Hallow Wood Read online

  Books by A.E. Rayne

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  Winter’s Fury (Book 1)

  The Burning Sea (Book 2)

  Night of the Shadow Moon (Book 3)

  Hallow Wood

  The Furyck Saga: Book 4

  A.E. Rayne

  For Beau

  Contents

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  Map

  Prologue

  I. A Secret

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  II. Andala

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  III. Hallow Wood

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  IV. Death to My Enemies

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  V. The Wild Hunt

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  The Characters

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  Details at the end of the book

  Prologue

  Her fingernail was long. Sharp. It dug into the baby’s chest, and he whimpered.

  She smiled.

  It was dark in the chamber. Only a single lamp burned, its flame flickering frantically as the wind fought its way in around the window frame; under the door.

  The storm was loud.

  She didn’t notice as she trailed her finger over the baby’s chest, tracing the same shape three times before moving up to his forehead. She didn’t want to leave a mark, so she lifted her nail and used the pad of her finger as she continued to draw the symbol.

  Chanting.

  Low, murmuring, threatening sounds.

  The baby squirmed but did not cry. His lips wobbled, though, so she bent down, whispering in his ear. ‘You will never know happiness. You will never know joy. You will never fulfil your destiny. Not while there is breath in my lungs.’

  ‘Morana!’

  She straightened her spine, swallowing in annoyance, her body stiffening as she turned to the doorway. ‘Eirik.’ Morana fixed the king with a cold smile and shuffled towards him, her black robe sweeping the scattered reeds behind her.

  ‘What are you doing in here? Where’s Eskild?’ Eirik’s frown was deep, his skin prickling with discomfort as he scanned the dim chamber. His chamber. His and his wife’s, and now, their newborn son’s.

  ‘Eskild?’ Morana forced that name through yellow teeth. ‘I do not know.’ She stared at Eirik, challenging him with dark eyes. ‘Her servant let me in. I wished to meet your new son.’

  ‘Well, I shall have to get rid of the girl,’ Eirik growled. ‘She obviously does not know how things stand in my hall. You will leave this chamber, and I will never see you with my son again. Do you understand me?’

  Morana dropped her head, her wild, black-and-white hair hiding a smirk. ‘Of course. As you wish.’ And she edged past him, slipping through the door.

  Eirik turned to watch her go, shivering.

  I

  A Secret

  1

  ‘I want those barricades in place now! Now!’ Eadmund bellowed from the ramparts, turning back to squint at the stone spires guarding the entrance to Oss’ harbour. His heart quickened; his body tensing in anticipation. ‘Morac!’ He turned to the old man who emerged, panting, from the tower below. ‘Go to the hall! Get the fires burning high! Have them prepare for wounded men!’

  Morac swallowed, his beady eyes unusually big and blinking. ‘Are they here?’ Turning to the headland, he could see the distant signal fires glowing against the dull morning sky.

  Eadmund wasn’t listening. ‘Sevrin! Go to the square! Find Ketil and Una. I want their fires burning too. Heat the water! Wet the hides!’ He turned to Arlo, his head archer, who already had his men lining the ramparts, bows in hand, quivers slung over their shoulders, flaming braziers nearby. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  Arlo shook his head. ‘We’re ready, my lord.’

  Eadmund turned his attention back to the harbour, staring at the towering stones that threatened anyone who dared to attack them.

  Thorgils was lighting the signal fires on his way back to the fort.

  Ivaar was coming.

  Ivaar spat over the side of Shadow Blade. His second ship, Iron Wolf, followed closely in its wake. He wanted to vomit, but his men were already looking at him sideways, and he didn’t want to give them another reason to have even less confidence in his leadership.

  He was no lord anymore.

  He was trapped in the service of the man preparing to take the crown meant for him. The man who would steal all the gold and glory he had promised his own men.

  Borg Arnesson.

  The man who had, in the end, proved even more ambitious and ruthless than he was. The man who was about to beat him at his own game.

  And there was nothing that Ivaar could do about it.

  He wiped a cold hand across his blonde beard, which had grown wild since his days as the Lord of Kalfa, and leaned towards his helmsman. ‘Seppa, don’t get too far ahead of that idiot. We need him ready when we are.’ It was the last thing he wanted to say. The humiliation of his fall had been compounded by having to follow the youngest and thickest of the black-haired brothers from Tingor: the dim-witted Toki Arnesson.

  Ivaar peered up at the familiar dark cliffs rising along their port side. His father had turned the wild cluster of islands into a kingdom, envisioning a legacy of Skalleson rule for centuries to come.

  He would never have expected such a sudden end.

  Ivaar tried to shake away the image of Eirik’s body, slumped in that chair in Saala; wine dying his white beard a deep, deathly red.

  But he couldn’t.

  ‘We’re not going to make it!’ Torstan screeched as he rode beside Thorgils, who was bent over Leada, his red curls bouncing in the freshening breeze.

  Thorgils worried that his friend was right.

  There were eight of them charging up the island, racing against the line of ships they could see weaving around the stone spires. If they didn’t arrive back at the fort in time, there would be no hope of getting inside before Ivaar and his men were on the beach.

  Thorgils glanced at Torstan. ‘Then let’s go faster!’ he grinned, though his throat had gone dry with thoughts of what Ivaar would do if he took the fort. ‘Ha! Ha!’ Digging his heels into Leada’s flanks, he urged her on. ‘Come on, girl! Faster!’

  Isaura was trying not to panic as she gripped Leya’s little hand, pulling her up off the hall floor. Her youngest daughter had tripped over, and though there was only the slightest of grazes on her knee, she was wailing as though she had lost her entire leg. ‘Ssshhh, now,’ Isaura soothed distractedly, her eyes focused on Ayla, who was helping Bruno to a table by the fire. ‘It’s just a scratch.’ Bending down, she smiled quickly. ‘Why don’t you go and see if you can find where that white cat has gone? Perhaps she’s already had her kittens? Go on, go and see.’ And standing up, she motioned for Selene to come and take her little sister, who had quickly ceased her crying, easily distracted by the thought of kittens.

  Isaura hurried to Ayla, who looked unusually pale. ‘Is it Ivaar?’ she asked, shivering, though it was a warmer than usual summer morning on Oss. ‘Is he finally here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ayla nodded, pouring a cup of water for Bruno; noting the fiery spark in her husband’s eyes at the sound of that name. ‘He’s here.’

  ‘But where’s Thorgils? Will he make it back in time?’ Isaura panicked, glancing at the hall doors which had remained closed since Morac’s arrival. ‘It’s a long ride from Hud’s Point.’

  Ayla started to smile reassuringly at her friend, but she could feel her body shudder in protest. ‘I’m sure he will. He would do anything to be here to protect you. Now come, let’s go and help Runa get everything ready.’ She took Isaura’s hand, pulling her towards the kitchen. Soon, many men would be injured, she knew, and they needed to be ready to help them.

  Evaine bumped into Ayla as she raced towards her father. ‘Watch where you’re going, dreamer!’ she snapped, shaking her head, irritated by Ayla, and by her father, who seemed more interested in talking to Runa than anyone else.

  Morac was giving his wife a long list of instructions about preparing the hall, and Runa was having trouble remembering them all. ‘Morac!’ she interrupted. ‘I have to make a start. I will come back to you once I’ve prepared the tables. For now, though, you must let me begin!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Morac felt anxious. Everything th
ey had worked so hard to achieve was about to be destroyed. And where was Morana? Why hadn’t his sister come to his dreams, offering her advice? Telling him what to do?

  ‘Father!’ Evaine hissed as she strode past Runa and grabbed Morac’s arm. ‘Where is Eadmund? I need to see him. Those men won’t let me out of the hall!’ She pointed to the doors which were now blocked by two armed men.

  ‘We’re keeping everyone where I can see them,’ Morac insisted. ‘I can’t have children running around distracting the men out there while they’re working with boiling liquid. It’s unsafe. And once Ivaar and his allies reach the walls, they will fire into the fort for sure. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘But I must see Eadmund!’ Evaine’s eyes were frantic. ‘He left before I woke. I must see him. If something happens... I haven’t even said goodbye!’ she sobbed.

  Morac was not about to be moved by a few tears, but he did need to placate his daughter before she consumed what little time he had to prepare. Gripping Evaine’s other arm, he bent to her ear. ‘Nothing will happen to Eadmund. Morana will be watching, keeping him safe for you. We need Eadmund, don’t we? All of us. He will not be hurt. Not now that she is here.’

  Evaine was confused. ‘Who? What do you mean?’

  Morac glanced around but the hall was filled with a heady din of activity, and no one was looking their way. ‘Last night they were planning to raise the woman. Draguta. She will stop anything from happening to you and Eadmund. She will protect us all.’ Morac frowned, not sure if that was the truth, but he spoke with such calm authority that he could see Evaine’s face relax as she stared up at him.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  Morac smiled. ‘Morana will know that we’re in danger here. You have nothing to fear.’

  Morana bent over the bowl.

  She had been vomiting all morning. Her head felt as though it was being banged with an iron rod. The constant pounding made her wince as waves of nausea rolled up through her aching body. She could barely lift an eyelash without cringing.

  But she had never felt happier.

  ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like some water?’ Yorik wondered from his position by the door. ‘Or wine?’ It was a humid day and the stink of the chamber, and of Morana, most of all, was turning his stomach. He was desperate to leave and inhale some fresh air, but he felt obliged to make sure that she was alright.

  After what she’d achieved?

  He had never felt happier.

  ‘No,’ Morana croaked, sitting back against the bed and wiping her mouth. She glared at him. ‘You should not be here! You must be with Draguta. We cannot afford to have her and Jaeger plot against us. Remove us from the next stage. We must be the ones she trusts to guide her now. You and I.’

  Yorik nodded, certain she was right.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Draguta.

  She was exquisite. Unexpectedly delicate. Ageless. Intoxicating. The most powerful being he had ever met, yet surprisingly human. Yorik was overcome with an urgency to be by her side, assisting her. Caring for her. Helping her familiarise herself with life again –

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Morana barked, disturbed by the dreamy look on Yorik’s grizzled face. He appeared utterly dazed, although, after the ritual, she was hardly surprised. The complex mix of herbs and seeds had created such a powerful trance that she still felt half trapped in the Dolma.

  Morana smiled. The Dolma. Such dark bliss, death, and emptiness.

  Raemus’ prison.

  But not for long.

  ‘Yes, yes, I shall go to her,’ Yorik said eagerly, opening the door and taking a welcome breath. ‘Shall I send your niece? Perhaps she could attend to you while you are... incapacitated?’

  Morana grinned. ‘Well, if you can convince Jaeger to let her go, then yes, I’m sure she’d be happy to come and clean out my sick bowl.’ She watched the door close, then frowned, gripping her belly.

  Something was wrong.

  Meena stared at the stain on the flagstones, trying not to inhale the stench of death in the chamber or the smell of fear wafting up from her armpits.

  Jaeger was stumbling about, hurrying to dress. She could sense his desperation to leave to be with her.

  That woman.

  And she was indeed a woman.

  Meena had thought that Draguta would resemble some sort of decaying monster, like the ones in her nightmares, but she was beautiful.

  Beautiful but evil.

  Meena could feel it.

  She swallowed, reaching up to touch her swollen face. It hurt to blink, and she was trying hard not to, but Meena was so terrified when she thought of what would happen next that her eyes wouldn’t stop twitching.

  ‘You will wait here,’ Jaeger muttered, almost to himself as he tugged on his boots. ‘I shall send someone up with food. Someone to clean up the mess.’ He glanced briefly at the enormous, bloody stain covering his chamber floor, ruing the loss of his servant, Egil, who had been with him for longer than he could remember. But, he was easily replaceable, Jaeger knew. He stared at Meena, who was almost completely still as she sat at the table. It was unusual to see her not tapping her head. ‘We will talk when I return. About what will happen next.’ He smiled, then yawned. His throbbing head was a confused mess, and he was struggling to see straight.

  Meena didn’t even nod.

  Jaeger stood and walked towards her, touching her bruised face, momentarily troubled by what he had done to her. Blinking, he quickly abandoned any thoughts of guilt and shame. ‘Everything will be better now that Berard has gone. Now that they’ve all gone.’ Jaeger kissed the top of her tangled mop of red hair and strode towards the door, suddenly ravenous. ‘You’ll see, Meena. Everything will be better now.’

  Meena watched him go, wishing that she’d left with Berard and his family.

  Why had she thought to stay? What could she possibly do to help?

  Listening as Jaeger turned the key in the lock, she dropped her eyes back to the flagstones, to the stain Egil had made as he died.

  And she had killed him.

  And she had stayed behind for a reason, and turning towards the evil book that lay open on the table before her, Meena knew very well what that reason was.

  ‘How many ships?’

  Bram stood on the ramparts beside his old helmsman, Snorri, who had a better pair of eyes than him. It was drizzling, and his beard was dripping down his tight-fitting mail shirt. He looked up accusingly at the darkening sky. No one needed rain now.

  Not when they had invaders to burn.

  Eadmund also turned to Snorri, holding his breath, watching as he screwed up his weather-beaten face, squinting into the distance.

  ‘Ten. Maybe twelve,’ Snorri said, at last. ‘Maybe more hiding behind the spires. They’re going in and out. It’s hard to keep track.’

  Bram’s eyes widened. That was a lot of ships.

  ‘Go and find Ayla. I need to speak to her,’ Eadmund said to Bram. He turned to Sevrin who was squeezing his way along the ramparts, past the archers, heading for his king. The ramparts around Oss’ fort had always been too narrow for anyone’s liking, but there was nothing Eadmund could do about that now. ‘Are the fletchers at work?’