***
Bonded
"Between darkness and light, there is truth . . ."
The land had known for centuries that she was dying, but tonight she allowed herself to hope. In the far-off lands of Scandia, where her touch barely penetrated, she sensed the two moving toward one another and she sang out in anticipation.
Bonded Chapter 1
Hallad Avarson tensed, holding his breath as he strained to hear a voice that murmured nearly beyond detection. He swung his head toward the sound, the depth of the Great Wood expanding before him. The remains of the sinking sun caused blackness to lurk in the dense undergrowth of the forest as the melody drifted out of the darkened woods.
The young man turned to his companions idling on the Green to gauge their reaction to the singing. His little sister, Emma, sat with her linen skirts splayed on the ground around her, glancing up through her thick lashes at her beau, Erik Sigtrigson. Erik stared down at her from where he knelt, his expression fond, fierce and protective all at once. Rolf Sigtrigson, Erik’s brother, younger by a single summer, paced around the two courters, working a carving knife against a stick. The birch took shape beneath his nimble fingers, taking the form of his favorite god, Bragi. None betrayed any sign of hearing the noise.
"Did you hear that?" Hallad asked.
"Hear what?" Emma replied.
Discernible notes strung into a vaguely familiar lullaby.
The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the nordr tonight . . .
"Blood brother," said Erik. "The forest lays still."
Hallad stretched his neck toward the woods again, listening.
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings . . .
"Nei," said Hallad, as a puff of breath escaped his lungs. Though spring, the air still chilled his breath, creating a circle of mist that floated toward the dim woods. "I hear a voice."
"I don't hear anything," said Emma, keeping her gaze on Erik. She studied the line of her suitor’s jaw; her full lips turned upward in a perpetual smile.
"Your fancies have gotten away with you," added Erik.
Hallad sucked in air, as if stifling himself would suffocate the intruding voice.
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
"Sleep, little one, sleep."
Hallad squared his shoulders, a barricade to the drone behind him, and turned back toward the group on the Green, addressing his little sister.
"Let us be off before our mother discovers you and Erik have gone missing together."
"Thyre will not find us, blood brother. Come. Sit with us for once," Erik replied in Emma’s stead.
"Nei. We need to leave," Hallad insisted, more in response to the confusing desires the lullaby stirred inside than for concern over his mother’s disapproval.
A purplish haze filled the sky as the sun winked out over the Skagg Mountains, darkness descending over his companions. The air held no comfort as a chill swept the Green, the nordr wind warning of a harsh season ahead. With a couple of long strides, Hallad reached the group and picked up his mantle, bow and quiver. He swung his mantle around him to guard against the biting wind, and held his hand out to his sister.
Emma ignored his outstretched hand. Her eyes rounded, pupils contracting, misty gray irises engulfing the centers of black. Cascades of sunlight colored hair, held in place by a maiden’s circlet, framed her delicate features. A barn cat nestled within her skirts and lay purring beside her, making no attempt to move.
"You promised," Emma whispered.
Hallad allowed his arm to drop back to his side.
"You need not chaperone us, Hallad Avarson." Erik’s use of his full name, instead of the familiar term blood brother, burned Hallad’s ears. He might as well have called him the godhi’s son. The title reminded Hallad he always stood apart from the others—a thought that agitated a dark place inside him. A place that felt empty and alone.
"I take full responsibility for our courtship." Erik hovered over Emma, his black hair the color of crow feathers, the stark contrast of the two courters like a storm eclipsing daylight.
"Mother may not agree to our courtship, but surely you can plead our case with father. He is fair. And he will listen to you, brother," Emma begged.
Though their mother disapproved of the union, Hallad had agreed to become the couple’s secret chaperone to thwart any tarnish to his family’s reputation. He knew it was wrong. Yet he could not deny his sister. Or his blood sworn.
But it was not their mother he feared. She was an excuse. What raised his hairs was the strange voice inside his head. It called to him from the depths of the Great Wood, filling the void of loneliness he’d harbored for as long as he could remember. The raw desire to seek its source awakened every muscle in his body. Hallad quivered inside his skin.
His father’s words rushed over him, Rule with your head, even though your heart calls. Hallad repeatedly flexed his free hand as he tried to contain the irrational urge and shook his head at his own stupidity, but the song continued to wash through him.
On yonder mountainside a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing . . .
"You should worry." Rolf’s voice split through the tune in Hallad’s head.
Though Rolf was Erik’s brother, they bore little resemblance to one another. Rolf—tall and lanky, with ember colored hair—swirled his embroidered mantle depicting Bragi about him. He resembled a prince from a scald’s tale, with his crimson cape and expertly turned cowhide boots, yet he was merely the son of a cobbler.
"But not of Thyre. She’s too busy admiring her latest trinkets, purchased from the tinker with her husband’s fine bull, to notice her daughter has been stolen away by the lowly son of Sigtrig."
Erik’s eyes sparked at the insult to Thyre, while Emma feigned disagreement.
Rolf continued, "It is the swan maiden. The valkryrie. The messenger of the Goddess within the Great Wood you should fear."
Hallad’s attention snapped to Rolf again. Did he hear the voice too?
Rolf swept back his mantle in a gesture grand enough for a king’s hall, announcing the arrival of a story. Hallad realized the younger brother only sought an opening to tell his tale. Erik settled from his knees to a sitting position, ready for the performance. Emma cuddled the cat within her pale blue skirts, straightening the maiden’s circlet that had fallen askance on her head, as eager as Erik for the story to begin. All had ignored Hallad’s command to leave.
The violet sky darkened. Hallad stood torn between his duty to watch over his little sister and his desire to discover the mystery calling to him from within the Great Wood. His momentary lapse gave Rolf his in.
The wishful scald inhaled, filling his lungs, and spread his arms out as if greeting a crowd.
"There was a time long ago, a time you and I both know."
Erik burst into laughter.
Emma’s gray eyes twinkled. She covered her smiling lips with her fingers.
"What?" asked Rolf, raising his brows as if he didn’t know what the commotion was about.
"Nei rhyming," chided Erik.
"What’s wrong with rhyming?" demanded Rolf, indignantly swirling his mantle around him.
"Have you ever heard of a rhyming scald?" asked Erik.
Rolf smiled a sincere, white-toothed grin.
"I will be the first! The rhyming scald extraordinaire!" He bowed deeply at his own introduction.
Emma giggled and Erik howled, slapping his knees and ruffling his sleek hair with uncontrolled tremors. Hallad only stiffened, the mysterious voice caressing his min
d, fingering through his memories to pry at the emptiness within him.
"Come brother," said Erik. He straightened his face with effort. "Tell it right."
Rolf softened as he stared at his elder brother smiling up at him.
"Ja. I will tell it right," Rolf conceded and once more swept his red cape back, the woven picture of the god dancing as if commanded.
Many moons ago, the land vast and untamed,
The Gods laid their prophecies down for mortals’ ears.
Neither you, nor I, a gleam in our fathers’ eyes,
While the Norns drew our destinies upon the rune stones . . .
Emma beamed at the storyteller, her eyes wide, as Erik snuggled closer to her. Instead of Rolf’s fine tenor, only the voice from the forest sounded in Hallad’s head. The song had taken on a peculiar timbre as it grew louder. It was full, rich, and female, but too beautiful, too unearthly. Hallad stopped himself in mid-thought.
I act a fool. I hear nothing.
Regardless, Hallad took a heavy-footed step backward, toward the voice. His breath escaped in a sigh, as if moving toward the melody’s source relieved the pressure building within him. He paused, contemplating his friends on the Green. They looked content. At ease. Jovial. Hallad never felt such liberties. He longed to lounge on the lawn with them and forget, for once, that he was the godhi’s son. But with that title, the constant itch to be on guard, to be responsible, and to be apart was ever present.
Hallad attempted to focus on Rolf’s tale; he closed his eyes and strained to listen to the younger brother over the song that vibrated inside his head. The Prophecy of the Goddess had been told for so many moons that Hallad had still been swathed in toddlers’ skirts when the last of the travelers seeking the truth of the legend had stopped coming to Steadsby. The forest changed then. Shadow things and lurk-abouts replaced the older tale of the white swan goddess, and the forest became something to scare your children into proper action, lest they be carried off by shadow-spawn.
"In a flurry of fluttering white wings," Rolf said, while flapping his arms in a poor imitation to punctuate his prose. He slipped from his stanzas, adlibbing as he often did. Erik repressed a laugh as his little brother continued, "A creature appeared—so beautiful, so magnificent, even a fool would recognize her as a goddess. One moment a swan, the next a valkyrie."
Erik looked toward Emma, his black lashes shading the feline green of his eyes while he gently brushed her generous sun-colored hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks flushed at his touch. For a moment, Erik's gaze lingered on the golden key affixed to a chain on Emma’s dress. The rising moon caught his features, brightening the depth of angles in his face.
Rolf’s tenor voice turned falsetto as he mimicked the goddess in the tale, slipping back into traditional verse.
Hear me; I have come to tell of greatness and disaster.
Here shall mark the beginning or the end.
Two of the same, but as opposite as Muspell is to Nilfheim,
Shall come together again and reunite our lands.
As one shall rise, so shall the other.
As one shall die, so shall the other.
As the children of both darkness and light,
So shall the land become darkness and light.
Mark this land beneath me.
Alight here, making your home.
Tell all who venture from the nordr, sudr, vestr, and austr,
For the land beneath me shall forever bond heroes.
The others hung on Rolf’s words, but only the song humming from the bowels of the Great Wood chimed in Hallad’s mind, drawing him toward the forest’s edge. None of his companions noticed as he crossed into the dense copse. The spiny branches of myrtle scratched his legs, bereft of any of the buds that should have already blossomed. Rolf’s words melted into the stillness of the forest, as the other voice, the enchanting songstress, took hold of Hallad, urging him deeper into the ancient woods.
As he crept through the forest, sweat beads broke across his forehead, denying the chill of dusk. He fingered his bow, his hand stiff. The heady scent of earth and aging roots accosted his nostrils. The moon caused shadows to take over, playing tricks in the sleeping undergrowth.
I should turn back.
Out of the distance, rose the howl of a wolf—a long, low, hungry yowl. Hallad jumped and fumbled for an arrow. He nocked his bow tight, drew his elbow back, his hand fitted to his cheek, his forearm stretched to full length. The baying lingered as if originating from another realm, filling the thick air.
The woman’s voice broke at the wolf’s cry. Then, as if to soothe her nerves, the singer continued, increasing her volume to drown out the howl. A trickle of sweat moved across Hallad’s lip. Shadows became lurk-abouts in the brush.
Hallad shifted from side to side, pointing his arrow with deadly accuracy at every movement. His heart knocked. His blood coursed. Something moved in the distance. A crack.
The arrow released and within a heartbeat a strangled moan echoed, silencing the song that played inside his head.
Bonded Chapter 2
The godhi’s son scrambled through the brush toward the stifled groan. As he passed, the forest floor opened up, allowing sure footing. It was as if the land itself welcomed him as he raced along, heart pumping. He broke through the thicket and stopped thunderstruck in a wide open clearing. Hallad dropped the bow from his hand; his will to move slid out of his body.
A long-limbed beauty straightened up from the edge of the still waters of Prophetess Cove, turning to face Hallad. The woman’s white hair silvered in the cast of the moonlight, shimmering off her naked limbs. Beads of water sparkled on her skin like hundreds of white jewels. The woman fixed her cool gaze on Hallad. Her hardened eyes defied the fact she bared all to a strange man. Hallad could not turn away. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes stayed prisoner to her own iron black.
The empty space inside Hallad rushed with emotions he couldn’t identify. As their eyes connected, awareness surged through every muscle, the bones and the blood of his body—a sense that on this night, the Norns drew forth his destiny from the rune stones. A shine in her dark irises, a flicker of her eyelids, told him she felt the same.
A shift in her carriage broke Hallad’s stare. He realized the woman gripped a battle sword in her right hand. Women did not carry swords! In his village and throughout the lands of sudr Scandi they carried keys, needles, small knives and broaches, proudly displayed on a chain strung around their dresses, but never swords. Even the men in his father’s longhouse wouldn’t possess such a fine instrument.
"Hallad!" Emma rushed into the opening, maneuvering to get close to her elder brother. "Hallad! I beg you to mind your conduct!"
Erik and Rolf had arrived moments before, each carrying torches. The cove illuminated as flames rose in licks toward the sky, emitting billows of pungent smoke. The smell of burnt pine wafted in the air. Both Erik and Rolf had stopped upon seeing the naked woman—or girl. By the firelight the stranger appeared to have lived around as many summers as Hallad—her body was not fully developed, her hips still narrow and her white breasts high and firm.
Erik immediately turned his back toward the young woman. Rolf gaped, his jaw hanging, eyes protruding at the unclothed stranger. Emma attempted a disagreeable frown in his direction. Rolf shrugged his shoulders and swiveled around, tangling his feet in the dead grass as he twisted. Erik worked the end of his long torch into the ground, while Rolf followed suit, trying to regain composure.
Emma crossed the distance, catching her brother by the waist; his height wouldn’t allow her to grip his broad shoulders. As she tried to rotate Hallad, Emma addressed the stranger.
"Please excuse my brother. His manners have escaped him." Unable to turn Hallad in the opposite direction, Emma exhaled in frustration. "Upon the honor of my house, I ask your pardon and welcome you to the bounty of our table."
The stranger didn’t respond. She shifted her frosty gaze fr
om Hallad to Emma. With a fluid grace, the young woman crouched, placing her sword by her feet. As her hand left the hilt, the design lay exposed. The flawless steel had been meticulously shaped into an ash tree, its mighty roots digging into the belly of the earth—an identical signet to his father’s.
Hallad scrunched his eyelids and drew a breath, trying to reason. Why would this woman possess his father’s signet?
The stranger dressed in fluid movements. Her hair fell like icicles around her waist as she fastened on a stark shift. Her stone-worn shift, silver-white hair, milky skin and bottomless eyes made her look more like a swan than a woman.
The stranger pulled on tight, black leather trousers, accentuating the narrowness of her hips. After tying off the top of the trousers, she slipped a lamellar breastplate over her head, fastening it in place. She completed her wardrobe with black leather boots, the soles thicker than any warriors’ in the godhi’s longhouse.
A thought shot through Hallad. He wondered if the stranger was a valkyrie. A goddess. A swan maiden.
The woman bent to pick up her sword, but instead of sheathing her blade she gripped the hilt as if waiting for an attack. Emma sucked air from her lungs, panicked at the stranger’s action. Erik spun around faster than a windstorm upon hearing Emma’s distress, spotting the young woman with her battle sword in hand. He brandished his own blade in response and sprang forward.
"Move back, Emma!" he shouted, blocking the woman’s path toward Emma.
The stranger spun her sword, loosening her grip on the hilt, whirling the steel around until the blade pointed outward.
"Gentle Goddess Freyja!" Emma piled her skirts in her fists to make her way around Erik and over the bramble, jogging toward the stranger.
"Emma! Nei! Do not go near her." Erik lunged forward, but Hallad stayed him with a hand to his shoulder.
"She’s hurt!" Emma hastened toward the young woman. Freeing her skirts, she held her hands cautiously in front of her, murmuring to the stranger. "We won’t harm you."
Erik pitched forward again, but Hallad squeezed his shoulder tighter.
"Wait a moment," urged Hallad.
The uncommon tone of Hallad's voice caught Erik, causing him to pause.
"Will you look at that," Rolf said. "It’s like she’s charming a snake."
All three young men exchanged mystified glances.
"I can’t let her . . ." Erik wrinkled his forehead.
"She will be all right." Hallad reassured him, but wasn’t sure why he thought a stranger with the battle sword, who was possibly a valkyrie, wouldn’t harm his little sister.
Emma drew in closer until she touched the woman on the arm. As she inspected the wound, she recognized the head of the arrow hidden in the stranger’s flesh and turned to accuse her brother.
"You shot her?" Emma said, both shocked and indignant.
Hallad realized a trace of blood clumped on the back of the young woman’s bicep. When he had burst through the bramble she must have already broke off the shaft and turned to meet her attacker, hiding the gash from his view.
"Shooting valkyries!" cried Rolf. "You’ll call forth the gods’ wrath on the entire village!"
"She’s not a valkyrie," Hallad replied, trying to convince himself.
"Nei, godhi’s son. I know many a maiden who ventures the Great Wood at night with a battle sword for company." Rolf raised his brows, challenging Hallad to deny him.
"Hush, Rolf," Hallad responded.
"I do not take orders from the godhi’s son. The day you become the godhi and take the oaths of Odin, perhaps I will change my mind." Rolf stuck his nose in the air and snorted. "Besides, she is a valkyrie."
"Blood brother, there is truth in what he says. Have you ever seen anything like her?" asked Erik.
Hallad recalled the singing—how it had seduced him into the forest. Could she have been the singer? Yet she had not uttered a word since their arrival.
The stranger sat motionless, without as much as a blink, while Emma prodded to remove the point. His little sister cleaned and bandaged the stranger’s wound, ripping pieces of her own linen underskirt to use as a dressing.
Hallad regarded the girls as Rolf and Erik bantered about valkyries and the wrath of the gods. The stranger’s eyes shifted uneasily, and the skin on the back of Hallad’s neck rose. The air grew cooler. Aside from Erik's and Rolf’s chatter, the only audible sound was the lapping of the opaque water on the shore as an unnatural quiet crept over the Great Wood.
The stranger jumped to one side as if she expected a lurk-about to come at her from the shadows. Emma backed up, circling her, cooing reassuring phrases as if she spoke to a wild bird. The young woman didn’t notice. A disturbed look possessed the stranger’s face. Her eyes darted as if she awaited the strike of an enemy.
Hallad raised his hand between Erik and Rolf to get their attention. In the next breath, the young woman gripped her sword, spun it three times, and pushed Emma behind her. Emma fell, the wind knocked from her lungs.
"Emma!" Erik screamed, firming his grip on his broad sword. He sped toward the stranger with a swiftness that defied his shorter physique.
"She is a valkyrie," said Rolf, his feet rooted where he stood.
"Move aside!" yelled Erik as he leapt in front of the young woman—but the stranger ignored him, jabbing her blade into the stale air. She swayed back and forth, cutting in and out, in some odd dance with her blade.
Erik extended his fingers to catch the front of his beloved’s dress, but the stranger seized Emma’s arm, pulling her out of Erik’s grip. She planted Emma on the ground behind her, leaving Erik with only the chain from Emma’s dress in his hand.
Tremors built inside Hallad.
I need to do something.
An inexplicable chill blasted into the clearing at Prophetess Cove, freezing them all in their spots. From nowhere, blackness ripped into the air as if a knife cut open a curtain, and darkness oozed through. The murk spread, crossing ground, its inky tendrils snaking over the dormant land, filling the space between the two women.
The stranger swung her neck around like a great bird, seeking Emma.
The rose-color leached from Emma’s cheeks. Her eyes enlarged as the darkness slithered toward her, crawling up and over her skin. Fear rolled over her face. A single tear escaped her eye to stream downward, rolling over her chin to dissolve into the glacial air.
Erik screamed. He struggled, but remained fixed to the ground.
An unseen force held them entrenched within its bitter grip. Before their eyes, Emma’s body gradually disappeared into the blackness until there was nothing left in her spot but the cool air and the earth beneath.
Bonded Chapter 3
The frigid air dissipated. The space where Hallad’s little sister had sprawled held nothing more than the ground’s rough traces, the only hint she had been there at all. Hallad sought the stranger across the distance. Her features steeled against him.
"Emma!" Erik’s face darkened, his voice cracking at her name.
The elder brother fell to his knees, his arms reaching forward into empty air. His fist clutched the key, ripped from Emma’s dress. His distressed look focused on the stranger.
"What have you done with her?"
Erik thrust himself upright, his broadsword still clutched within his fist. With his blade extended, he charged the stranger with all the fury bound in Muspell. Hallad sprinted after him, but even with his longer strides he knew he could not catch Erik before his friend ran the young woman clear through.
The stranger returned Erik’s fire with a stare, her hair draped about her like a blanket of snow. The sharp edge of Erik’s weapon raced toward her chest, yet she didn’t budge. Instead, she dropped her sword. And waited.
A frustrated grunt sounded from Erik as he pulled back on his hilt, stifling his blow; he lodged his blade into the hard earth, releasing the hilt. He snatched the woman’s breastplate with both hands, grappling to retain his
grip on Emma's key and the woman at the same time. He pulled her close, kicking her sword away, and shook her.
"Where is Emma? By all the great gods, what in Valhalla have you done with her?"
"Calm yourself, Erik." Hallad reached for Erik’s shoulders. "This is not the way."
Erik whirled on Hallad, but kept a hand on the woman. The godhi’s son jumped back on his heels to keep his balance.
"You!" Erik exclaimed. "Why do you protect this . . ."
"Valkyrie," Rolf, who hadn’t budged from his position, interjected.
"She’s not a valkyrie." Hallad smoothed his tone, disguising the distress.
"Not a valkyrie? What about shadow-spawn? Sent from the dark god himself? She killed Emma! Murdered her! Your own sister!"
Hallad tensed under the accusation. His father’s words intruded, Keep your head level when chaos abounds.
"We don’t know that."
"Have you gone blind?" Darkness lurked in the angles of Erik’s face.
A need arose to guard the stranger. Hallad couldn’t explain it, couldn’t rationalize why, but the sensation wouldn’t subside. Rule with your head even though your heart calls. His father’s words played inside his mind again, though he didn’t know if the irrational urge belonged to his head or heart.
"The Shadow," Rolf suggested. "She brought the Shadow to abduct Emma. She called the darkness forth with her incantation, or dance, or enchantment. Whatever she did—we all saw her. You can’t deny the facts."
All three young men scrutinized the stranger. Was she a valkyrie? Or shadow spawn sent from Loki himself? She returned their scrutiny with her chin held high.
"She brought the Shadow," Erik repeated. "And she will die by my hand." But he paused, clenching his fist around Emma’s key while tightening his remaining grip on the stranger’s breastplate.
Rolf’s tone fell to a whisper. "Brother, what if she isn’t shadow-spawn? What if she’s a valkyrie, protected by the gods? Then, your crime will be as grave as hers."
"Nei," said Hallad. "I will not allow you to harm her."
"Where is your loyalty? Your sister snatched into the Shadow and you protect her slayer."
"Justice will be served, blood brother, but by a hearing of the Hall, not by your hand." Erik glowered as Hallad continued, "They will decide her guilt after a trial. It is the law."
"They will put her to the inquest and prove her guilt," said Rolf.
An uneasy shiver crawled across Hallad’s skin. Their customs stated if the one in question proved innocent, or in league with the gods, the gods would allow them to swan-shift and disappear. If guilty or shadow-spawn, they would die. The tradition was older than many of the tales exchanged on long winter nights, said to be handed down by the gods to protect man from Loki’s shadow-spawn. Yet Hallad could not recall a time when anyone had survived the inquest.
"Bind her then," said Erik, releasing her. "Tightly."
"We don’t have any rope." Hallad picked up the young woman’s sword and tucked the weapon under his belt, hiding the signet within the folds of his tunic. He marched toward his bow and quiver, where he had dropped them on the ground at the entrance to the cove. The young woman moved with him, shadowing his movements. When Hallad stopped, she stopped. Rolf and Erik exchanged raised brows.
Without another word they gathered their belongings. Hallad glanced back at the cove. The water shone like a sheet of ice in the moonlight, defying any commotion had occurred. Erik and Rolf stopped at the forest’s edge, freeing the torches from the ground. Rolf took the lead, followed by Hallad. The strange woman crowded Hallad’s side while Erik took up the rear.
Their feet crunched over coarse ground. No buds blossomed, leaving the forest’s floor dormant, coated in a knot of deadness. The woman’s footfalls made no sound. She glided like a silent shadow by his side. Hallad couldn’t even detect her breath. Yet without looking, he sensed her next to him.
Warmth surged through him overtaking the emptiness he had felt on the Green, before he had met the stranger, before losing Emma. He bit back the bile forming in his throat.
Emma, I failed you.
Hallad’s part in the night’s events would bring retribution against him, and rightly so. Godhi’s son or not, he had endangered lives by his actions.
A woman’s voice drifted through his thoughts.
As long as we are together.
The words wrapped around him, melting through him, reminding him of the song that had urged him into the Great Wood. Hallad glanced sideways, but the young woman kept her gaze forward, lips pressed tight. Had he just imagined she had spoken?
The woodlands wrapped them in silence as they headed back to the village of Steadsby, with the exception of the clank of Erik’s sword against his scabbard—a warning in case the stranger chose to run.
Bonded Chapter 4
"I demand a hearing of the Hall!" said Erik.
"Where is my daughter?" Thyre bit back at him, eyes narrowed, lips twisted.
Hallad's mother teetered on a seat, erected upon a dais, in the center of the longhouse. Her hair was a shade deeper than Emma’s, knotted on her crown; her features were tight from the pull of her bun. A veil draped off the spiral of hair, signifying her station as Mistress of the Hall. The woman possessed none of Emma’s gentleness.
Villagers stopped their merriment to witness the spectacle. The crowd silenced as the two glowered at one another. Finally, Thyre broke from her scrutiny of Erik to observe the young woman standing beside Hallad, as straight and sure as a goddess. Thyre's lips twitched into an uncontrolled grin as she calculated something unknown. The guileful leer caused Hallad’s chest to contract in forewarning.
The godhi, Hallad’s father, inspected the young woman too, but he didn’t smile. Old haunts seized his aging face. Avarr’s lids sagged over his eyes—the same mist-gray color as Emma’s, though paled with age.
Hallad stared at his father. The sleeves of Avarr’s tunic bore embroidery, emblazed with his signet, the Guardian Tree digging its roots into the earth—the same signet Hallad wore on his own tunic—the exact seal adorning the young woman’s sword tucked neatly under Hallad’s mantle.
The old man shifted his gaze to his son. Sadness tugged his features downward.
"The Hall will hear you now." The godhi nodded toward Erik with the dignity of a king, but the muscles in his neck bunched as he spoke. "Speak, boy. The Hall hears all who ask. What is your complaint, who is this girl and where is my daughter?" Hallad’s father raised himself off his seat to his full height as his voice thundered throughout the longhouse, leaving behind any of the sorrow Hallad had detected earlier.
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Even Hallad flinched at the force of his father. Erik’s face heated at his words.
"Emma is dead by the hand of this creature," proclaimed Erik, waving to indicate the stranger. "Sucked into the Shadow itself."
A gasp ran through the crowd. Thyre shrieked loudly. The godhi’s jaw tightened, turning his attention on Hallad. The dense smoke of the room blurred the battle shields gracing the walls of the longhouse—each, his father had told him, with a story of its own. The smells of roasted boar and abundant mead quashed the air in Hallad’s lungs. Hallad’s chest tightened as if a boulder sat on it.
"Is this true, son?" the godhi asked.
Hallad twitched. The young woman stood stiff as a blade beside him, but Hallad sensed her shudder underneath her skin.
"Nei, it is not."
Erik swung at Hallad, fist connecting with his cheek. Hallad stammered backward, catching his balance, but refused to return the blow. The spectators erupted, hollering for a fight. The godhi raised his hand in the air.
"Enough!"
The crowd fell quiet once more.
"You boy," the old man said pointing at Rolf, "you tell us what has happened."
Erik glared at his little brother, raising his dark brows in warning. Rolf moved forward nervously at first, then flipped h
is scarlet mantle about him. Hallad recognized the gesture and gritted his teeth.
By the gods, he thinks he’s reciting a lay.
Rolf cleared his throat and launched into a colorful version of the evening’s events. The crowd oohed at every turn of his tale, giving Rolf the incentive to exaggerate. Hallad tried to interrupt, but his father held him off with a shake of his hand, as engrossed in the telling as the crowd. When Rolf described meeting the stranger, her unclothed state, the mystery of her at the cove, the crowd murmured, "valkyrie" and "swan maiden."
Rolf continued, stating how the godhi’s son had shot the creature. The onlookers roared condemnation. Some prayed aloud for the gods’ pardon and protection. Thyre sobbed as Rolf relayed how the woman’s strange behavior called the Shadow that devoured Emma. Onlookers openly wept. Men cursed, rallying in word as "sent from Loki" and "shadow-spawn" replaced "swan maiden" throughout the smoke-congested longhouse. As the room overflowed with emotion, Rolf bowed his head as if finishing a grand performance.
"What will we do?" asked a man in the crowd.
"Kill her," muttered another.
"What if she’s a valkyrie? The gods would curse us for taking their own."
"The inquest," Rolf suggested.
"The inquest."
It swelled like a wave through the crowd until the godhi hushed them.
"By the law of the Hall, this girl has a right to speak for herself. What do you say?" He searched the young woman longingly, as if willing her to speak on her own behalf.
She stood with her white hair draped around her like sleek wings, her chin level, her bottomless eyes defying the crowd—yet she did not utter a sound.
Thyre flew out of her seat.
"Enough husband! I demand justice. I will not be allowed to give my own daughter a proper pyre. My own flesh and blood will wander the earth forever without the rights said and runes carved at her gravestone."
For once, Erik and Thyre were in agreement, and Erik goaded the crowd to put the woman to the inquest. The godhi raised his hand again, causing a hush to wash over the crowd.
"So shall it be." Avarr spoke slowly, choosing his words with regret. "Prepare for the inquest."
The godhi bent, whispering to a servant next to the dais. The thrall nodded, pushed through the crowd and disappeared out the door.
I will not survive if you let them do this.
The words struck Hallad with the same timbre as the song in the forest. He swiveled to the stranger, only to find her face motionless. He combed the crowd, but none revealed they had either spoken or heard the young woman.
"And what of Hallad’s crime?" Thyre demanded.
"What do you say wife?" The godhi replied, his countenance darkening.
"It was Hallad who shot the shadow-spawn, or swan maiden, either way, he brought the wrath of the gods, and as a result my Emma is gone. By the testimony of his own friends, he moved to protect this creature and not his own sister. If we do not punish him for this crime, because he is your son, the gods will take their revenge on our entire village." Her mouth twitched as if she tried to restrain a smirk.
Hallad had always known his mother was a ruthless woman, but to turn on her own son? He’d known the Hall would demand recompense for the night’s events, though he never dreamed his own mother would suggest it.
"My son," said the godhi. "Do you know what the punishment for treason against your kin, attempting to slay those who control your own fate and endangering your village is?"
"Ja, father, I do." Hallad lowered his eyes, unable to look into his father’s face.
"What say you to these crimes?"
The muscles in Hallad’s jaw tightened. His teeth ground together. He could not deny the accusations, for in part they rang true. He thought of Emma. From a young age, Hallad’s duty forced him to learn to read runes, master sword skill, study politics and war craft. His time spent with tutors left him friendless. In rare moments, free of his responsibilities, Hallad had often found himself alone. Except for Emma. She would appear with her face bright as sunlight to ease his solitude. The only other friend he had accused him of this crime. And now, because of his inaction, Emma was gone.
"Guilty," said Hallad.
"Guilty," repeated Thyre.
"Guilty," echoed the crowd, until the longhouse swelled with the word.
Avarr bowed his head. Erik’s face paled with shock. The young woman pressed silently at Hallad’s side, her presence sparking a smidgen of comfort as his emotions whirled. He caught her eyes as she stared at him, her compassion apparent. In that moment he realized her eyes were not black, but the deepest of blue.
Slowly, the godhi lifted his head, probing his son with anxious eyes.
"The Hall pronounces you guilty of treason against your kin, attempted slaying of a deity and endangerment to this village. Your sentence is death by the gallows."
Bonded Chapter 5
Tied to the central pole of the livestock barn, Hallad struggled against the ropes binding his wrists. They had taken the young woman to another annex of the barn and the separation caused a pang in his chest. He called out to her, but only the knock of hammers against wood replied as the villagers prepared for the inquest in the village square.
And the gallows, Hallad thought.
Hallad worked at his bindings, remembering the young woman’s sword tucked in his belt, hidden safely within the folds of his mantle.
I didn’t even have a chance to ask father about his signet.
Momentary grief overtook him, but he shook loose of its grip. He had to break free, get to the woman and keep her safe. If he managed to release one hand, he could reach the hilt.
A crack sounded at the door, followed by footsteps.
Unable to look backward to see who had entered, Hallad called, "Who’s there?"
The footfalls continued, coming faster.
"Who enters?" He asked more forcefully.
"Shush."
From behind a hand covered his mouth and a knife sliced through his bonds. Hallad spun around. His father stood before him. A dark cape concealed his clothing, disguising his station. His grimness commanded silence as he drew his hand away.
"Your mother warned me of this day." The old godhi contemplated his only son with sorrow.
"My mother—"
"Nei, son. Not Thyre. Your mother, Isla. You never knew of her. I should have told you sooner, but," the old man paused, his face sagging, "but I am an old fool."
Avarr's shoulders shrunk with defeat.
Hallad prickled at the unfamiliar sight. His father had always been no less than a god to him, but tonight a sad, mortal man, conquered by the weight he bore, stood before him.
The old man breathed deeply. His shoulders rose with effort and, for a moment, the spark of the godhi returned. Hallad realized his father put up the front on his behalf.
"There isn’t time. You must go now, for the time of your birth mother’s prophecies have borne fruit. You must be quick and obedient." The old godhi’s sunken demeanor turned urgent as he shuffled his son toward the door. "Take the girl away from here to a place nordr of Birka, to the Temple to Freyja. There you will find a woman named Ase Jorrun, Second Priestess, Daughter of the Temple. She will guide you."
Avarr placed his hands on his son’s shoulders and for the first time Hallad realized that they were the same height.
"Hear me well son, for your mother gave her life for this cause and if it comes to that, so must you. Keep the girl safe at all costs. Protect her with your life and honor."
"But . . . " Hallad hung onto the word in his throat; he knew not to question his father, but so many questions formulated in his mind: his mother, Thyre, the young woman, and Emma. He wanted answers, but the insistence in the old man’s eyes silenced him.
"In time you will understand." The godhi’s face, though tight with anxiety, softened as he beheld his son.
Hallad withdrew the young woman’s sword from i
ts hiding place and held the weapon out. Avarr’s signet glinted on the weapon's hilt in the dim light.
"I know," said Avarr, but no other justification came. The unanswered questions continued to linger between them until his father added, "Son, you must watch your backside. Death follows in this girl’s wake." The gravity of his tone drove his point.
"Father, what of Emma? How am I to protect the creature that caused this tragedy?"
A wise smile crossed the godhi’s lips, lifting his sagging features.
"Do you believe she caused this?"
"Nei," Hallad said before could think.
"You must trust that." The old man placed his hand on Hallad’s thick chest, over his heart. Silence loomed between them. Then he reached around and held his son in his arms, patting him roughly on the back.
"And you must trust this. She can lead you to Emma." The godhi pulled back, studying Hallad as if he was trying to etch his features deep within his memory.
"Then why the death sentence?" Hallad drew away from him.
"There are too many old pains between Thyre and me to explain." The old man released his son, but held him with his eyes. "One day you will lead and you will understand, but now you must go. We have spent too much time."
The godhi turned, leading Hallad from the barn. No one stood guard and the only sound was the knocking in the distance, more than a hundred paces away. Hallad’s father led him around the barn where the young woman waited for him, seated on his father’s favorite steed, Windrunner. The dappled gray gelding matched the spirit of the iron-edged woman, prancing beneath her command. The woman’s control over the gray surprised Hallad, as only his father and Emma had ever been able to tame the beast. His own horse, Thor, snorted impatiently, his saddle packed with nap sacks and a bedroll. At his father’s insistence, Hallad began to mount, but at the last moment Avarr reached out and grabbed him, hugging him fiercely.
Awkwardly, Hallad pulled from his father’s grip and mounted.
"Now go my son, and keep my honor alive, for my time has come." Grabbing his son’s hand, Avarr pressed an object into Hallad’s palm.
"Father, if there is danger—"
"Only death waits here my son, you must go now and never return." He held his son with his eyes, the object digging into Hallad's hand. "Do you understand?"
Hallad glanced down as he father drew his hand away. His father’s signet, formed into a mantle clasp, lay in his palm. Hallad nodded, realizing the importance of the gift.
"Now go. It is time for me to meet my fate and you to meet yours."
The old godhi slapped Thor’s chestnut haunches, coaxing the horse onward. Windrunner pranced anxiously in Thor’s wake. Hallad glanced back at his father.
"May the Norns shine upon you, my boy."
His father’s blessing was no more than a whisper disappearing into the black night, but he would never forget the words.
Hallad turned and rode. The young woman, atop the grey, kept pace alongside him without a word, their silence a comfort. It felt right—her next to him. He thought she felt it too, though he couldn’t say how he knew. As they trotted into the shadows, Hallad didn’t look back again; but he knew, with unquestionable certainty, that his father watched him fade into the distant night.
Bonded Chapter 6
They only traveled a few hundred paces before the pounding of hoof beats followed in their wake. Hallad reined in Thor and he skittered to a halt, spraying dust up behind him. The young woman, quicker than Hallad, had already checked the gray. They both spun to meet the oncoming rider.
The beating intensified, like drums in a sacrificial ceremony, until Hallad caught sight of their pursuer. A silhouette spouting dust barreled down upon them, sword drawn in the moonlight. The glint of metal and labored breaths of rider and horse unnerved Hallad. As the follower reached them, Hallad recognized his blood sworn.
"Have you nei honor? You, who would not avenge your own sister’s death? Now you help her slayer to escape?"
Erik, eyes wild and reddened, swung his broad sword around and jabbed the sharp edge toward Hallad.
The young woman protectively circled to his side, as Hallad raised his hands in the air.
"Nei Erik, it is not like that. Let me explain."
"Explain Emma’s death? Explain your treason?"
Erik nudged the point of his blade into the Hallad’s thick neck. The young woman pressed her gray between them, forcing Erik’s weapon back. Erik pierced her with a hateful glare, shifting the sword from Hallad to the woman. She tipped her chin up to oblige the tip.
"Stop this!" Hallad demanded. "You must listen to me Erik."
"Why should I listen to a traitor?"
"For Emma’s sake, then, listen."
At the mention of Emma, the veins in Erik’s temples bulged.
"She can find Emma. It wasn’t her fault. She meant to protect her."
"Lies!" Erik screamed. He trembled with anger.
"Nei, Erik. It’s true. By my father’s own words it is true."
"Your own father sentenced you to death!"
"He released me and told me to protect this woman with my life, told me she can lead me to Emma. How else would I be here and not tied up waiting for my execution?"
Erik’s face burned with fury. Then the sizzle died as his eyes glazed with thought.
"I know I owe you my life Erik. You are my blood sworn because of that fact. I would not betray you."
Erik bowed his head momentarily. When he returned Hallad’s stare, both hope and hatred mingled in his facade.
"I will go with you, if only to find Emma, and because until this night I have never known you to speak anything but the truth."
Erik raised his sword, forcing the young woman to lift her chin another notch. She acquiesced with ease as if stretching her neck on her own accord.
"But if at any time I find out this creature killed my Emma, I will take her head from her neck with my own hands." He jerked the metal away from the young woman, waving it toward Hallad. "And sworn blood brother or not, if you try to stop me it will be your head on a spit next to hers."
"And I by your side, brother," a voice said in the distance as a red-caped figure trotted toward them.
"Go home Rolf!" Erik yelled back.
"I will not," replied the younger brother as he joined the circle. Rolf sat atop a white mare he called Idunn in tribute to his favorite god's consort. The beast's mane and tail were plaited with ribbons. Hallad wondered if the younger brother groomed the animal in such a ridiculous way every morning.
"I mean it Rolf, go home to mother!"
"You cannot treat me like a child."
"Then do not act like one."
Erik turned his mount, ignoring his younger brother. Hallad and the young woman nudged their horses into a trot, leaving Rolf behind. Moments later a fourth set of hoof beats joined theirs and a tight smile flashed over Erik’s face.
"Then hurry up about it," Erik called back, "We won’t wait all night for you."
They traveled onward. The moon shone down like a beacon, lighting their way, and Hallad thanked the gods for the full moon. Cold gusted through the area as they cantered. The young woman’s behavior switched from calm to upset. She shifted back and forth, head swinging side to side like she had done in the Great Wood earlier that night.
Hallad perceived her discomfort almost as if it were his own. Rolf and Erik eyed the woman suspiciously. The chill deepened, sending a rush of frigid air through to their bones until they all shivered. The blast came from behind them—from the village of Steadsby.
"By the halls of Valhalla," said Rolf. "Has the Shadow returned?"
They shot apprehensive glances at one another.
"We should go back," Rolf said tentatively.
Avarr’s words stung Hallad’s head. Only death waits here. He could not disobey his father. He thought of the other warnings—about death following in this girl’s wake and his mission to pro
tect her.
"Nei," Hallad stated firmly. "We go on. Quickly."
He kicked Thor into a gallop.
"Is the son of the godhi such a coward?" Rolf called at his back.
Hallad stiffened, reining his horse. The young woman pressed into his side, her gray crowding Thor’s haunches, urging him to go onward. Go now and never return. The words resounded again and again, an endless echo in his mind, the pleading of his father’s face fixed in his memory.
"We need to move quickly." Even to his own ears, Hallad sounded cruel.
"I do not take orders from the godhi’s son!" Rolf replied.
Erik’s head swiveled between his little brother and Hallad, considering between the two of them.
"I go with Hallad," Erik said to Rolf. "For Emma."
Rolf’s shoulders hunched downward at Erik’s choice, but he bowed his head and moved to his brother's side.
The chill grew unbearable, the ground hardening beneath the horses’ hooves. Hallad, once again, kicked Thor into a run. The hoof beats of the others sounded as they followed him. He sensed the woman next to him, like an extension of himself.
Rolf kicked his mare to catch up with Hallad, bending in close.
"You are a cold man, Hallad Avarson."
Then he checked Idunn until he was back in sync with his brother, leaving Hallad and the woman in the lead.
As they sped out into the harvest fields leading to the road to Birka, Hallad thought of his father once again. Avarr had known he would meet his fate. Hallad cursed himself silently. He had chosen obligation over his own father’s life. He prayed Avarr would have a good seat at Odin’s table in Valhalla. He thought of Thyre, but was strangely unmoved. Guilt tightened around his throat as he thought of the others—they did not know his father had warned him of a grim fate. Their own loved ones may suffer the consequences and Hallad had not told them, making the decision to go onward out of his own duty.
Duty? he wondered. What exactly did that mean?
He thought of the woman entrusted to his protection and the other two backsides he was now responsible for.
The young woman yanked at him from some unknown string and he glanced at her. She spun her head around in the same moment to meet his eyes, but he hastily looked ahead. His eyes burned from the wind and dirt as they galloped. Thor snorted beneath him. Hallad’s jaw tightened with the effort to fight back the flood of emotions threatening to break free. Rule with your head even though your heart calls. His father's words drifted through his memory. The woman’s presence tugged at him again, like a landslide, sucking him under.
Bonded Chapter 7
Emma awoke. Sleep still blurred her vision. Trying to sit upright caused the contents of the strange room to spin. Her stomach lurched and she sunk back down into the comfort beneath her.
Where am I?
Fragments popped in and out of her memory. The forest. Erik. A strange woman. A cold blackness. Strong arms grabbing her, squeezing her until she hurt. As she strained to remember, her thoughts dissipated like smoke in the evening air. Emma struggled to grasp at them. They eluded her, shrouded in a wall of haze.
The girl rubbed her sore eyes with the backs of her hands, clearing her sight. A velvety material tickled her skin. A brief inspection of her body revealed an unfamiliar gown tightened around her waist; its plunging neckline exposed her modest cleavage.
Scandalous! If my mother sees me in this, she’ll flay my hide and hang me out like an old rug.
Emma tugged the silken covers over her, trying to hide her shame. The fibers of the blanket caught her eye. Like the dress, the material revealed no seams as if woven from a single piece of cloth.
Emma sat upright. Confusion fogged her head as she examined her surroundings. White stone composed the entire room, like a sculpted marble cavern. Scenery was etched into the walls, portraying fields of flowers, ash and oak trees, and buoyant cloud-dense skies. Chairs, settees and tables seemed to grow from the floor in one fluid connection. Scrollwork graced the furniture, blending back into the landscapes on the walls. The bed’s carved arch stretched over the top of the mattress, like a fine lace veil. Emma couldn’t imagine such finery in the King of Birka’s hall. It belonged in a scald’s tale, as the description of Valhalla.
It’s a dream. That’s all. A dream.
The air smelled sweeter than any she could recall. Colors were more vibrant—her dress a deeper red than any shade she’d ever seen. The walls shone brighter, the stone was smoother, blankets softer. Dizziness washed over her again as she tried to reason, but the barrier of haze returned, blocking any recollection.
If only I can clear my mind. Think.
The door opened. Emma hadn’t noticed it before, hidden within sculpted landscapes. A man filled its breadth, his lips stretched in a smile, dark eyes glinting. His frost white hair shot back from his temples. Tall and limber, he appeared as if he could bend in all directions without ever breaking a bone. The indigo of his shirt intertwined with gold. Billowing sleeves depicted a mighty tree digging its roots into a bubbling spring, deep within the folds of the earth. The symbol scratched at her memory, but Emma could not place the image. She thought the emblem should be embroidered, but like the dress and blankets, the design didn't show any sign of stitches.
The man gripped two enormous wolves by the scruffs on either side of him. He seemed annoyed at holding them back, but Emma sensed their desire to meet her. She smiled affectionately at the wolves, one silver, and the other onyx. They panted, pulling away from their master. The man reluctantly let go and they barreled toward Emma, wagging their tails and licking her face in greeting. She giggled, rubbing their ears.
"Enough." The beasts cowered at the man’s command, slinking back to their master’s side.
"Welcome," said the man as he spread his arms outward. "I hope you find your accommodations in order."
Emma caught sight of her less than maiden-like attire and snatched the blankets tight.
"Quite hospitable, but where . . . "
Her tongue thickened in her mouth, her voice harsh next to the man’s flowing tone.
"I am Lothar, Guardian of Holyfell, second lineage of the house of Heimdal and dyra-sogn, a caller." His smile turned genuine at the last of his introduction.
Emma didn’t understand the strange titles and her nerves bunched.
Lothar crossed the room, slippers swishing on the marble floor as he glided. The wolves followed in his wake, sniffing at Emma, though sticking to their master's side. Lothar propped himself up against a slick stone ledge. Her host surveyed her curiously.
Emma fidgeted; she felt bare in front of him with her dress no more than underclothes.
A thought broke through the haze and she blurted, "Erik? Where’s Erik?"
"He attends your mother," said Lothar nonchalantly.
After a loud clap of the man's lank hands, a servant scuttled in carrying a tray with a container and goblets. Like the odd chamber, the wares swirled with designs too deft for even the finest potter.
"My mother?" Emma chewed the fullness of her lower lip.
"Why of course. Your mother sent you here." The lean man moved around her like a twig bending in the wind. "To make a pact with this country."
"That couldn't be." Emma closed her eyes, forcing herself to puzzle through the haze. Her head ached. "What sort of pact?"
While pouring cherry-colored liquid into each gilt glass, Lothar locked his gaze on the girl as a cat surveys its supper. He handed her a goblet.
Emma noted how the wolf’s haunches quivered as the silver wolf padded to her side. She scratched his thick fur, his sleekness comforting under her palms; as she did, she connected with the beast. Her mind filled with the image of the goblet. Its foul liquid spilled over the lip, melting the gold as it spewed over. Emma blinked. The image vanished. She stared at the cup without reaching for it.
Lothar’s face tightened, his jaw line fluttering.
"Svol! Arvak
! Go."
The wolves tucked their tails and slunk out of the room. The servant woman bowed her head as quickly as the wolves had cowered, and crept from the chamber as well.
Lothar looked at Emma with renewed interest, taking in every piece of her until his eyes caught hers and a broad smile darkened his pale face. His leer sent a wave of nausea into her throat.
"What do you mean by pact? With what country? And where did this dress come from?" Emma bit her lip, realizing her emotions raced before her tongue.
Lothar pushed the goblet into her hand, forcing her to take hold. He grasped her arm, guiding her to stand.
"A lovely gown and it fits you well. Quite well."
Heat rose in Emma’s cheeks. Even Erik would not have ogled her so indecently.
Erik! Her memory snapped. "Erik would not be with my mother."
"They have come to an understanding for what is in your best interest." Lothar closed in on her, lifting his cup to his lips. "Drink. You would not deny me the manners of a proper host, would you?"
In one even swig, the lord emptied his goblet.
"Thank you, but I’m not thirsty."
Emma wished the wolves had stayed. She understood them, as she did most animals. Humans were more complex, masking their emotions under complicated motivations.
Lothar cocked his head curiously. Then he turned his back to her, pouring himself another glass.
"You won't find a sweeter berry anywhere—the finest in all of Alvenheim, cultivated by the few songvaris left."
He swiveled back around and sipped his drink while eyeing Emma over the edge of the glass.
Emma's head spun. Alvenheim. Songvaris. What was he talking about?
She wrestled to retain the images of her family and fix them in her mind. The pain in her head thrummed. She touched her temples, her sun-kissed hair falling into her face. Emma’s throat stung as she looked at the ruby substance inside the glass.
Maybe one sip. Maybe it will ease the ache in my head.
She held the cup to her lips, the coolness of the rim soothing. Lothar crossed the short distance between them, smiling down on her.
Emma drank. The sweet substance swamped her mouth, trailing down her throat. Before she realized it, she’d drained her glass. She sank back comfortably as a warm tingle filled her belly and limbs.
"I knew you would like it. It's elderberry wine with a drop of something special."
His smile broadened.
Emma beamed back at him. The tension released from her head with a pleasant buzz, all her troubles forgotten. All memories erased.
Lothar reached for her, running his slippery hand over her cheek.
"You really are a beautiful girl, even if you are a Scandian."
Bonded Chapter 8
"Emma!" Erik called.
A man circled Emma. He looked like melted wax—slippery, pale and ever-changing. Emma’s face flushed pink. Her scent, the subtle fragrance of linnea flowers, filled Erik. His vision appeared vivid—bright and alive—but far away, as if he watched the scene through a dark tunnel.
"Emma!" he yelled again, without her notice.
Erik tried to edge closer but couldn't find his limbs. The man’s indigo sleeves fluttered as he walked, his lanky fingers wrapped around a gilt goblet. Liquid swished inside, gathering momentum as he rolled the contents, a wily smile dominating his thin face.
Though Scandians were fair skinned, this man’s coloring appeared exaggerated. His waxy skin and frost blonde hair reminded Erik of the swan maiden. Except, unlike the woman, this man oozed a sordidness, warning Erik of perversions lurking below the surface.
A din roared in Erik's ears, drowning out Emma’s and the man’s speech. He fought to scoot closer again, but again he failed.
Emma held the cup to her lips.
"Emma, nei!"
His beloved paused; she looked over the lip of the goblet, thick lashes sweeping upward in search of the ceiling.
"Nei, Emma! Don’t drink anything he offers. I do not trust him."
Her bright eyes searched the room. Then she sipped. A dizzy gaze washed over Emma’s face and she beamed. Erik adored the fact that her smile stretched all the way into her eyes, lighting sparkles within her gray irises. But Emma wasn’t smiling for him, and his chest constricted at the scene. The man slunk close, grazing the back of his hand across her face.
Suddenly, they vanished and blackness pervaded Erik’s vision. The dark walls rolled inward until he floated in obscurity.
Erik, a voice intoned.
"Who's there?"
Here, the voice said again, echoing through the black space.
Erik searched for the source, only meeting dark veils, as if his eyelids refused to open. He twitched and writhed. He had to get back to Emma. Free her. Kill the man who dared to lay his hand upon her.
Erik, this is not the way. The voice sounded behind him.
A smoke-colored landscape appeared out of the darkness. Erik’s tunic and trousers, cloaked in a charcoal haze, blended into the environment. He whirled around, and realized his feet didn’t touch ground. His body floated in a half circle without the aid of his limbs, until he faced the swan woman. Her milky skin appeared translucent, the shadowy background filtering through her figure. She lifted her hand, touching Erik’s shoulder.
"Where's Emma?" he demanded.
Her iron eyes seemed softer—kinder than he remembered. Instead of answering, she waved her free hand and hummed. The tone rushed through him, tugging at his emotions; it was filled with both sweetness and sorrow. Her body solidified.
Erik blinked.
"I'm dreaming."
In a way, she responded, but her lips remained shut even though her voice spilled through the air.
Her humming continued, weaving through the gloom, as the gray of Erik’s clothing brightened to white and his limbs materialized.
"I have to get to Emma."
I know, but you must find another way. Her words spun around him, resounding from all directions.
"Brother!" Another voice invaded his head.
The woman’s face contorted, swirling, distorting until she looked like a white swan with blue-black eyes. Wings fluttered. The waxy man’s lean face flashed, his mouth twisting into a snarl. Emma's gray eyes danced and her cherry stained lips opened, calling Erik’s name. The song resonated through it all, curling in and out, filling the air like a choir.
You must find another way.
"Wake up. You’re having a nightmare."
Erik’s eyes ripped open. He grabbed Rolf’s tunic, bunching the homespun fabric up in his fingers.
"Hey! Watch out," said Rolf, loosening his grip on his brother’s shoulders. "You’ll wrinkle the material."
The night sky lit up their camp, casting a glow on the surrounding trees. Embers burned in the banked campfire. Puffs of the young men's breath drifted in the air. Across from the ebbing fire, Hallad and the young woman slept in goose-down bedrolls. Hallad had offered his own roll to the brothers, but Erik refused. Though Rolf pouted, he had followed his brother’s lead and had wrapped himself in his mantle, settling close to the warming flames.
"Brother," Rolf pleaded, reaching around to pry Erik’s hands from his tunic, "it’s the only shirt I own."
Erik let go and sprang up. He tore around the fire to find the young woman burrowed in her bedroll.
"Erik, what are you doing?" Rolf skittered over to his brother’s side. "Come brother, we’ve had a long couple of days. Let them sleep."
"She’s not sleeping."
Barely visible in the dim light, the young woman’s eyes popped open. She scrambled to her booted feet, facing Erik. Her hair strung around her shoulders, looking even whiter in the moonlight, and Erik recalled the pale coloring of man from his dream.
"What did you mean by another way?"
Rolf cut in. "Brother, she hasn’t spoken since we met her."
Erik waved his arm, flashing a warning glance a
t Rolf, and repeated, "What did you mean?"
The young woman stared back with iron hard eyes.
Hallad rolled to his side, wiping his broad hands over his face. His chiseled bones deepened in the firelight as if carved of stone. A tired groan reverberated in his chest as he tossed the bedroll aside and stood, exposing his bare feet to the crisp night air. The downy hair across his well-muscled chest and arms refused to rise and Erik wondered how he withstood the frigid temperature. By far he was the tallest of the group—aside from the young woman, who stood nearly as tall as he—and his shadow cast a long darkness over them, as if they stood beside a mighty tree.
Hallad sought the woman. Their eyes met simultaneously, locking for a brief moment, seeming to speak secretly before disengaging. Erik tensed, the muscles twitching under his skin. How much influence did this woman hold over his friend?
"Come, blood brother." Hallad’s low voice contained a commanding quality. Erik wasn’t sure Hallad was even aware of the tone, which had persuaded him, time after time, on timbre alone. "We need to get some rest. We still have many days of travel before we reach Birka."
"She knows," said Erik.
"Knows what?" Hallad and Rolf asked in unison.
Hallad’s forehead creased and worry plagued his face. The woman turned away, walking into the night. Erik tried to grab her arm but ended up with a fist full of air.
"Tell me!" Erik yelled after her. "Tell me where Emma is!"
Hallad stepped in front of him, blocking Erik’s line of sight to the woman.
"Erik, you are tired. You need to rest."
"Nei!"
Both Hallad and Rolf wore concern etched into their features.
"She knows! She told me I . . . "
Hallad’s worry changed to condescending, halting Erik’s speech. Rolf appeared frightened that his elder brother danced with the Shadow of Loki. Erik turned, kicking the ground with his foot, sending dirt into the fire pit.
"She hasn’t spoken since we met her," said Hallad, as if speaking to an upset child. "How could she tell you anything?"
"And why doesn’t she speak? She knows, for Odin’s wisdom, she knows and she won’t tell me!"
He bent, picking up pebbles to toss in the fire, throwing them one after the other with a flick of his wrist, causing the charred wood to crack and crumble.
Rolf and Hallad exchanged a worried glance.
"They say when you have seen too much, the gods take away your speech," Rolf offered.
"Forget it. You wouldn’t understand."
Erik chucked his last stone into the embers. The pebble clinked against burnt wood, sparks flying. He stalked across the distance, thumped to the ground and rolled himself in his cloak, wishing the dream would seize him again.
Hallad and Rolf exchanged hushed words from the other side of their camp. Erik suspected they discussed him, but ignored them both. He lay awake until the others settled down. Emma’s sweet face floated in his memory as he fought off the stinging under his eyelids.
After the others nodded off, Erik rummaged through his saddlebag until he found Emma’s golden key. He fumbled with his fingers, affixing the charm around his neck, tucking the piece beneath his tunic. He placed his hand over the key, his heartbeat thrumming under the metal, as a dreamless sleep captured him.
***
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Credits
Norse Lullaby by Eugene Field (1850-1895)
Copy Editing
Ann Mauren, AMDesign Studios
Cover Design
AMDesign Studios
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I'd like to thank bestselling author, Ann Mauren. Ann has come to my rescue time and time again. As my critique partner and prized copy editor, she has provided inspiration, guidance, and critical feedback. Her well-trained eye for content, story details, word usage, grammar and punctuation has been a lifesaver. I honestly don't think I'd be publishing this book without her. Thank you so much for your invaluable support and your hard work on ShadowLight's behalf, Ann. I could not have done this without you.
You can find Ann Mauren at:
The Mayne Attraction website, home of Ann's number one bestselling romantic suspense series Mayne Attraction.
AMDesign Studios, featuring Ann's editing, book formatting and synopsis writing services.
Second, I'd like to thank Kathia Donalds, my long-time friend and confidant, and fellow writer. She lent her story critique skills to a number of read-throughs of The Light Keepers.
And finally, thanks to my husband and my mom—two of my greatest supporters. I love you both always and forever.
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The Light Keepers - a YA Epic Fantasy - Prequel to the ShadowLight Saga Page 11