Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (14 page)

Hallad nodded.

“She holds her tongue
because she carries enormous power within. To speak would be to release the
power and she cannot allow the floodgate to open. Yet.”

“Says who?” Hallad
prodded.

“You must have faith.”

“Faith in what?” Hallad
rounded on Serpent Mother, unable to control his anger. “I know nothing of your
Goddess. I have followed your priestess blindly, been led to your Sacred
Groves, and now I am to sit like an obedient dog and obey while my
half-sister’s life is threatened. I cannot remain idle. I must seek out my
sister and save her from any ill fate besetting her.”

Swan pressed into his
side, and a mix of comfort and irritation rushed through him. He tried to
contain the prick of annoyance at her proximity, but he could not. The old
feeling of blaming her for his inactivity seized him, but within a blink,
Swan’s emotions withdrew, as if she built a wall in the place inside him that
harbored her. Momentary relief from her constant barrage eased him. He glanced
in Swan’s direction and realized hurt flashed across her eyes.

Serpent Mother exchanged
a wordless understanding with Ase.

“Emma’s fate is her own,
Hallad Avarson. Your concern is to your twin. Your duty is to the one true
Goddess.”

"I will bond, as
you say, as sal drengrs."

Serpent Mother nodded in
satisfaction, but before she could reply Hallad added, “But we will bond
tonight, and seek Emma upon daylight. Half-sister or full. She is still my
blood and still my responsibility."

Serpent Mother directed
her speech towards the women warriors. “Rota and Olrun, Headwomen of the Lion
Clan.”

Each bowed their head at
her address.

“I have heard of your
misunderstanding upon meeting Hallad and your disrespect toward this man, whom
our Goddess has willed as the Savior’s Guardian. In reprimand you are commanded
to train the Savior and her Guardian in the skills of drengrs.”

Olrun’s mouth opened in
defiance but Rota caught her wrist, growling at her between her teeth in a
warning of silence.

“Good,” Hallad answered.
“Then our action is decided. We will train tonight, and leave at sunrise.”

"Nei. You will
train with the Headwomen of the Lion Clan and you will be bonded as sal drengrs
if and when the time comes."

"I will not play
games. I am a godhi's son and I will do as my station commands."

"You are Isla's
son! She is daughter of the Temple. You are supplicant to the Temple." Serpent
Mother rounded on him like a viper, ready to strike, her voice a hiss in the
still air. "If Isla had raised you, you would have learned respect for Our
Lady. I do not request this of you. The Goddess commands your compliance."

The drengmaers crowded
in close to Hallad’s back and he realized his status. Prisoner.

A pain-filled howl,
belonging in the tales Rolf told by firelight, shot through the Lion Clan’s campsite.
Hallad peered about, seeking the source. Fires burned low, banked by rocks,
barely enough fodder to keep the embers glowing.

After their abrupt
dismissal from the Sacred Groves, Rota and Olrun had escorted Hallad and Swan
to their camp in the depths of the IronWood. Though the women had not bound
them, Hallad knew any movement toward escape would have been met with a sword.

Mist rolled throughout
the damp forest, tendrils entwining like the fingers of Loki, announcing
morning would arrive dusted with frost and night would bite at bare skin with
vengeance. The cry rang again until the wail broke into sobs.

Olrun sat on her heels,
her freckled skin flushed by the dim fire.

"What's going on?"
Hallad asked as he removed his swan sword from its scabbard, sharpening the
edge against a rock.

"Intruder,"
Olrun replied, pulling a flask from her skins and taking a long swig, the scent
of mead spilling into the night air. She smacked her lips and wiped them with
the back of her hand.

Swan sat across from
Hallad, staring into the brush—her emotions a mystery for the first time. He
could still sense her presence, but not in the same way. She’d managed to
buffer their intensity. Hallad wondered if their connection had severed. His
chest heaved with relief. Maybe this sal drengr business wouldn't be necessary.
At his thought she turned, her cool eyes catching his. When he met her gaze,
hurt spattered across her face. Guilt welled in him. She could still feel his
emotions, even if she blocked her own from him.

Two drengmaers appeared,
pacing through the tangled brush as gracefully as deer, as dangerously as
she-lions. Each bore a spear and stopped to face Olrun, though standing askance
so their backs touched. The drengmaers were identical. In Hallad’s experience
twins were exposed to the elements at birth, though he still hadn’t puzzled out
how he had been saved from that fate.

"Your sister asks
that you bring the man," said one of the twins.

Olrun nodded.

Hallad studied the
identical twins as they mirrored one another. They turned and disappeared into
the forest. Olrun slurped one last swig of mead before capping her flask with
reluctance.

"Come on, farm boy.
Let's see what trouble you've brought."

"Trouble?"

"Ja. Trouble. Where
there's a man, there's trouble."

She laughed heartily,
amused with her own joke. Hallad replied by pressing his lips in a tight line. Swan
stood. Hallad assumed Swan would follow, but instead she settled down amongst
her bedding, removed her sword from its scabbard and fingered the tree at its
hilt, losing herself in the design.

Olrun and Hallad stalked
off into the forest until they entered into a clearing where a fire roared in its
center. Hallad struggled to sense Swan's presence. After becoming so accustomed
to her, the lack of her emotions inside him caused the empty hole from his
childhood to reopen. He felt she lingered in the distance, but numbly, as if
her emotions were closed tighter than a seidr-wife's pouch.

As Hallad crossed the
clearing he noticed a woman tethered to a tree, a rag stuffed in her mouth. The
woman’s gold-brown hair strung in clumps around her torn cloak, her eyes
swelled from tears. She moaned at the sight of Hallad.

Thyre.

Hallad ran to her,
dislodging the dirty cloth from her mouth.

"This is my . . . "
Hallad stumbled for the right words to identify her. "Kin. Release her."

Rota folded her arms
across her wide chest. Another drengmaer spoke in her place.

"Thieves and spies
are all treated alike here." The drengmaer leaned in, grabbing Thyre's
hair. "What were you trying to do, woman? Steal? Spy?"

Thyre howled, tears
streaming down her dirt-stained face.

Hallad grasped the
drengmaer's arm, forcing her to release her grip.

"She is the wife of
the Godhi of Steadsby and deserves respect."

Even though Thyre had
incited his death sentence, Hallad could not bear to see her treated like an
animal.

"Station does not
outweigh crime." The drengmaer raised her chin.

Rota tightened her lips
like a bucket sealed with whale fat, but she flicked her eyes at the drengmaer,
causing the woman to move aside.

Hallad reached around,
releasing Thyre's bonds and pulled her upright.

"Stand straight. Do
yourself honor."

Thyre’s face strained as
she reached up to tuck strands of her hair back into the knot on top of her
head. She smoothed her tattered skirts and limped to the fire. The drengmaers
busied themselves with chores at Rota's direction, though they still minded
Hallad and Thyre.

Hallad lowered his
voice. His words sounded lifeless.

"What are you doing
here?"

Thyre twitched back and
forth like a scared rabbit, her eyes darting from the fire to the drengmaers.

"Come, son. We must
leave. These women are—"

"I am not your son."

Thyre’s eyes flicked
between his.

"I raised you."

"And you would have
me executed."

"I . . . " Her
voice cracked. "For Emma. I had to. You don’t understand." She flung
her hands in the air then wrung them within her torn skirts.

"What are you doing
here?" Hallad asked again, his voice sinking deeper.

"I had to find you."

"Why?"

"We need to go. You
and me. Get away from these . . . " She cast an anxious glance at the
woman circling the fire.

"So you can bring
me back to Steadsby?"

"Nei. Nei. To find
Emma." Fidgeting with her torn hem, Thyre attempted to tie the loose
threads of her skirts together.

"What makes you think
she's alive?" Hallad’s voice thundered in his ears.

Thyre sighed, wiping her
hand across her dirty face. She hesitated, placing her hands on top of his. Hallad
twitched with an urge to snatch them away. He tightened them into fists
instead.

"I am sorry. Please
forgive me. But now, you must trust me. We must leave here. You and me."

The gentleness in her
voice reminded him of Emma. Once, she must have been as kind as her daughter,
though the years had stripped her to a hardened core.

"What happened to
my father?"

"Nothing. Avarr
stayed behind to calm the villagers. He's waiting for us to return with Emma."

She averted her eyes,
dropping her hands from his and continued to fiddle with the loose threads of
her skirts.

Hallad breathed heavily,
wanting—hoping—to believe her. But he knew she lied. His chest heaved again as
he tried to control the sickness slithering inside. His skin pricked as Swan
appeared in the distance, a lone wolf watching them, waiting to pounce to his
rescue.

Thyre stiffened at her approach.

She leaned in to Hallad and
whispered, "Meet me tomorrow. I will mark a trail from the camp. There are
things I need to tell you, things you must know, but remember these women are
evil—the spawn of Loki himself. Meet me. Give your word."

Hallad nodded, though he
had no idea how either of them would sneak off in a camp full of drengmaers. Avarr
had taught him to listen to everyone before making a decision, to weigh each
side.
Always remember, son, there is nei good or evil, only opposing views.
Even
Thyre deserved a chance from him.

Like a white mist, Swan
drew in next to him. Thyre's eyes darted to her, then the women, then the fire.

Was she a scared
rabbit or a crafty fox?
Hallad
wondered.

"Remember you gave
your word." Thyre said as she stood and stalked off, trying to hide her
limp. Her face tensed with pain as two drengmaers shadowed her, positioning
themselves on either side.

"If you are waiting
for your nana to dress you, farm boy, you’ll wait all day."

Olrun kicked at Hallad’s
rump with a booted foot.

Hallad lurched out of
his bedroll. The early morning air bit at his exposed chest. Fog lingered; it
covered the ground of the IronWood, dimming any light from the sky.

Dressed and waiting,
Swan sat across from the cold fire pit like a draugr in the mist, her outline
barely visible through the fog. He heard the ting of metal as she sharpened her
sword in the same manner Hallad had honed his own.

Olrun poked him with her
toe again.

"Rise and shine
sleepy head."

Doing his best to ignore
the woman, Hallad splashed himself with iced-water from his flask and gobbled
down dried meat left in his pack from his travels.

"How fairs my kin?"

"Kin? Is that what
you’re calling her?"

Olrun’s features blurred
in the cold haze. Farmers would be on their knees to the Goddess this morning,
asking her to quicken summer. If the harsh weather held out much longer Hallad
feared starvation would befall many of Scandia's people.

"Rota will escort
her back to the Hearth today. There she’ll be taught as one instructs naughty
puppies." Olrun pricked Hallad with the point of her sword. "Speaking
of training . . . "

"Not now. After I
take care of something." Hallad had no intention of letting them cart
Thyre off to the Hearth without speaking with her first.

"Not so fast farm boy."
Olrun blocked Hallad, running the metal of her broad sword against his bare
chest. "We’ve work to do and I’ve nei intention of being shamed further on
your account."

"Shamed?"

"Where
there’s a man . . . "

"I know. There’s
trouble."

"Getting wise, I
see."

Hallad swiped at Olrun’s
sword with the back of his hand and replied, "I’ve nei time for games this
morning. Maybe later."