Faster than an avalanche, the void returned. The blackness gripped him, comforted him, until he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 28
"She refuses my request?"
"I told you." Olrun sat cross-legged on the ground. She looked like a giant ship knot as she chewed on a string of smoked deer meat. "Godhi’s son. Guardian. The Goddess incarnate. No one demands an audience from Serpent Mother."
Olrun sprang from her spot, fumbling to untangle her legs as Swan appeared behind her.
"Sweet Freyja woman! Do you practice sneaking up on people or does it come naturally?" The drengmaer’s face smoldered out of jealousy, or admiration—Hallad couldn’t decide which.
Swan swept up next to Hallad, brushing against his shoulder. Since Thyre’s death, she’d remained by his side, even at the pyre. They had watched in silent companionship while his mother burned, Thyre’s flesh released to the gods. Though he had braved a stoic appearance for the others, he could not hide his suffering from his sister. They shared the pain through the connection between them. He knew Swan understood. Not only had she lost her own mother, their mother, but the realization of Thyre’s final words drove home the fact they’d both released their father to the lands of the gods as well. Grief gripped each of them with the knowledge that they would never see Avarr again.
Rota crouched by a giant oak bouncing up and down on her mighty thighs, the muscles beneath flexing with every spring.
"When will she call for us?" Hallad addressed Rota, but as usual, she ignored him.
"How should we know the mind of Serpent Mother?" replied Olrun.
Hallad stretched his overworked muscles. The women had drilled the twins the last few days in training. Though he admired their skill and was learning new proficiencies, he couldn’t help but think they wasted time. Emma’s time.
He settled away from the others, pulling the medallion out of his pocket. Runes displayed across the face of the gold piece but as if coaxed from within, rather than carved from without. The man who had given him the medallion had disappeared so mysteriously that even the drengmaers' hunting party failed to find him.
Hallad closed his hand around the metal. He thought it hummed against his palm. He flexed his hand and peered at the peculiar piece, spotting the runes once more. He didn’t recognize them—an oddity, because as the son of a noble he had been taught all the known runes of the Scandians.
He realized the medallion would lead him to Emma, but how? If he knew where to go, he would leave tonight. Weigh all sides before making a decision, his father had repeated over the years. But waiting grew unbearable. Slow. Arduous. Ineffective. His bones itched to take flight; to run, to find Emma and fulfill the promise he’d given to Thyre. But his heart broke in two—he had also sworn an oath to his father to protect Swan with life and limb.
Swan rested by her bedroll, seeing him without looking—the way he saw her—by feeling, not by eyesight. He crossed to his sleep sack, climbed inside and laid down to stare at the banked embers in the fire pit. How would he find Emma? His responsibilities weighed him as he struggled to keep them from slipping from his grasp.
Hallad started as the metal warmed his palm. He pulled his hand up to his face. Light glowed through the spaces between his fingers and he opened his hand—the medallion had lit up and was casting a yellow glow. The symbols morphed, changing into other runes across the face of the metal. He recognized kano, an opening. Algiz, a protective sanctuary. Ansuz, messages and signals. But the rest were lost.
Then he registered the impossibility of an object moving on its own accord and the piece froze, motionless once more. Stunned, Hallad glanced at his companions. Olrun and Rota had slipped into their bedrolls, though Rota never actually slept in the roll; rather, she slept on top of her furs with her lion-skin boots laced up as if she was going on a midday hike. Neither of them paid him any mind.
But Swan stared at Hallad intensely, catching him with the depths of her blue-black eyes. He caught a surge of fear from her before she stinted the connection, breaking away from him. The medallion caused distant memories to launch inside his sister’s mind. Though most thought of her as iron and ice, Hallad knew the truth. Her emotions ran as deep as anyone’s, only she knew how to disguise them.
Hallad stowed the medallion back inside his trousers, hoping to project calm to his sister, though his insides stirred with possibilities. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He did not know what had set Swan off, but he intended to sooth her. He pushed away the thoughts tumbling inside his head: Emma, Erik, Thyre, his father. The images lined up like soldiers, like sticks, waiting to fall if he didn’t catch them first. How could he manage all of his promises? He numbed himself against the barrage, trying to send Swan thoughts of sleep, of comfort, but his mind could not find peace.
A deep fog settled throughout the IronWood, heavy with the scent of winter even though they were a full moon’s turning past spring. Hallad tossed until exhausted, until sleep overtook him. Aware of dreaming, Hallad floated within a drab landscape. He sensed Swan next to him, a gentle breeze brushing against his shoulder and he smiled.
Brother. The words bloomed around him as he turned to Swan.
She floated too, dispersing in the light mist. Her face seemed less rigid, her features supple, her hair silken.
"Sister," he replied. Upon discovering their shared ancestry, he should have embraced her, welcomed her. Instead he had blamed her for his predicament. "I have to tell you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"
Shush. She spoke, yet her mouth did not move. She placed a long finger over his lips. You had every right to feel the way you did. Everything that has happened is my fault.
"Nei. That’s not true."
Had I not sought you out, your life would have remained peaceful.
"Had you not arrived, I would never know why emptiness possessed me for the greater part of my life."
Hallad reached for her, but her figure shimmered as if struggling to remain.
I did not know you heard me, brother. The song, the village. I did not know.
Her body faded into the landscape then flickered back.
I don’t have long. In order to come to you in your dream I had to go deeper into the shadowwalk than ever before. I have only been able to speak to one who can also travel in the walk and since you do not have the touch of the Shadow . . . She dropped her head, collecting her wits. Then she leveled her gaze on him, capturing him the same way she did the night they met. I will set things right, brother. It does not fall on you. I will make it right.
Before Hallad could answer, she swirled into the gray mist and vanished.
*****
The godhi’s son awoke. Something nagged at his memory. Last night. A dream.
He stretched, rolled from his bed, slipped on a tunic and searched for his boots. Memories lingered in his mind, rolling over and over like a drunken recollection. He crossed to a water bucket and splashed his face. The bite of cold water sharpened his thoughts.
Rota and Olrun were nowhere in sight, probably preparing some new training feat, but today Hallad would make his plans—his plans for Emma, for Swan, for all of them.
Something tugged at him, something different. Emptiness.
Then he realized he didn’t feel his sister. The place inside him that belonged to her gaped open. Empty. A chasm of fear rose up within him.
He turned, searching for her. She lay still, in her bedding, arms crossed over her chest. Sprinting to her side, he bent over her, shaking her.
"Swan. Swan. Wake-up." The emptiness he felt told him she would not. He shook her again and again. "Wake-up!"
He leaned close, listening for her breath. There, in the shallow depths of her chest, a light, slow rhythm labored.
"Nei!" he cried out.
Then he remembered the dream. It does not fall on you. I will make it right.
"Nei, sister. Nei." He placed his hand on her cheek—cold, as if death lingered steps away.
> He scrambled to his bedroll and pulled his blankets back to Swan, tucking them around her.
"Rota! Olrun!" Hallad yelled frantically.
He pulled back his sister’s lids; her dilated pupils stared back. His gut lurched inside, wrenching like a thousand horses pulled his innards in different directions.
"Rota! By the gods, come quick."
Moments passed, though they seemed like eons, until Rota—with Olrun flanking her—bent by Hallad’s side. Rota felt Swan’s chest and held her ear over the girl’s nose.
Others had followed and Rota commanded, "Tell the Hearth we come."
A pair of drengmaers took off at a run.
"Are you responsible for this?" Olrun’s voice boomed, accusing Hallad.
Hallad tried to shake his head, but her words settled down inside him.
Am I responsible for this?
Rota lifted Swan into her thick arms, nestling her as a mother with her newborn, and walked the long path back to the Hearth. Hallad followed, his eyes latched on the limp form in the drengmaer’s arms, while emptiness sieged every nook and cranny of his being.
Chapter 2 9
"How is my sister?"
"The same." Olrun crossed the Hall of the Hearth, slumping down in a nearby chair, her bulk threatening the stability of the wooden seat. Rota followed her sal drengmaer, her fists wound tight.
"Do they know what’s wrong with her?"
"If they do, they won't say." Olrun poured herself a horn full of mead and gulped it down. "They will call the Goddess for answers."
"Call her or pray to her? I don’t understand."
"Nei, call her."
"Enough!" Rota barked at her sal drengmaer.
Olrun’s hazel eyes leveled Rota’s own. "He has a right, sister. Look how they fought together these last few days, surely they are—"
"Nei! You will not give away the mysteries of Spirit to a man."
"He’s not just any man." She left off, returning to her drink, letting the foam settle on her upper lip as she gulped.
They all resumed to waiting. It seemed waiting was all Hallad had accomplished since he came to the Sacred Groves of Freyja, as if there were a million seasons for him to live. He inhaled, reveling in the sound the air made through his nostrils, the coolness steadying him. Healing is women’s business, his father would say. Only a fool interferes with such mysteries. But the more he sat idle, the more his difficulties multiplied.
"Take me to her." He spoke to Olrun, catching her arm with his thick hand.
Olrun placed her horn on the tabletop. She shifted uneasily. Rota crossed the floor, standing beside her sal drengr without a word. The shorter woman did not need words to sway Olrun’s response, the heaviness of her presence speaking louder than if she screamed commands.
"I cannot." Olrun glared at Rota. "But it is not that I don't want too."
"Don’t you understand?" This time Hallad focused his plea on Rota. He would have barreled through the doors and found Swan himself if the women hadn’t taken every precaution to hide where they had taken her. His mind whirled with reasons he must be taken to his sister’s side, but none found their way to his tongue, a thickness settling in his mouth.
The candles flickered against the walls, illuminating the paintings etched upon them—vignettes of the Goddess with her boar. Hallad had come to realize that the women in the Hearth favored the symbol of the boar, while the women in the temples, or Spirit, decorated with moons and cats. Many Scandian men favored one god over another and wore symbols to represent their loyalty. Rolf had adorned himself with Bragi’s symbol, a harp, until he convinced his father to spend a full turning of the moon’s business on that obnoxious red cape with the god of scalds embroidered on the back. Other villagers had favored the thunder god and wore wood-carved axes on ropes around their necks. His father had taught him that Odin was god of nobles, yet Avarr had never worn anything to symbolize his patronage of the god. The only signet he wore, Hallad wore now—the Guardian Tree digging its roots into the earth.
The silence continued to separate them. Rota’s gaze never lifted. Then she grumbled, "I will take you," and proceeded to the door.
Hallad rose, following Rota, confused at her change of mind but hesitant to question her for fear she might renege. Olrun flanked him, a satisfied smile forming on her lips as her eyes latched onto the back of her sal drengmaer.
The day melted into evening. Hallad’s sight spotted with orange dots from the torchlight of the hall as they passed into the darkness of the grove. They rounded the giant ash and rune carved dais to a narrow trail hidden behind the tree. The path led to a rock opening. Hallad wondered at the cave. He had thought the IronWood a vast forestland, but the mouth to a mountain spread wide, allowing their entry.
Torches lit the cramped corridor as they shuffled along single-file. Before long, the passage broke into several tunnels. Symbols of cats, moons and runes spread the expanse of walls. Hallad glimpsed movement down passageways; white robes fluttered as women hurried on their way about some unknown task. Rota chose a passage marked in black with the rune algiz etched over the opening.
This tunnel’s walls crowded with paintings and symbols on every available spot. When they reached the end of the corridor, Rota approached a white-cloaked woman seated in front of an archway. Though Hallad was unable to hear what the women said, when Rota finished, the white-cloaked woman looked up at him, nodded and left. Rota waved for him to come.
As Hallad passed her and walked into the room, she spoke into his ear, "I will turn my back for only two candle-flicks then I am coming to haul you out myself."
Hallad nodded and proceeded into the room. Furs strewn across the floor padded his footfalls and he moved as silently as Swan. The paintings on the walls depicted Freyja in silver gowns. A soft white glow surrounded the images of the Goddess, her face stark—serene, yet commanding. All except one image, whose face had been marred with a black raven and whose golden tresses had been painted dark. Hallad frowned at the strange depiction, but stepped forward.
Dozens of candles flickered around the room. Thick wax melted in puddles on rock ledges. Then he spotted Swan wrapped in furs, her skin flaccid, her color drained.
Emptiness welled up within him, surging. He crossed the floor, his boots sinking into the array of hides. He placed his wide palm upon her head, smoothing the white wisps of her hair backward. With the backside of his other hand he caressed her cheek; he bent and kissed his sister’s forehead.
The godhi’s son attempted to contain the flood inside him, but it broke loose, sending a warm tear down his cheek; the droplet trailed from his chin to fall onto her skin. Along every step of this journey he had felt helpless—in someone else’s control, as if the gods played him as a string puppet, directing his limbs for their own amusement, but he had never felt this wrecked. There was nothing he could do but sit here and watch her—watch her die, perhaps. Anguish churned inside him. He wanted to scream.
Outside the silence of the room, Hallad heard muttering. His skin pricked. Another tunnel exited at the back of the room. A glow of light shone down the tunnel. Hallad strained to hear. Women’s voices resounded off the walls. They spoke of Swan.
He glanced at the door, realizing Rota would be in soon, and bent down one last time to kiss Swan’s forehead. Without thinking, he crossed the room walking on the balls of his feet, toward the voices. The hall darkened as he padded down it, the only light ahead or behind as Hallad fingered his way along the slick rock of the wall.
The voices grew nearer. Hallad realized they chanted. A thin drapery hung over the end of the hall. Hallad pressed his body flat against the cavern wall. Shadowy forms showed through the curtain as Hallad spied. He sucked in his breath, holding air in his lungs before releasing, the way his father had taught him when hunting. He moved his head closer to the curtain, finding a small tear in the material, and peered through.
Hallad spotted Ase first, garbed in her usual pine-colored cloak, holding
hands with a willowy woman in all black. The second woman’s silver-white hair draped around her shoulders, falling to the middle of her back. She moved as sleek as a snake and Hallad realized the woman was Serpent Mother. Other figures in white cloaks surrounded them. They all kneeled on cushions before an empty dais.
"She will come," said Serpent Mother.
"Are you sure?" asked Ase.
The women concentrated on a large candle flame before them. Hundreds of candles perched themselves on ledges, the room ablaze with their light, but the one before them shone brightest, as large as a torch.
"I spoke with her in my sleep. She assured me," said Serpent Mother.
"Does she know what has happened?"
Serpent Mother nodded then added, "Continue."
Ase bowed her head. The chanting resumed.
In the center of the platform, a white light shifted. Hallad blinked to make sure the play of light wasn’t a result of his tired eyes reacting to the candles, but it expanded, spreading like white fire.
In response, the women chanted louder and faster.
A female figure appeared through the light. Her features blended with the background as if she wasn’t quite there. Alabaster robes draped over her body, the color blanched, making the other whites in the room drab in comparison. The material hung in billows, as if made from the rarest silks. Her hair was pulled in a tight knot on the top of her head, spilling its length through the loop of the knot. Skin, whiter than even her robes, bore flawless features setting off a stark contrast to the black of her tresses. She was beauty personified, except for a mark tattooed on her cheek—the mark of a raven. Upon further inspection, Hallad realized the tattoo floated on her flesh like a birthmark, as if part of her skin, and he recalled the strange, dark-haired depiction of the marred goddess in the outer room.
Hallad fought to keep his breath. He tried to steady his intake as his chest fluttered.
Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 14