Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (19 page)

Close your eyes.

Erik obeyed. He could
feel the fight within him dying. The fights with Hallad. The fights with Rolf. The
fight he would have with Lothar. Had he any strength left in his bones? Or had
the fire burned out?

Within moments Erik
entered the gray-shifting landscape, his body half visible through the fog. A
man approached, dressed in white linens head to foot. Black hair shone atop a
narrow face, blacker than even Erik’s own. Shadows shifted in his eyes,
matching the undulating landscape around him. His skin was smoother than white
marble. He moved like a river, reminding Erik of Lord Lothar's fluid quality,
yet this man seemed even more dangerous than the white-haired lord.

"Who are you?"

His lips curled,
revealing stark white teeth as he brushed his fingers over his chin. "I am
many people. And I am no one at all."

"Don’t play games
with me."

"Oh, I would never.
I can see that would not work with someone of your, shall we say, caliber. Intensely
intelligent and heroically passionate. A rare combination. And gifted."

"I
don’t know what you mean."

"You
may fool your village friends, my boy, but you cannot fool me. We are here
after all, aren’t we?"

"I’ll
ask you one more time before I leave, who are you?"

"Oh,
you won’t leave. You’ve too much to learn from me. And you want to find her,
don’t you? Emma. I can take you to her. Look."

The
gray landscape faded to black, until bright colors swirled in the darkness,
parting the shadow as if he traveled through a long tunnel, like riding inside
a rainbow surrounded by a black storm. When he reached the end of the
passageway Emma was there, staring directly into his eyes.

"Erik
is that you? Oh, my love!"

Emma threw
her arms around his neck, nuzzling inside the crook of his shoulder. The
sweetness of linnea flowers filled his nostrils as he soaked in her scent, her
sunlight colored hair tickling the side of his rough cheek.

"Emma!
I’ve been searching for you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you." He
pulled her tighter, feeling her curves against him.

"I
could not bear to be without you, love. I wanted to die."

"Oh,
Emma, please do not speak so."

He
kissed her forehead, then face, then neck. He settled his cheek in the bend of that
neck, snuggling her hair. He enveloped her in his arms, pushing into her as if
he would crawl inside her skin, unable to get close enough after their long
separation. Her warmth penetrated him, spreading throughout his body.

Abruptly,
there was nothing except blackness and coldness. Within a breath, she
disappeared. The gray fog returned. The ebony-haired man smiled, still rubbing
his fingers over his smooth chin.

"What trickery is
this?" Erik grasped for Emma’s warmth. His insides felt hollow. Empty. His
body ached to touch her again.

"No trickery. It is
your gift. Your gift from me." The man's shifting eyes searched Erik.
"Come to me every night. You may have your heart’s desire. I promise you. I
swear an oath on my own mother." At the last comment, he grinned.

Then, quicker than he
had appeared, he vanished, a wisp of white and ebony smoke dancing with the
gray until nothing remained.

Erik.

Erik jumped. He knew the
voice. It sounded of bells and springtime. He turned to find Swan standing
behind him. How could she sneak up on him even in his sleep? He burned inside. With
anger. With agony for the loss of Emma.

Swan’s gaze melted at
the sight of him.

You must set the
ward.
The words danced, echoing
in the endless landscape.
Do you understand? You must set it. Like this.

She drew a symbol in the
air with her finger. As her hand left the space, light burst off the character
as if she had drawn the sign with white fire. Notes rang out. A sharp melody
filled his head.

Faster than an
avalanche, the void returned. The blackness gripped him, comforted him, until
he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

"She refuses my
request?"

"I told you." Olrun
sat cross-legged on the ground. She looked like a giant ship knot as she chewed
on a string of smoked deer meat. "Godhi’s son. Guardian. The Goddess
incarnate. No one demands an audience from Serpent Mother."

Olrun sprang from her
spot, fumbling to untangle her legs as Swan appeared behind her.

"Sweet Freyja
woman! Do you practice sneaking up on people or does it come naturally?" The
drengmaer’s face smoldered out of jealousy, or admiration—Hallad couldn’t
decide which.

Swan swept up next to
Hallad, brushing against his shoulder. Since Thyre’s death, she’d remained by
his side, even at the pyre. They had watched in silent companionship while his
mother
burned, Thyre’s flesh released to the gods. Though he had braved a stoic
appearance for the others, he could not hide his suffering from his sister. They
shared the pain through the connection between them. He knew Swan understood. Not
only had she lost her own mother,
their mother
, but the realization of
Thyre’s final words drove home the fact they’d both released their father to
the lands of the gods as well. Grief gripped each of them with the knowledge
that they would never see Avarr again.

Rota crouched by a giant
oak bouncing up and down on her mighty thighs, the muscles beneath flexing with
every spring.

"When will she call
for us?" Hallad addressed Rota, but as usual, she ignored him.

"How should we know
the mind of Serpent Mother?" replied Olrun.

Hallad stretched his
overworked muscles. The women had drilled the twins the last few days in
training. Though he admired their skill and was learning new proficiencies, he
couldn’t help but think they wasted time. Emma’s time.

He settled away from the
others, pulling the medallion out of his pocket. Runes displayed across the
face of the gold piece but as if coaxed from within, rather than carved from
without. The man who had given him the medallion had disappeared so
mysteriously that even the drengmaers' hunting party failed to find him.

Hallad closed his hand
around the metal. He thought it hummed against his palm. He flexed his hand and
peered at the peculiar piece, spotting the runes once more. He didn’t recognize
them—an oddity, because as the son of a noble he had been taught all the known
runes of the Scandians.

He realized the
medallion would lead him to Emma, but how? If he knew where to go, he would
leave tonight.
Weigh all sides before making a decision
, his father had
repeated over the years. But waiting grew unbearable. Slow. Arduous. Ineffective.
His bones itched to take flight; to run, to find Emma and fulfill the promise
he’d given to Thyre. But his heart broke in two—he had also sworn an oath to
his father to protect Swan with life and limb.

Swan rested by her
bedroll, seeing him without looking—the way he saw her—by feeling, not by
eyesight. He crossed to his sleep sack, climbed inside and laid down to stare
at the banked embers in the fire pit. How would he find Emma? His
responsibilities weighed him as he struggled to keep them from slipping from
his grasp.

Hallad started as the
metal warmed his palm. He pulled his hand up to his face. Light glowed through
the spaces between his fingers and he opened his hand—the medallion had lit up and
was casting a yellow glow. The symbols morphed, changing into other runes
across the face of the metal. He recognized kano, an opening. Algiz, a
protective sanctuary. Ansuz, messages and signals. But the rest were lost.

Then he registered the
impossibility of an object moving on its own accord and the piece froze,
motionless once more. Stunned, Hallad glanced at his companions. Olrun and Rota
had slipped into their bedrolls, though Rota never actually slept in the roll;
rather, she slept on top of her furs with her lion-skin boots laced up as if
she was going on a midday hike. Neither of them paid him any mind.

But Swan stared at
Hallad intensely, catching him with the depths of her blue-black eyes. He caught
a surge of fear from her before she stinted the connection, breaking away from
him. The medallion caused distant memories to launch inside his sister’s mind. Though
most thought of her as iron and ice, Hallad knew the truth. Her emotions ran as
deep as anyone’s, only she knew how to disguise them.

Hallad stowed the
medallion back inside his trousers, hoping to project calm to his sister,
though his insides stirred with possibilities. He closed his eyes, feigning
sleep. He did not know what had set Swan off, but he intended to sooth her. He
pushed away the thoughts tumbling inside his head: Emma, Erik, Thyre, his
father. The images lined up like soldiers, like sticks, waiting to fall if he
didn’t catch them first. How could he manage all of his promises? He numbed
himself against the barrage, trying to send Swan thoughts of sleep, of comfort,
but his mind could not find peace.

A deep fog settled
throughout the IronWood, heavy with the scent of winter even though they were a
full moon’s turning past spring. Hallad tossed until exhausted, until sleep
overtook him. Aware of dreaming, Hallad floated within a drab landscape. He
sensed Swan next to him, a gentle breeze brushing against his shoulder and he
smiled.

Brother.
The words bloomed around him as he turned to Swan.

She floated too,
dispersing in the light mist. Her face seemed less rigid, her features supple,
her hair silken.

"Sister," he
replied. Upon discovering their shared ancestry, he should have embraced her,
welcomed her. Instead he had blamed her for his predicament. "I have to
tell you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

Shush.
She spoke, yet her mouth did not move. She
placed a long finger over his lips.
You had every right to feel the way you
did. Everything that has happened is my fault.

"Nei. That’s not
true."

Had I not sought you
out, your life would have remained peaceful.

"Had you not
arrived, I would never know why emptiness possessed me for the greater part of
my life."

Hallad reached for her,
but her figure shimmered as if struggling to remain.

I did not know you
heard me, brother. The song, the village. I did not know.

Her body faded into the
landscape then flickered back.

I don’t have long. In
order to come to you in your dream I had to go deeper into the shadowwalk than
ever before. I have only been able to speak to one who can also travel in the walk
and since you do not have the touch of the Shadow . . .
She dropped her head, collecting her wits. Then
she leveled her gaze on him, capturing him the same way she did the night they
met.
I will set things right, brother. It does not fall on you. I will make
it right.

Before Hallad could
answer, she swirled into the gray mist and vanished.

*****

The godhi’s son awoke. Something
nagged at his memory. Last night. A dream.

He stretched, rolled from
his bed, slipped on a tunic and searched for his boots. Memories lingered in
his mind, rolling over and over like a drunken recollection. He crossed to a
water bucket and splashed his face. The bite of cold water sharpened his thoughts.

Rota and Olrun were
nowhere in sight, probably preparing some new training feat, but today Hallad
would make
his
plans—his plans for Emma, for Swan, for all of them.

Something tugged at him,
something different. Emptiness.

Then he realized he
didn’t
feel
his sister. The place inside him that belonged to her gaped
open. Empty. A chasm of fear rose up within him.

He turned, searching for
her. She lay still, in her bedding, arms crossed over her chest. Sprinting to
her side, he bent over her, shaking her.

"Swan. Swan. Wake-up."
The emptiness he felt told him she would not. He shook her again and again.
"Wake-up!"

He leaned close,
listening for her breath. There, in the shallow depths of her chest, a light,
slow rhythm labored.

"Nei!" he
cried out.

Then he remembered the
dream.
It does not fall on you. I will make it right.

"Nei, sister. Nei."
He placed his hand on her cheek—cold, as if death lingered steps away.

He scrambled to his
bedroll and pulled his blankets back to Swan, tucking them around her.

"Rota! Olrun!"
Hallad yelled frantically.

He pulled back his
sister’s lids; her dilated pupils stared back. His gut lurched inside,
wrenching like a thousand horses pulled his innards in different directions.

"Rota! By the gods,
come quick."

Moments passed, though
they seemed like eons, until Rota—with Olrun flanking her—bent by Hallad’s
side. Rota felt Swan’s chest and held her ear over the girl’s nose.

Others had followed and
Rota commanded, "Tell the Hearth we come."

A pair of drengmaers
took off at a run.

"Are you responsible
for this?" Olrun’s voice boomed, accusing Hallad.

Hallad tried to shake
his head, but her words settled down inside him.

Am I responsible for
this?

Rota lifted Swan into
her thick arms, nestling her as a mother with her newborn, and walked the long
path back to the Hearth. Hallad followed, his eyes latched on the limp form in
the drengmaer’s arms, while emptiness sieged every nook and cranny of his
being.

"How is my sister?"

"The same."
Olrun crossed the Hall of the Hearth, slumping down in a nearby chair, her bulk
threatening the stability of the wooden seat. Rota followed her sal drengmaer,
her fists wound tight.

"Do they know
what’s wrong with her?"

"If they do, they won't
say." Olrun poured herself a horn full of mead and gulped it down. "They
will call the Goddess for answers."

"Call her or pray
to her? I don’t understand."

"Nei,
call her."

"Enough!"
Rota barked at her sal drengmaer.

Olrun’s
hazel eyes leveled Rota’s own. "He has a right, sister. Look how they
fought together these last few days, surely they are—"

"Nei!
You will not give away the mysteries of Spirit to a man."

"He’s
not just
any man
." She left off, returning to her drink, letting
the foam settle on her upper lip as she gulped.

They all resumed to
waiting. It seemed waiting was all Hallad had accomplished since he came to the
Sacred Groves of Freyja, as if there were a million seasons for him to live. He
inhaled, reveling in the sound the air made through his nostrils, the coolness
steadying him.
Healing is women’s business
, his father would say.
Only
a fool interferes with such mysteries.
But the more he sat idle, the more
his difficulties multiplied.

"Take me to her."
He spoke to Olrun, catching her arm with his thick hand.

Olrun placed her horn on
the tabletop. She shifted uneasily. Rota crossed the floor, standing beside her
sal drengr without a word. The shorter woman did not need words to sway Olrun’s
response, the heaviness of her presence speaking louder than if she screamed
commands.

"I cannot." Olrun
glared at Rota. "But it is not that I don't want too."

"Don’t you
understand?" This time Hallad focused his plea on Rota. He would have
barreled through the doors and found Swan himself if the women hadn’t taken
every precaution to hide where they had taken her. His mind whirled with
reasons he must be taken to his sister’s side, but none found their way to his
tongue, a thickness settling in his mouth.

The candles flickered
against the walls, illuminating the paintings etched upon them—vignettes of the
Goddess with her boar. Hallad had come to realize that the women in the Hearth
favored the symbol of the boar, while the women in the temples, or Spirit,
decorated with moons and cats. Many Scandian men favored one god over another
and wore symbols to represent their loyalty. Rolf had adorned himself with
Bragi’s symbol, a harp, until he convinced his father to spend a full turning
of the moon’s business on that obnoxious red cape with the god of scalds
embroidered on the back. Other villagers had favored the thunder god and wore
wood-carved axes on ropes around their necks. His father had taught him that
Odin was god of nobles, yet Avarr had never worn anything to symbolize his
patronage of the god. The only signet he wore, Hallad wore now—the Guardian
Tree digging its roots into the earth.

The silence continued to
separate them. Rota’s gaze never lifted. Then she grumbled, "I will take
you," and proceeded to the door.

Hallad rose, following
Rota, confused at her change of mind but hesitant to question her for fear she
might renege. Olrun flanked him, a satisfied smile forming on her lips as her
eyes latched onto the back of her sal drengmaer.