Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  Kallan shook as she shuffled the contents, pushing her way past potion packets and herbs until her fingers clasped Idunn’s apple. The shimmering fruit with golden skin glistened like the opals in the sword behind Rune.

  Sinking her teeth into its flesh, Kallan ravished the apple in a few mouthfuls. After the smooth fruit slid down her throat, Kallan focused and muttered a charm as she reached for her Seidr. She was elated to find it there, intact, eager, and readily waiting. The Seidr flowed and mingled with the Seidr from the apple, repairing the damage done as it moved through her.

  Muscle fibers re-wove themselves and bones re-calcified, returning to their original state. Bruises vanished as the clots broke down, urging her blood to flow. Her heart pounded her chest with a zealous vigor. As Kallan took her fifth bite, the ligaments and nerves in her finger re-knitted themselves, and fluids restored her eye.

  Free of the pain that had limited each breath, Kallan fell to her hands as the last rib mended itself. She gasped against the sudden rush of air and drew in long, deep breaths that fully expanded her unbruised lungs, leaving her lightheaded.

  When she found her breath again, the only evidence that remained of her captivity was the filth of the cave that still clung to her iridescent skin.

  “How?” Rune asked.

  Kallan looked up. Silence and cold confirmation stared from behind Rune’s eyes.

  Kallan scoffed.

  “You brought me here. You took me from my city. Were it not for you, I would still be in Lorlenalin. Were it not for you, my father would still be alive. And you want me to answer how.”

  The rain fell in a constant sheet. Striking the ground with a persistent patter that did well to drown out unwanted thoughts. Free of the incessant pain, Kallan turned her eyes to the elements and scrambled to her feet, taking care to secure the pouch around her waist while she did so. Eager for the taste of her restored freedom, Kallan leapt from the blanket and overcoat, scrambled her way out of the dilapidated lean-to, and stepped into the clean, cool rain.

  She pulled each breath deep in her lungs and lifted her face to the sky, welcoming the shower as it washed the filth from her skin. Like tiny red rivers, blood and black streamed from her hair and face and pooled, down her body to her bare feet, free of the lacerations, calluses, and scabs from the cave floors.

  The soft earth beneath her feet was kinder than any night she had spent among the Dvergar. The winds of Midgard blew colder than she ever remembered in Alfheim and the rain seemed tainted somehow, weighted with a grief she couldn’t place.

  Closing her eyes, Kallan pulled from her core. The Seidr flooded to each limb, mingling with each fiber as it twisted and wove its way through her, restoring her very cells to their beginnings. The last of the pain vanished, nurturing the life that shone with renewed energy in its stead. When Kallan opened her eyes, her plans were clear, her path decided.

  “I won’t stay here,” Kallan called through the rain.

  Rune stood. She was more than vaguely aware of his heightened guard, alert and ready to leap the moment she moved.

  “Where is Astrid?” she called over the rushing rain not bothering to lower her face from the skies. She expected him not to answer at all and jumped when he spoke.

  “There’s a lake at the base of this hillside,” he answered. “He waits by the river that flows from the north.”

  Inexplicable anger surged, and Kallan shook with the effort it took to contain it.

  “You left him?”

  “You had a fever,” Rune answered. “I couldn’t afford to keep you in the rain and there are no shelters by the river, nor could Astrid make the climb. He’s hidden and safe. I checked on him not an hour ago.”

  Kallan trembled with rage that pulsed through her. She felt her Seidr pooling, and clutched her fists at her sides.

  “How many days from Alfheim?” she asked, indifferent to the rain.

  “Come out of the rain, Kallan,” Rune bade coldly.

  Kallan dropped her face from the sky. Rune’s hand rested casually on the hilt of her dagger buried in the waist of his trousers. His face, forever hardened on hers, was as unreadable as always.

  “How many days?” she repeated.

  “Fourteen.”

  A sudden sick tightened her stomach.

  “H—H— how long was I—?”

  “Twelve days.”

  Her head spun as it tried to find a way to understand that her endless captivity had lasted only twelve days.

  “Twelve days,” she breathed.

  Twelve days without sunlight. Twelve days without rain. It felt like twelve months.

  “Come out of the rain, Kallan.”

  “I’m leaving,” she said, overwhelmed with the want to run.

  “And where will you go?” Rune asked. “The Dvergar will suspect the road to Alfheim. They’ll swarm those roads, hunting you. We go north, through the Dofrarfjell,” he said.

  He wasn’t asking.

  “To Nidaros?” she asked.

  “Hakon is Jarl there,” Rune explained. “My brother and I traveled this road decades ago and formed alliances with Lade. We can get a boat in Nidaros and sail around the fjords. We’ll be in Alfheim in eight days.”

  Kallan didn’t move.

  “I’m going south.”

  “You won’t make it,” Rune said.

  “I am not your prisoner!” Her rage swelled with the Seidr in her hands, holding back as she remembered the last time she hit him with Seidr. “I’ll go where I like!”

  Rune drew in a deep breath as if pacing his irritation. “The land is different here,” he said. “The tundra is littered with jagged rocks. For miles, large, white stones are scattered throughout the land. The terrain is rough. The forests are thick and if we venture too far west, the land will drop into the sea…sometimes without warning. The wrong path could leave us doubling back for weeks. There are marshlands in the east that make it impossible for a horse. It will be slow moving, slower with a horse.”

  “You don’t know what Astrid can do.”

  “You don’t know the area, Kallan,” Rune said.

  “I’ve traveled Midgard before. I will go alone.”

  In that instant, Rune was on her, slamming her into a tree and pinning her back with an arm across her collar as he clamped her wrist.

  “You don’t know what you are up against here, Seidkona,” he said. “The monsters here are nothing like our own.”

  “I’ve been gone too long,” she said.

  “We both have.” He gave a look that dared her to argue that point. “But Midgard has its own wars and we are currently standing in the middle of them. An unwanted king has seized this land. He comes with a law he enforces in the name of his own gods. He seeks to challenge Asgard, hunting the Seidkona as he goes.”

  Kallan stopped fighting for the moment, frozen by his words.

  “He hunts Seidkona?” she whispered. She shuddered against the tree, eager to break Rune’s neck.

  “Your Seidr is not a weapon here,” he said. “It will betray you and if they find you, if they know you are here, they will not let you live long enough to make it to Alfheim. They will follow you to the borders and will not stop until you’re dead.”

  The rain fell down their faces, coating them in the drab gray that blended them into the surrounding wood.

  Rune sighed. For the moment, he had her attention.

  “All roads leading south to Viken are crawling with his men,” Rune said.

  Kallan’s face twisted back, sending her into a fit that impelled her to attack. She wanted to run, to scream, to cry, and hated Rune all the more for taking her from Lorlenalin.

  “We must head north…across the Dofrarfjell.”

  All at once, Kallan slammed her knee up into Rune, who gasped through the piercing anguish of electrical pulses that radiated up to his lower back. Unable to breathe, he clutched his groin and fell to the ground on his knees. Yanking her wrist free, Kallan snagged her dagger from his belt a
nd stepped around the heap that was Rune.

  “I follow no enemies,” Kallan said, brandishing her blade. After snatching the blanket from her bed and doubling back for one of the bags, she began the descent down the mountain’s side.

  * * *

  A fire burned in Rune’s silver-blue eyes. Grumbling beneath his breath, he forced himself to his feet. It was slow going as he released a series of short breaths and waited for the majority of the sharp pain to subside to the dull throb that would follow him for hours.

  “It’s going to be like this, is it,” he grunted and, taking in a long breath, he gazed at the trail where Kallan had ventured. Her head cocked high with confidence only confirmed she would be harder to take down than he thought.

  “Alright then,” he said and, following suit, bounded down the mountain path behind her.

  CHAPTER 43

  Kallan plodded through the rain, down the mountain’s side with little thought to the road ahead. Anger stifled her most reasonable thoughts as the steep slope forced Kallan along faster than she had intended. Each jarring footfall barely gripped the ground as she clomped about in trousers too big for her.

  She slipped twice, caught her foot on a sharp stone more than once, and kicked up a roost of willow grouse that drummed off. At the base of the mountain, Kallan scuffed to a pre-mature halt and gasped.

  Within a fortnight, the warmest of summer days had ended in Alfheim and the late summer harvests had rolled in. Bold reds and gold painted the land and stretched from the end of her path to a river that drained from a wide, blue lake. The wide waters curved with the land and vanished in the distance behind the mountains. The mountains seemed to rise out of the land at every turn and pulled the valley floor.

  Rune had been right to leave Astrid. White jagged rocks covered the terrain, contrasting the reds, yellows, and greens of the tundra grasses as if someone had randomly dumped them there. Some stones were small enough to fill the palm of her hand, while others were magnificent in size, nearly twice as tall as Rune.

  The ground was like one giant sheet of stone that stretched beyond the mountains. Barren tundra grass blanketed the rocky earth in places, giving the illusion that the ground was soft beneath the red tundra willow and reindeer lichen. White tundra cotton and pink arctic bell heather provided frequent patches of color to the various moss and grass and stone. Lush greens of the tundra had thickened, welcoming the harvest with vibrant reds and vivid oranges. Sunset yellows and white stone painted the tundra in an overall striking display against the gray of endless rain.

  Behind Kallan, thick clouds pushed between the mountain’s peaks and spilled into the valleys like a vast suspended waterfall, wrapping the land in a wet chill she took in with every breath. Beside the river’s bend, along the harsh tundra, Astrid grazed peaceably alongside a large span of purple mountain saxifrage. The red and black of his coat greatly contrasted the scene.

  “Hardly hidden,” she muttered, but grinned nevertheless.

  At the sight of her dearest friend, anxiety lifted from her shoulders. She wiped the rain from her face and continued down the path to Astrid’s pasture.

  Beside him, Kallan buried her face into Astrid’s black mane and brushed her hand down his long neck, breathing in the sweet, lingering scent of Alfheim and hay. The scent of home was almost gone and she swiped at her eyes, irritated at the tears that burned there as Astrid nudged her pouch.

  Moments later, the stallion happily crunched the apple as Kallan gazed up the mountain. Following along her path through the throbbing handicap she had bestowed upon him, Rune trudged in the rain down to meet her and came to stand before her, both soaked in the rain. Rune extended his hand.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The dagger,” he said over the downpour.

  Making her intentions clear, Kallan flicked her wrist and summoned a flame that danced undaunted by the weather in her palm. “Not a chance.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d be open to a truce,” he suggested, a smile cocked on the corner of his mouth.

  A burst of flame left her hand. Rune reached out and snatched the flame, drawing it in as he had before.

  Kallan’s mouth fell agape as she watched Rune draw on her Seidr with ease until she severed the Seidr, leaving Rune unscathed.

  “No, then,” he said and, as if with all his might, he launched himself at Kallan, plowing into her stomach and sending them both to the ground in the rain and the wet and the mud.

  He was on her, restraining her arms at the wrists over her head as she fought.

  “Get off,” she howled, firing off another stream of Seidr that Rune caught with his hand and drew in.

  “You want to go home?” Rune shouted.

  Kallan twisted and squirmed.

  “You want to get out of this forsaken land the Dvergar dragged you into?” Rune said as Kallan bucked beneath him.

  “I will not follow,” Kallan said. “My home is south and to the south I will go and I’ll not let a spoiled, Ljosalfr prince stop me.”

  “If we travel apart, we risk not making it back to Alfheim at all,” Rune said.

  “I’ll go my own way, to the south and Viken,” Kallan said.

  “The Dvergar are on that road, Kallan,” Rune said, silencing her tantrum.

  Kallan stopped moving, unable to mask the horror splayed upon her face.

  “If you take the southern roads, you will place yourself right where they want you: right where they expect you to go,” he shouted over the pouring rain.

  His grip remained adamant, ensuring she wouldn’t move until he had his say.

  “Come with me to Nidaros,” Rune said. “I will speak to the Jarl there and escort you home myself.”

  The rain splattered the ground.

  “To Lorlenalin,” she said.

  “To Alfheim,” he said.

  Kallan stiffened in protest beneath him, but she didn’t dare press her luck just yet.

  “And you’ll show me the way?” she asked.

  “I will show you the way.” He nodded.

  “And I will ride alongside you through the land of Men and their wars?” Kallan asked, the fear clear in her eyes. “To sail with you on to Alfheim and away from the Dvergar?”

  “As far as I can take you away from them, for as long as it takes to get home,” Rune vowed.

  “Until Alfheim,” Kallan said, making it clear she had no intentions of following him one-step further toward Gunir.

  “Until Alfheim,” he said tightly.

  Kallan relaxed and, the moment her guard dropped, Rune grabbed the dagger, wrestling it with ease from her grip, before he stood and pulled her to her feet.

  He shifted to move and return to Astrid, but Kallan tightened her grip, refusing to relinquish his hand. Through the rain, Rune held her gaze.

  “Give me my dagger,” Kallan said.

  Rune chuckled, and tightened his grip on her soft hand in reply.

  “Not a chance in Hel.”

  * * *

  First Midgard, then Alfheim, Rune thought. After that, we can bark, bicker, and bite over which road to take.

  The Beast that had awakened hungrily for Kallan’s Seidr now purred contentedly, sated for the moment. Alone, Rune started back up the path in the rain. Ten minutes to collect the camp, extinguish the fire, and erase the trail. Ten minutes was too long to leave any Dokkalfr alone.

  “If you make me have to hunt you, princess,” he called through the rain. “I will bind you when I find you.”

  Rune grinned as Kallan stiffened her spine and crinkled her nose, taking extra care to ensure he saw it before he turned.

  “And grab the saxifrage for the road, the purple flowers at your feet,” he said, bounding up the rest of the path. “It’s edible.”

  Kallan burrowed her eyes into the back of his head before staring at the large span of purple flowers balanced on tall, leafy stalks at her feet. She pulled at the tundra plant, snapping some off too easily mid-stems while others came up properl
y by their roots from between the stones. She collected the plant until she had gathered several handfuls.

  After dumping the pile of wildflower on the ground beside Astrid, Kallan looked back to the path. Although he was out of sight, Rune’s dry threat still carried on the wind. She waited a moment, ensuring her complete solitude, before feeling bold enough to trot off to the lake.

  The cold water pricked her skin like dozens of stinging nettles. Every muscle tightened and contracted as she scrubbed the mud from her legs. Dipping her head into the cool lake, Kallan closed her eyes and attempted to ease her anxiety, but the memories closed in, and the bombardment of voices, the darkness, and the weight of her chains all flooded back.

  Gasping, Kallan opened her eyes wide. At once, the images vanished and left the lake, the rain, the tundra, and Astrid. Her hands shook as she ran them over her face, patting her eyes and clasping her hands multiple times to ensure herself that the wounds they had inflicted were gone. Kallan still trembled when she climbed out of the lake and pulled the clothes back on.

  While Kallan pulled her long, sodden hair out of her tunic, Rune bounded down the mountain with a large leather pack thrown over his shoulder. A quiver hung at his waist matching an elegant, black bow etched with foreign runes he clutched with an affection any passer-by could see. Over one arm, he draped the black, leather overcoat, but Kallan’s eyes flashed red and her temper flared at the sword encrusted with jewels, strapped to his waist in possession.

  Kallan tightened her jaw as she battled the slew of questions and it was with envy that her eyes grazed the elding handle of her dagger still tucked into his waist.

  With one hand grasping his bow, Rune stopped in front of her, shuffled the overcoat and then draped it over Kallan’s shoulders. The coat was thick, heavy and hung to the ground. Despite belonging to a Dvergr, it smelled wonderfully of earth and pine.

  Regardless, Kallan shrugged her shoulders in disgust, letting the coat fall to the ground.

  “The nights are getting longer,” Rune said, not moving yet to retrieve the coat from the ground. “You’ll be grateful you have it at night when the temperature drops.”