascinated and repelled by me, but my voice controls them as forcefully as a yoke on their necks.'

A short silence. Unweder considered her in the smoky room. ‘I can't answer that now. But as you focus and develop your talent, it will become clear.'

‘Really?'

‘Really.'

Knotted muscles in her back began to release. He could help her. He already had. He had a wide view, the perspective she had been lacking. That those fools at Thriddastowe had been lacking. That her sisters, despite their good intentions, had been lacking. Unweder knew. Unweder could help her.

Exhaustion, mental and emotional, made her bones weak. She ate a little, then Unweder made her a bed and she curled up in it gratefully.