Daughters of the Storm by Kim Wilkins - Chapter Sampler

8/11/2019 Daughters of the Storm by Kim Wilkins - Chapter Sampler

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First Published 2014First Aust ralian Paperback Edition 2014ISBN 978 174356911 5

Kim Wilkins 2014

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or inpart in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafterinvented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information stor-age or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shal l not, by way of trade or otherwise, belent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisherin any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without asimilar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published byHarlequin MiraAn imprint of Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Pty Ltd.Level 4, 132 Arthur StreetNORTH SYDNEY NSW 2060

AUSTRALIA

and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its corporate affiliates.Trademarks indicated with are registered in Australia, New Zealand and in othercountries.

Cover design by Danielle MaaitCover image David et Myrtille / Arcangel Images

Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press, South Australia

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product ofthe authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and anyliving or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

resemblance to actual persons,


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Prologue

A thousand times he had murmured her name in the soft dark-ness; now though, he didnt know her name. He didnt even know

his own.The rain had set in outside the bowed wooden shutters. Endlessmornings under dark grey, swirling clouds that unburdened coldwater from one end of lmesse to the other, turning the roadsto stinking mud: Gudrun could not send for a physician, and shecould not tell anyone he was ill, because he was the king. Shecould not even tell Byrta, his counsellor, because Byrta wouldsend for his daughters.

Gudrun knew his daughters hated her.And so she had been trapped for three long days in the gloomy

bowerhouse with him as he raved. The wild man in the lookingglass made him quiver for fear; he shouted obscene words at her;he wept like a babe over a loose thread on his robe. She soothedhim with soft words and rm touches even when he pummelled


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Where was the noble, strong man he had been? The warrioring, the Storm Bearer, thlric of lmesse?

And where was the woman she had been? Whose were thesehin-skinned hands, fearfully stroking an old mans troubled

orehead?Finally, the rain cleared, and she sent for Osred, the physician

who had accompanied her more than three years ago when sheame to marry thlric.

She should have known word would spread quickly.

The bowerhouse door opened, gusting air against the tapestrieso they swung then settled with a clatter. Three gures stoodhere. Osred, tall and nely dressed; Byrta, the crone who hadttended thlric since she was a young maid; and Dunstan, arizzled war hero who was so old the hairs on his meaty sts were

ilver.Gudruns stomach coiled. Osred was her only ally. The otherswere natives of lmesse. No matter that they had always beenriendly to her; she knew they thought her an interloper. She feltld, frail. Far from home. The person she loved and depended onhe most was lost to her; lost, it seemed, to the world.

Why didnt you tell me? Byrta admonished, though gently,s she hurried to thlrics side. He was sleeping now, the deep,mpenetrable sleep that measured out the hours until his next t.

I hoped he might get better on his own. Oh, how she hadoped it. She had hoped so hard her ribs ached at night.

Osred came to Gudrun and laid his hand on her forearm. Youmustnt worry, he said in a cold, at voice.

Dunstan closed the door carefully and pressed his back against


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Bluebell . The name turned Gudruns stomach cold. thlricseldest daughter: with her sinewy tattooed arms and her crushednose and her unsheathed hatred.

It is premature, surely, Osred said smoothly. Let me examine

the king and let me prescribe him a remedy. Then we will see. Hemay be better in a few days. He advanced to the bed, gently butrmly pushing Byrta aside. Let me attend to him.

I have medical training, she said, bristling.I have trained in the Great School.

Which is run by trimartyrs. Their faith is not welcome inlmesse.

Gudruns scalp tingled with fear and anger. Enough! she said.Byrta and Dunstan, you must leave. My husbands dignity doesnot allow for any but his wife and a trained physician to see him.

As she said it, it became urgently true. The room smelled of soursweat and trapped stale breath, the bed a mess of dirty blankets.Wait outside. Osred will advise you when he has nished hisexamination.

Dunstan set his jaw forward, but Byrta quieted him. My lady,she said, her bright blue eyes locking with Gudruns. I understandyou are uncertain and sad. I would not add to your misery. If youwant us to leave

Gudrun nodded, chest pounding, and Byrta smiled at herslightly there was stone beneath it and took Dunstan withher. We will be in the great hall, she said, as she closed the doorbehind her.

Alone with Osred, with thlric sleeping, Gudrun felt not sodesperate as she had Osred led her to the carved wooden chair by


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rew colder and heavier. At last he said, Dunstan is right. Youhould send for Bluebell. You should send for all his daughters.

They will want to see him.You think he will die? The words rushed and mumbled

gainst each other, but he understood her nonetheless.A malady that comes upon the brain this way is serious. I have

eard of such an illness before. The ts will grow shorter, theleeps will grow longer. Until

Her veins hardened. The forgotten certainty of death was upon

er with steely force. But through it glimmered self-preservation.f thlric were to die, what would become of her? Surroundedy enemies, who masqueraded as friends to please the king.he needed someone on her side. Someone by her side. Longefore those women arrived, greedy to turn her out of the kings

owerhouse.My lady? Osreds voice roused her from her dark reverie.She turned her face to him, forced her swimming eyes to focus.Shall I send for his daughters? he asked.No. The strength of her voice surprised her. Send for my son.


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One

Blood. It smelled like the promise of something thrilling, as muchas it smelled like the thrumming end of the adventure. It smelled

like her father when he came home from battle, even though hehad bathed before he took her in his arms. Still the metal tang ofit lingered in his hair and beard, and as she smashed her skinny,childs body against his thundering chest in welcome he smelledto her only of good things.

Now she was a woman and knew blood intimately. Bluebellloved and feared it, and appreciated its beauty splashed crimsonagainst the snow.

The air was ice, but her body ran with perspiration beneath hertunic. Her shoulders ached, as they often did if the skirmish wasfast and intense. Around her, twelve men lay dead; ten men stood.Her men still stood, as did she. Always.

Thrymm and Thrc, her dogs, nosed at the bodies delicately,their paws damp with powdery snow They were looking for signs


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Bluebells hearthband were mounted, thundering down the pathrom the garrison. They had speed and momentum on their side.our of the raiders had fallen to the spear before Bluebell evenismounted. Swift, brutal, without cries for pity. Death as she

ked it best.Bluebell crouched and wiped her sword on the snow, then

ubbed it clean and dry before sheathing it. Her heart was slowingow. Ricbert, whom she had collected from his shift at the gar-ison, called to her. She looked up. He was kneeling over the body

f one of the fallen raiders, picking it clean of anything valuable.he rose, stretching her muscles, joining him along with the oth-rs, who had been alerted by the sharp tone of his voice.

Look, my lord, Ricbert said. He had pulled open the tunic ofhe dead man to reveal a rough, black tattoo within the thick hair

n his chest. A raven with its wings spread wide.Sighere, her second-in-command, drew his heavy browsogether sharply. A raven? Then these are Hakons men.

Hakon is dead. His own brother murdered him, Bluebell saidharply. Hakon, the Crow King, they called him. The only man

who had come close to killing her father in battle. Brutal, bitter,he ill-favoured twin of the powerful Ice King Gisli. The man

Bluebell herself had played a part in delivering into Gislis hands.Its an old tattoo.

Ricbert called to her from another body. No, my lord. Theyll have them.

It means nothing. Hes dead. Thrymm and Thrc had lopedver to join her, their warm bodies pressed against her thighs. Sheeached down and rubbed Thrymms head Come on girls she


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Gytha, a stocky woman with arms like tree branches and abrain to match, was last to her horse. As they moved off into thesnowlit morning, Gytha said, They say Hakon is so favoured bythe Horse God that he escaped his brothers dungeon by magic.

Raiders dont believe in the Horse God, Ricbert said shortly.Gytha continued unperturbed. They say he has a witch who

makes him war spells that No more of this talk, Bluebell commanded, or Ill cut some-

ones fucking tongue out.

Her thanes fell silent; they couldnt be certain she wasnt serious.

A noise in the dark. Furtive knocking.Bluebell sat up, pushing the scratchy blanket off her body and

feeling under the mattress for her sword. It took a moment forher to orient herself. She was in a guesthouse that huddled inthe rolling green hills of southern Lyteldyke. They had ridden along way south-west of the snow-laden mountains that day, intowarmer climes, and were half a days ride from the Giant Road,which would take them home. In truth, Bluebell would havepreferred to push on into the evening, but her hearthband weretired and sick of the cold. When they spied a guesthouse in thedip of a valley, under a ne blanket of twilight mist, shed agreedto stop for the night, even though the rooms were small and darkand the wooden walls whiskery with splinters and sharp maltysmells.

Declare your name and your business, she called, her voicecatching on sleep She cleared her throat with a curse She didnt


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n any situation. She tied a knot in her long, fair hair and yankedpen the door. He stood there with a lantern in his left hand.

How did you get past my entire hearthband to the door of myoom?

I bribed the innkeeper to let me in the back door. He smiledweakly. Hello, Bluebell. It isnt good news. He paused, took areath. Then said, Your father.

Her blood ashed hot. Come in, quickly. She closed the doorehind him and stood, waiting. Anything, anything she could

ndure: the world was a chaotic, amoral place. But not Father,ont let Father be dead.

You must keep your head when I tell you this, he said.I can keep my head, she snapped. Is he dead?No.

Sweet word. Her stomach unclenched.But hes ill, he continued. A rider was sent from lmesse tour war band up on the border of Bradsey. Wylm was called awayrgently by his mother.

Gudrun, Bluebell muttered. The ighty idiot her father hadhosen to marry. She sent for Wylm?

I overheard their conversation. King thlric is sick, terriblyick.

And she sent for Wylm instead of me? Misting fury tingledver her skin.

Dont kill her. Or Wylm. Rose wouldnt want you to kill any-ne. Least of all your stepfamily.

She glared at him. The beardless half-blood in front of her waser sisters lover Bluebell had assigned him to a freezing sedge-


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He nodded. Wylm left on foot. I dont know if hes managedto horse himself since then, but hed be on the Giant Road bynow in any case. Youre directly above Blicstowe here. You cancatch him.

Sleep still clung to her, so she had to shake her head to clear it,as though the early morning dark was only given to dreams, andthis must be one. Why had Gudrun sent for Wylm and not her?What purpose would it serve to separate Bluebell from her father ifhe was dying? Did she have plans for Wylm to lead lmesse? The

thought was ridiculous: Wylm was Gudruns son by a rst mar-riage, no blood relation to the King, and untried in war. Bluebellwas well-loved by lmesses people. She dismissed the thought asquickly as it crossed her mind.

Do you know anything else about my fathers illness? she

asked, fear clouding the edges of her vision. Will he die? Hecouldnt die. He was too strong. She was too strong. She wouldget the best physician in the country and march him down toBlicstowe at knifepoint if she had to.

He shook his head. The two lines between his brows deep-ened. I know nothing more. But if she has called for her son

She should have called for us.Perhaps she has. Perhaps shes sent for the others, but didnt

know where to nd you.Dunstan knows where I am. Theres only one good route

between the garrison and home. You found me. Her heart wasthundering in her throat now. What was she thinking?

Perhaps she wasnt, he said.Bluebell xed her gaze on him in the ickering dark Im


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nough to miss his sleep. She rubbed his head roughly. Thrymmnd Thrc sniffed at her feet, straining against their chains.

At rst light, tell Sighere where I have gone, but ask him noto speak of it. We dont know what the future holds for my father,

r for lmesse. If an idiot like Ricbert got wind of the idea thatather was Curse it, she couldnt say the word.

Heath pointedly looked away.People would panic. Just dont tell anyone. Urgent business.

Thats all. She let the dogs off the chain and vaulted onto Iserns

ack.Heath grasped Iserns reins. Wait, he said. Your sisters?Her chin stiffened. He was right: they needed to be told. A chill

wind rattled through the trees. She spat hair out of her mouth.While she didnt want to send him to Rose it was better if they

were apart she was sensitive to her sisters feelings. This newshouldnt come from a stranger. Ride at rst light to Rose. Teller to join me in Blicstowe immediately.

And Ash?Bluebell frowned. Get Rose to send a messenger. Ash will

kely feel us on the move. Her words turned to mist in front ofer. She dropped her voice. Perhaps she already knows.

My lord. Heath nodded and stepped back.Bluebell picked up the reins and urged Isern forwards, thun-

ering down to the moonlit road with the dogs barking in herwake.

The night began to lift as Bluebell approached the Giant Road


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of miles: from here in the midlands to the far south of lmesse.The giants had laid them in a time before recollection, but nowthey were cracked and worn, with grass and wildowers strag-gling up through the gaps. Bluebells heart breathed. From here

to Blicstowe was two and a half days good riding, directly south.She was almost home.

But Isern would not go further without rest and water. Hewas a warhorse huge and powerful but she had no desireto drive him into the ground and have to run home on her own

legs. Once, a witch princess up in Bradsey had offered to sell heran enchanted horse faster than a hare, but Bluebell had kept Isern:speed mattered not so much, in battle, as courage and weight.She reined him in at the edge of a stream and jumped off to lethim walk a while. Her dogs realised they were stopping and ran

barking into the stream. When Isern had cooled, she led him tothe water and spoke soft words to him. He dropped his head todrink and she lay herself out on the dewy grass to close her eyes. Abeam of sun hit her face, and she could see her pulse beating in hereyelids. She was tired and sore, her thighs aching, but the constantfrantic movement had kept her thoughts from growing too dark.

Bluebell wasnt a child. She knew one day her father woulddie, and she would take his place. She had prepared her wholelife for the moment, but it had always been abstract, like a story.The real moment hot and present had lit a re in her breast.She wished she had her sisters with her. They would understand.Well, the oldest two would: Rose and Ash. She barely knew Ivyand Willow, the twins. Theyd been raised a long way from homeafter theyd killed her mother by being born Bluebell wondered


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counsellor in the common faith. Ash had a second sight: shewasnt supposed to, she was far too young. Nevertheless, Blue-

ell had made use of her sisters premonitions many times beforeattle. Ash, she said again, drawing her eyebrows together, won-

ering if Ash could feel her words across the miles, vibrating onhe sunlight.

Sleep caught her gently, and she dozed lightly against therowing dawn. Then a shower of water made her sit up and opener eyes. Thrymm stood by her, shaking water from her coat.

Bluebell pushed the dog away with her foot and rolled over oner side. The dawn light made her stomach swirl. A new day.erhaps he was already dead. Surely not. Surely she would haveelt it: the sudden absence, a new quiet where his breath had onceeen in the world. She sat up and rested her long arms on her

nees. Isern wandered over, nuzzled her shoulder with his big hotose. He was keen to be going too. As keen, perhaps, as she waso catch up with Wylm and nd out what dangerous ideas he andis mother were brewing.

The Giant Road was the main trade route through Thyrsland.ven during war, it was busy with traffic. But there hadnt been war

his far south since Bluebells sister, Rose, had married Wengest,he king of Netelchester. Ill will had evaporated overnight, and

Netelchester and lmesse had raised a joint army to keep out themuch greater threat of raiders from the Is-hjarta, the icy lands far,ar north. If raiders ever got as far south as the Giant Road, blood

would ow freely


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fallen logs, blackbirds and robins sang in the sycamore trees. Lifebloomed around her, even as she made this journey towards death.Bluebell urged Isern to canter, then let him walk, then pressedhim forwards again. Every two hours she stopped her stomach

itching the whole time to rest him. The day drew out. Arounddusk, Bluebell agged a caravan to stop. The woman at the frontof the caravan grudgingly reined in her horses. She wore goldrings on every nger, and a richly dyed robe of red.

Have you seen a young man, travelling south alone? Bluebell

asked.Ive seen many travellers today. The womans eyes narrowed.A young man. Dark-haired. Mean-spirited. Dull-witted. Snide.Less than an hour since I saw a dark-haired man on a bay

horse. The woman shrugged. Could have been your man. She

eyed Bluebells baggage, the dented shield that hung on Isernsrump, the axe and the helm. Are you going to kill him?No, Bluebell said, kicking Isern forwards. With his big stride

and some speed, surely she would catch Wylm.Poor Isern. Even the dogs were exhausted. Even Bluebell was

exhausted.At the crest of the next rise, she thought she saw Wylm. But

then the road wound into the trees.At the trees, she thought she heard his horses footfalls. Long

shadows drew across the grey-green road. Robins returned totheir beds. Isern began to slow. Bluebells heart was hot. She didntwant to kill her horse, but she wanted to catch Wylm.

Through the other side of the wood, she saw him on the openroad She whistled the dogs forwards and they streaked ahead


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ut he slowed to a walk. This wasnt how she had imaginedpproaching Wylm. She had imagined thundering down towardsim, terrifying him. But Isern had had enough.

Wylm waited. He recognised her now. Was probably carefully

hinking up excuses to give her. He would lie. She would benforgiving.

Princess, he said as she approached. Are you looking for me?Dont call me princess, she snarled. My lord will do. Or

Bluebell. She pulled Iserns reins and he gratefully stopped. She

ismounted and let him walk to cool down.Wylm dismounted too. He extended his hand for her to shake,

ut she refused it. She took pleasure in the few inches of heighthe had over him.

Well, my lord? he asked.

My father is dying and your fucking mother sent for you andot me.He blinked his dark eyes slowly. Now the lies would start.

Yes, he said.It took her a moment to realise hed admitted it. Why? she

pluttered.Wylm shook his head. She watched him carefully. Her greatest

kill was to judge fast and well, but her greatest failing, she knew,was not to notice change. And Wylm had changed. She had in herminds eye a picture of him from their rst meeting. Back then,

ed been a slippery, spotty youth. Now he was a man, not tall,ut dense with muscle. Not a child she could push around withase.

Ive no idea why Mother didnt send for you he said I cant


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He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the only signhe wasnt comfortable with the suggestion. As you wish, my lord.Its twelve miles to the next town. I intended to stop there thenight.

Bluebell glanced about. Her dogs had found a soft patch oflong grass and both lay on their sides, panting. Isern sagged, hiseyes pleading with her to take off his saddle. They could travel nofurther.

No, well camp nearby. She indicated the edge of a lake, a

mile off. Over there, she said.He began to protest, but she interrupted him. Youre not afraid

of the dark, are you?Wylm lifted his shoulders lightly. No, he said.His calm coolness was like a burr in her blood. Follow, she

said. I have to tend to my animals.

Wylm took a long time to go to sleep. It wasnt the cold night skyabove him: cold had long since ceased to worry him. Bluebell hadshipped him off to the northern borders the day he turned eigh-teen, six months ago. It had been an instruction in hardship, aswell as an instruction in how his stepsister felt about him.

Rather, what kept him awake was how he felt about Bluebell.She lay three feet away from him, on a rolled-out blanket by

the re. She was on her side, her back turned to him, her hair tiedin a knot on top of her head. Shed barely spoken a dozen wordsto him since they met on the road, and sleep had come to her asthough she commanded it Now he watched her pale neck It was


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er famous sword, of her ability to take on three or four armedmen and still be standing while they lay dead. They called her

nkillable. And yet, staring at that bare, white neck, he believeder very mortal indeed.

In the dark, distant woods, a mournful bird cried. The reracked softly. The night was still, apart from the occasional softhudder of the uppermost branches of the ash trees that formed aemicircle around them. Soft, grey dark settled like mist. His face

was hot and tight from the re. Slowly, his eyes fell closed

He woke with a start to a different kind of night. Darker, colder.The re had dwindled to embers. The sharp-sweet scent of earthose strongly as the dew fell. And Bluebell was no longer there.

A moment passed, or perhaps only half a moment. He won-ered what had woken him, then decided it must have been Blue-

ell moving off to nd a private place to relieve herself. He smiled,wondering if she shit steel. His bones ached from being in the oneosition, so he rolled on his other side. And fear slashed his heart.

A foot away, a beefy man with a long, tangled beard and aweatherworn mail shirt held a spear point towards him. Over hishoulder, he wore Bluebells pack.

You want to die? the man said in a harsh whisper.Wylms hand tightened at his side, looking for his spear. But of

ourse, his spear was an inch away from his nose, in the banditsands.

And then, Bluebell was there. It happened too quick for himo put in order. One moment he was alone with the bandit, theext she was towering over the both of them, her face grim in thehadows: a giant grisly thing fashioned from blood-rusted iron


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The bandit fell, his head split from crown to nose.The dogs were on the body in a second, at the throat, their

fast, eager paws in Wylms face. He gasped for breath, sat up andpushed himself to his feet.

Bluebell retrieved her pack and bent to check the body for anyfurther spoils.

What happened? Wylm asked.I couldnt sleep, she muttered, her bloody ngers closing over

a gold shield-boss. I saw him from over by the road.

Its a good thing you were awake, he said.She xed her pale eyes on him in the gloom. I wouldnt have

slept through it. As you did.Wylm thought about defending himself, but saw no point in

using his breath. He was satised, though, that he neednt doubt

the stories of her abilities. Perhaps she was unkillable after all.Who had the courage and skill to defeat such a monster?


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Two

ont dream .Ash hauled herself up through leaden sleep to wake gasping in

er dark room. The soft hush of the moving sea in the distance.The slow breathing of the women in the other beds. The twitchnd pull of her own blood pressure.

But she had done it. She had avoided the dream that had beenrying to press itself into her mind for the last six months. Shelled her lungs. The room was dim, dawn swallowed by early

morning rain, but Ash didnt dare fall back to sleep in case theream was still waiting for her. So she rose, tiptoed past the bedsround her, and went to the shutter. She pushed it open an inch,etting in a st of cold air and the smell of damp earth. Rain felletween the bowerhouses in the grey light. Early morning rain

was common here on the south-east coast. It would clear to ane day, the gulls would spread their wings to dry on the gablenishings of the great study hall and the grim darkness would be


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she let herself dream it, then she would know what it was about.And every sign told her she did not want to know. Knowledgewas irreversible.

Ash closed the shutter and sat on the end of her bed to plait

her long, dark hair: hand over hand in practised movements. Agust of battle-keen north wind buffeted the shutters, and one ofher bower-sisters stirred, then settled again: untroubled sleep. Ashopened the chest at the end of her bed and pulled out a dress togo over her shift; she belted it on tightly and pinned on a long,

green jacket. Then she slipped into her shoes and quietly left thebowerhouse, closing the door behind her. She stood for a momentunder the gable. The sudden rush of damp cold pierced her warmclothes, and the rain fell steadily. Head down, she dashed acrossthe muddy wooden boards to the great study hall, careful not to

slip. She pulled open the heavy doors and hurried inside. Thedoors thudded closed behind her, shutting out the cold and thewet. In the dry, relit room, she listened to the rain falling onthe tiles, above the high, arched ceiling. Rain spat down the chim-ney hole and hissed onto the re, freshly lit by the new scholars.Ash remembered her rst year here, how much shed hated risingearly to light the res and change the rushes and cook the break-fasts. Her father was a king; for her to be servile was unnatural,like speaking in another tongue. But shed soon grown used toit and come to appreciate the lessons it taught her. To know thecommon faith and practise it in the community whether itwas offering medicine or advice or a soft shoulder for sorrow tospill upon meant understanding how common people lived.Besides the rst difficult year had passed soon enough Now she


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essons could not be captured in words. Here at this scarredwooden table, shed listened to the accumulated wisdom of manyounsellors, earned from their many years of practice. Stories shead heard would never leave her: the crushing grief of mothers

who had lost their children; the ordinary cruelties men and theirwives were capable of towards each other; miraculous cures for

iseases and daring rescues of babes from their mothers body.Of course, the counsellors had talked about the common faithoo: the observances that structured their year, how to prepare for

mothers night or the proper way to honour the Horse God on hisestival day. They had even talked about the trimartyrs, the newaith that was growing roots in Thyrsland, and how they could

work alongside these pilgrims if they had to. Though pilgrimswere notoriously narrow of mind and dismissive of women.

But one lesson she had never learned was how to manage arescience so insistent it threatened to drown her. Because shewasnt supposed to have any prescience. She was far too youngnd inexperienced.

Youre up early, Ash.Ash looked up. It was her teacher, Myrren, a tall woman with

n age-spotted face the shape of a perfect oval. Ashs pulse quick-ned in her throat, as though Myrren could read her thoughts.

But Myrren couldnt read thoughts: she had been clear about thatt their very rst lesson together. We are not magic, she had said.We are only people who read other people well. Do not makehe mistake of thinking you are a seer. It takes many, many yearso become a seer. And some of you, like me, will never feel thetirring of the sight


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Myrren looked at her closely. A poor nights sleep is a troubledwomans burden. Something on your mind?

No. She kept her face studiously blank. Alice was snoring.Myrrens mouth twitched into a smile. She placed a knotted

hand on Ashs shoulder. Im going to see a woman in town. Shehas a fever and is managing on her own with a small child. Ipromised Id call at rst light. Do you want to come with me?

Ash nodded and rose. Most of her studies now were givenover to working in the community, mostly in the town of Thrid-

dastowe but often enough in the countryside. She preferred thetown. She preferred to be around people and movement, and herdearest hope was that at the end of her studies she couldreturn home to Blicstowe and be near family and friends. Her postwas yet to be decided, though. A wise and fearsome counsel of

crookbacked men and women would make that judgement on hernal day as a scholar, based on her history here.She and Myrren each took a cloak from by the door, the grey-

green cloak that signalled their profession, and headed out intothe drizzly morning.

Somewhere behind the clouds the sun was rising, and blueburned through on the western arch of the sky. The study halland its buildings lay on the outer edge of the town. They pickedtheir way through muddy paths past the butcher and the cobbler,the alehouse and the smith. The town smelled of damp, of sea-salt, of coal smoke and fermenting owers. Layers of smells; sweet,muddled evidence of people and their lives.

Myrren led her to the front door of a little boarding housewith cracked wooden boards that were chinked with moss She


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I thought I was being quiet, Myrren answered, drawing her-elf up very erect. Im here to look in on Ingrid and the little one.

The woman indicated the corridor. You know where she is.he coughed all night. I barely slept a wink.

Myrren thanked her and moved down the corridor. Ash smiledt the woman, but received no smile in return. She and Myrrenntered a miserable room with a draughty shutter, a choking rend threadbare rugs. In a bed on the oor lay a young woman

wracked with coughing, and a little boy about three years old.

Ash couldnt help but compare the child to her niece, Rowan,who was plump-armed and tall, with shining dark eyes and rosyheeks. This little boy was pale and small, a bird fallen too soonrom the nest.

While Myrren knelt to tend to Ingrid, Ash stood back to watch.

The itching started low in her stomach. She never knew why thisbility was called the sight, for she always experienced it viscer-lly, not visually. It shuddered through her body, knowledge seep-ng into her mind like seawater seeps into a sinking boat: alwaysaster than one fears. Myrrens words became muffled behind aussuration of whispering voices, none of them clear enough toear properly. But in an instant Ash knew with absolute clarityhe sick womans Becoming she would die by the end of the

week. Worse, the child would catch her sickness if he stayed wither until nightfall this day. Then he would die, too.

As quick as the feeling came, it withdrew. The real world waslear and present again, but her body ached from calves to neck,s though she had held herself tense for hours. Myrren was giv-ng Ingrid one of her remedies Myrren was the acknowledged


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Ingrid looked at her with anxious eyes.Myrren frowned, her face still in prole to Ash, not meeting

her gaze. Theres no need, Ash.But the illness

No need, Ash, Myrren said forcefully, but quietly. She smiledat Ingrid and then the child. You two are better off together.

I dont want my boy to get sick, Ingrid said. I can send for mysister. Weve not spoken for many months but she would come ifit was urgent. Her words were punctuated by wheezes.

Myrren turned to glare at Ash. Ash forced a cheerful smile,even though her blood was thundering in her heart. If Myrrensays all will be well, then all will be well, she said tightly.

As they returned to the study hall, Myrren admonished her ina soft voice: mothers and children belong together, the woman

would recover quicker with her child to remind her of her respon-sibilities, and a separation at this stage would make her miserableand prolong the sickness. Ash heard, but didnt listen. She hadlong since realised no elderly counsellor especially Myrren would tolerate hearing about her premonitions. At best they woulddismiss her; at worst their jealousies and fear would see her packedoff to some dungheap remote community to learn humility. Ashwent to her bower, waited ten minutes, then returned directly toIngrids house.

This time, the child was playing on the oor among the mouldyrushes, pretending to make soup in a cracked pot.

Ingrid blinked at Ash from the bed, fear making her pupilsshrink. You came back. Her skin was white and clammy.

Ash sat on the edge of the wooden bedframe and put a hand on


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ausing a long coughing t. Tears welled in her eyes. Im going toie, arent I? I could see you standing there and you knew.

Ash turned her gaze to the little boy. He hummed a tune toimself.

Ingrid caught the direction of her gaze and began to sob.Is there somebody who can come for him? Ash said.How am I to let him go?By telling yourself that, in him, you live still. And in his chil-

ren, and in their children. Ash measured her tone calmly even

hough her own heart was clenching. We all die, Ingrid. We areere but a brief bright moment then thrust out again into thearkness. To leave our trace in the light is the best thing we cano. Just as she had been told to say. The sentiment that was sup-osed to bring so much comfort, but which Ash found no comfort

n herself. Perhaps when she was older she would feel it, really feel, but now, she was as terried to die as a cow in a slaughter pen.Ingrid nodded, catching her breath. My sister Gyrda lives out-

ide town, behind the mill. Could you send for her?Ill go to her myself. Ash rose. You must never tell anyone I

ame to you. And nor must she.Ingrid shook her head. Her body trembled and hunched, strug-

ling with terror and sorrow. Can I cuddle my boy until she comes?Of course. Of course.She hesitated, then said, When will I die?Ash looked at her. The day after tomorrow, as the sun disappears

ehind the town. But she said, I dont know.The little boy had scrambled onto the bed and Ingrid reached

or him with shuddering arms A lifetime of kisses she said to


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That evening she took comfort in the company of her friends,although she couldnt confess to any of them what she had done.Alice and Pansy, with whom she had started her studies four yearsago, drank with her in the dining hall and cheered her with stories

and comical impressions of their teachers. She irted subtly withConrad, one of the rst-years. He was sweet on her, she knew,though she still wasnt sure she returned the feeling. The clatterand clamour of movement and voices both revived and soothedher, driving away her sadness, her fear of the dream, her growing

apprehension that something dark crept behind her. Somethinguncontrollably expanding in every moment; a sentient, elasticthing not to be contained between her two small hands.

Rainy dawn broke two more times with Ash happily dreamless.On the third day, she woke early to silence: no rain. She plaitedher hair and pulled on her cloak to walk down to the cliffs edgeand see the sun rise.

The sky was pale and high, the morning cold, but not cruellyso. On the horizon, blue-grey clouds gathered, veiling the sun asit rose from behind the ocean. Ash followed the pebbled path upto the cliffs, then walked a little further north where she knewof an outcrop of at granite, perfect for sitting and watching thedawn.

The rush and draw of the sea always made her feel settled.As a child, she had spent a month recuperating from illness at afamily friends house on the southern coast of lmesse. Everyday she had spent hours sitting on the grass near the cliffs edge


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oolish person who did not come to love and respect the sea. Thewind picked up, the gulls screeched overhead. Ash closed her eyesnd breathed the raw scent of the morning.

Light broke over the clouds, and pressed gold on her eyelids.

he opened her eyes to see the rst orange-gold bow of the sun. Aharp shred of the dream ashed into her mind: a cliff, an orangeght, re and claws. She shook herself, put her hands on the rock

o feel the earth and keep herself on it.Hello there! A distant voice, calling.

Ash turned. Conrad was trudging up the path towards her, hisands in the pockets of his brown tunic, his shoulders hunchedgainst the cold morning air. She was glad to see him, to haverdinary things to ll her mind. Her panicked heart slowed andhe rose and came down the path to greet him.

Good morning, she said with a smile.He nodded once, but didnt smile in return, making her cau-ous. The wind tangled in his soft, brown curls. Ive been look-

ng for you, he said.A ne clear morning. She gestured to the rising sun. I couldnt

tay in bed and let it go unwitnessed.He glanced over his shoulder towards the study hall, as though

e feared they were being watched.What is it? she said.He smiled weakly. I overhead Myrren talking to some of the

lder seers this morning when I was lighting the res. About you.A coil of guilt in her stomach. I see.He wouldnt meet her gaze, squinted his dark eyes against the

un They say a woman in town died yesterday afternoon Her


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Ash swallowed hard. Yes. Why had Ingrids sister gone backon her promise not to speak of it? She had probably crumbledthe moment Myrren set her grey gaze on her. Old age was to befeared, and Ash was too young to frighten anyone into silence.

Did they sound angry?He hesitated. Then said, I couldnt read their voices. Angry,

perhaps. Myrren certainly was. But the seers sounded puzzled.He shrugged. Worried.

For me, or for themselves?

Impossible to tell.Ash chewed her lip, glancing away to the sea.Ash, he said slowly, Ive been taught one cant be a seer until

well, youre only a year older than me. You saw her Becoming?She considered him in the golden light. The desire in his eyes was

gone, squeezed out by fear. Thank you for the warning, she said.He waited a moment, to see if she would say anything else.I need to think, she said kindly. Ill see you back at the study

hall.Conrad nodded, his dark eyes careful not to hold hers too long.

She watched him retreat then turned her attention to the sea onceagain, to the orange sun low on the horizon. Here it was, herchance to tell them what was happening to her. The dream, theconstant interference of the sight, the hollow fear that inhabitedher as her power intensied. Only her sisters and Byrta knew ofher ability, and none of them guessed at how fast and wild it grew.Perhaps the elder seers might even help her.

The sea roared. The sun was bright on her cheeks.And then a voice was in her head


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Father was dying.The sensations lifted off Ash, leaving only the fresh morning

ir on her skin. Oh, she gasped, and her voice sounded loud iner ears. How could she not know Father was dying? Was the

arefully undreamt dream about Fathers imminent death? Or hader attempts to suppress the dream also suppressed any but the

most immediate and close tremblings of the sight? It had takenBluebells direct address to break through.

What to do? She had to get home. But how was she to explain

o Myrren why she had to leave? Myrren knew no messenger hadome for Ash. She couldnt wait for one to come: it might takeays and Bluebell needed her now. And she certainly couldntdmit she had received a vision as easily as other people took areath. No scrying pool, no deep rumination, no sacred re: a

udden and certain overlaying of Bluebells mind with her own.Ash was overwhelmed with tender feelings towards her sister er favourite sister, if the truth be told. Ash loved her father, ofourse, but nobody loved him as Bluebell did.

Another option waited, unconsidered. Ash turned her mind towarily. She could simply run. Put off indenitely facing Myrren

ver the incident with Ingrid and her son. Her father was dying:er father was the king of lmesse, the largest and most power-ul kingdom in Thyrsland. And when he was dead well, what

would they say? They could not caution her if she was grieving.A counsellors rst law was that compassion comes before all else.And when Bluebell was queen, perhaps Ash could beg her not to

ave to go back Already her feet were moving Home to her fathers hall


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Daughters of the Storm by Kim Wilkins - Chapter Sampler

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