Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (24 page)

The villagers gathered,
as if the three misfit travelers played heroes in one of Rolf’s sagas. The
group stood at the edge of the village, the mighty Skaggs looming over their
path as the rain beat down upon them. The men’s soggy clothing weighed them
down, even though the village dwarves had supplied them with fur-lined leathers
soaked in seal fat. The women had insisted upon them, though Erik had refused
more than once. The villagers had prattled about the weather not being right. “Summer
should have been upon us,” they complained. At their concerns Rolf had launched
into the tale of the last battle between the gods, where summer failed to
arrive and the land was riddled with snow and ice.

“Are you going to throw
some runes to decide which direction we go?” Rolf asked Andvarri.

The dwarf fumbled with a
new beaver pack fastened about his waist, smiling at it with affection. The
villagers fixated on them, waiting, as their gazes sent spikes of discomfort
through Erik. Nowadays, Erik seemed uncomfortable under anyone’s eyes as if
they all judged him and saw the dark thing lurking in his skull.

“I don’t know about the
runes,” Andvarri answered. “The Elder would check the wind.”

“Then the wind it is,”
replied Rolf.

“But then again, perhaps
the Elder would . . . I don’t know.”

They discussed the matter
like two old goats. Erik held Beyla's reins in his gloved hands—the women had
insisted upon those too. He watched the two ninnies banter, rolling his eyes
back in his head. By the Norns, one was enough, but two of them?

Finally, Erik stalked
off toward the nordr, leading Beyla. Within a couple candle flicks, he heard
Rolf and Andvarri behind him and the villagers cheered. The echoes of ovation
lasted until the voice in his head returned, drowning them out.

*****

Days later the wetness
chilled their insides. Rolf’s teeth chattered with a continuous ting. They had
traveled nordr along the Skaggs, following Erik’s inner compass. Though Rolf
had suggested tossing runes or listening for the wind to discover their path,
Erik ignored him. He perceived Emma’s location in his gut. At the same time, he
sensed an invisible wall dividing them. If he could have seen the division, he
could have pummeled it, knocked it down, climbed over it—but nothing appeared. He
continued searching his range of vision for the blockage as they traveled.

“Brother, perhaps we
could stop a while and set up camp.” Droplets dribbled off Rolf’s nose in time
with his chattering teeth.

“A little longer won’t
kill you.”

Erik focused on the
snowcapped Skaggs as he concentrated on Emma. The force separating them
remained in place. Andvarri kept a good pace for his height, though his lips
turned downward at Erik’s command.

You are wasting your
time
, slithered the ebony-haired
man’s voice inside Erik’s head.

Erik ignored the taunt. He
caught sight of Rolf and Andvarri out of the corner of his eye, sagging in
their saddles against the downpour. Rolf layered the leathers in twos so as not
to ruin his mantle, which he had tucked away in his saddlebags for safekeeping.
Andvarri squinted, wobbling atop his mount, trying to keep the wind from
blowing him from his seat. Though they continued to trudge forward, Erik could
not sense if they moved closer or father from Emma with the unseen wall between
them.

Erik reined in Beyla
where the ground leveled out. The sky revealed a patch of light as the showers lightened
to drizzle.

“Are we stopping?” Rolf
asked.

Erik surveyed the
surroundings for dry wood as he dismounted then led his black to an overhang.

“It will be dark soon
enough. We need time to build cover from the rain. That ledge should do.”

Rolf’s face split wide
open. He hopped off his mare.

“There’s nothin’ better
than a fair young lass, to make your fire and warm your—”

“Rolf!” interrupted
Erik.

“What? Can’t I sing?”

Erik glanced at
Andvarri.

Andvarri cleared his
throat. “Bawdy humor is well prized in Gnarn.”

Andvarri’s skin ripened
to a blaze, regardless.

“Ja, I know, brother, the
lays. Stick to the lays.” Rolf delivered his rebuttal in an unflattering
imitation of Erik.

“I hope you have more
sense when we get where we’re going.”

Rolf glanced sideways. “When
do you think we’ll get there?”

Erik tightened his lips.

“So I know how much time
I have to get some sense.” Rolf grinned, his wide smile spreading over his
white teeth. Andvarri smiled too.

Ninnies
, thought Erik.
I am stuck with two ninnies.

“I’ll get the firewood,”
announced Erik.

The elder brother
stalked off, holding his leathers close to his chest, the cold wetness chilling
him senseless.

Hallad probably
wouldn’t even raise a goose bump in this weather.
His thoughts soured at Hallad’s name.
Why do I
keep thinking about that good for nothing traitor? That gutless,
skirt-following sheep?

You’re right. He’s
weak.
The ebony haired man's voice
wound around in his head.

So now you’re reading
my thoughts? Isn't that a seidr-wife’s trick.
Erik twisted off branches, searching for dry
fodder.

Quite the contrary. Do
you think your powers are womanly?
His voice settled into a low drone behind Erik’s ears.

I don’t have powers
, Erik replied.

If only Erik could set a
ward, like Swan had shown him, and block out this man’s voice. Though he hated
to admit it, he knew Swan was the lesser evil, but he had no idea what that
intolerable woman had done to accomplish such a feat.

You’re right about your friend. He is weak. A thinker. A
philosopher. You, however, you're a doer, a conqueror. You could go far.

With your help, I
suppose.

Erik mulled through the
underbrush, picking up old wood and tucking it beneath his arm.

You could be with her
this minute. Right now. Smell her, feel her. Yet you refuse my help. Even
though you realize you need it.

“Go away! I’m sick of your prattling. Go! Go! Go!”

“Brother, are you
talking to someone?” Rolf and Andvarri stared up from their chores with that
look—the look that told Erik they feared for him, or simply feared him.

“Nei,” Erik said. “Not a
soul.”

The elder brother returned
to the overhang and arranged the dead branches out of the rain’s reach.

*****

Soon the fire roared,
the horses were fed and the men's bellies bulged. Erik thanked the gods the
village women had packed their saddlebags to the brim with dried meats and
cheeses, fruits and nuts. The thought of surviving on Rolf’s burnt rabbit
caused his stomach to lurch.

“Andvarri,” said Erik. “Tell
me what you know of magic.”

Rolf glanced sideways at
his elder brother.

“You mean your kind of
magic?” asked the dwarf.

“Forget it,” Erik said.
He chucked a pebble into the fire.

“Nei, nei. I’ll tell
you.”

Andvarri tried to smooth
his face, but his lips quaked at the edges. Erik thought the little man would
wet his undergarments if he glared at him crossways. The drizzle slowed to a
sprinkle as a patch of sky peeked through the cloudbank.

Andvarri continued
nervously, “There are two kinds of magic in Scandia. Galdr and seidr. Galdr is
rune-magic, while seidr is trance-magic. This is what we believe in as
Scandians. However, Elder teaches that magic exists beyond our realm, with more
strength than we possess as mortals and the ability can sometimes seep through
to our lands and peoples. Shadowwalking, for instance, is a more powerful
version of seidr. The user possesses the ability to see into another’s dreams
and, in some cases, another realm—and in very rare instances, to cross into
another realm as the Elder once managed. I only know what the Elder has told
me. Others in our village have not possessed such a power, but the drengmaers
who frequent—”

“Drengmaers?” Rolf’s
ears perked at the reference, seeking another story to add to his repertoire.

“You probably think of
them as valkyries, but the misconceptions about these warrior women are as wide
spread as the mistaken beliefs about dwarves.”

“So you’ve met valkyries?”
Rolf’s amber eyes reflected the fire, burning with excitement.

Ninnies,
thought Erik.
Two old goats prattling in the
pasture.
Neither one of them can stick to the point.

“Met them? I know them!
Or at least many of them. Our village rescues exposed babies, as you know. Many
of these infants are girls and sometimes even twins. The girls and female twins
are welcomed into the Cult of Freyja by the drengmaers, and given a safe refuge
and fulfilling life.”

“Twins aren’t evil?”
asked Rolf.

“Nei. Not in the least. Another
misconception.”

At the mention of twins,
memories of Erik's ex-blood sworn churned, but he refused to acknowledge them. Instead
he focused on the wall impeding his progress toward Emma. He tried to pry the
barrier apart with his will.

Andvarri continued, “The
followers of the Cult of Freyja have those among them known as spiritwalkers. They
prefer the term spirit over shadow, which is the more prevalent term
elsewhere.”

Erik realized the voice had
gone silent. Emptiness filled his head for a moment and he relaxed. The clouds
lifted as the sky brightened.

“Spiritwalkers. Shadowwalkers.
Never heard of them. Tell me more,” Rolf prodded.

Erik’s skin pricked. Emma
seemed closer, as if the wall between them thinned. He scrambled to his feet,
leaping forward.

Andvarri jumped in
response to Erik’s quick movement.

“Brother, what is it?”
asked Rolf.

Erik paced back and forth.
Emma is closer!
He strutted toward the cliff.
Nei, not that way.
Toward the austr. Nei. Toward the nordr. Ja! There!

The invisible barrier gaped
open as if a hole cut through its center. Erik bounded, leaping toward where he
sensed her presence. A pair of footsteps sounded, running after him.

Rolf yelled at his back,
“Brother?”

A wide rainbow arched
down from the sky, stretching its colors to the ground in front of Erik. A few paces
more and he would be able to touch it. A rainbow! No one ever touched the
elusive bands of color, but this one hung there, waiting for him. His vision
filled with the memory of the multi-colored tunnel the ebony haired man had
shown him—the tunnel that had brought him to Emma.

“Bring the horses!” Erik
yelled. He reached out toward the dazzling colors with outstretched fingers.

“By the gods,” Andvarri said
as he arrived behind him, witnessing the spectacle.

Rolf hastened, throwing their
saddles and packs on the horses.

“What is it?” asked
Rolf.

“A rainbow.”

Erik barely heard
Andvarri's reply, like he whispered it into the wind.

“Nei,” said Erik, as he
passed his hand through the streams of color. “Not a rainbow, but our doorway into
Alvenheim.”

Rolf, leading their
packed horses, approached.

“Holy Valhalla,” he said
in amazement. “A doorway to the gods.”

“Alvenheim,” corrected
Andvarri.

Erik eased his foot into
the stream of color. His toes tingled through his thick boots. A vibrating
sensation ran the length of his leg, like little shocks of lightening striking
in thousands of nerves under his skin. The barrier between Emma and him
dissolved, the rainbow opening a door between them.

“Wait, brother! It may
be dangerous.”

“Nei,” Erik said, edging
forward. “This is the way to Emma.”

Andvarri’s eyes bulged
like bowls as Rolf crowded behind him, horses in tow. The animals snorted and
hooved, but allowed the younger brother to tug them along.

Erik’s foot hit solid
ground and he pulled his other leg inside the tunnel, his entire body enveloped
by blues, greens, yellows, magentas and violets. Unlike the numbness prevailing
in the dreams, every nerve in his body livened, pulsed and shuddered. A light
beamed across from him and he placed his feet one in front of the other, making
his way toward the whiteness. Until he realized Rolf and Andvarri had not
followed him.

He turned back toward
where he had entered, but only colors saturated the air.

With a silent curse, he
strutted back to the entrance and jutted his arm through, yelling, “Hold on to
one another. Then take my hand.”