Discourse erupted from the women, some protesting, and some praying to the Mother. Ravenna held her hand in front of them, staving off comments. The raven bleeding into her skin deepened.
“What is Grimnear?” asked Hallad.
“Nothing short of an abomination—the core of the Broken Lands. These lands exist, void of the Mother, because the Conspirators abuse her, burning, raping, pillaging her fruits until all has withered and died. We have heard rumors of an army being gathered in the Broken Lands under the direction of a master shadowwalker residing in Grimnear, but until now, we have not had confirmation. Apparently their leader is Lothar.”
Hallad cut in, “Grimnear is where Swan is.”
All eyes rounded to him.
“How do you know?” asked Ravenna.
“She told me she would make it right with Emma. I know she has gone to her.”
The Norns turned gazes upon one another, considering Hallad’s statement. Hallad pulled the dyrr from his pocket and placed it on the slick surface of the tabletop. The intake of breath rounded within the room. Ravenna reached for the medallion and picked it up, studying the smoothed gold.
“A dyrr. We thought these a myth as well.” Ravenna stated as she scrutinized Hallad. “How did you come by it?”
“It was given to me by the ward that killed Thyre.” As Hallad said the words, numbness toward his mother spread. “I used it to cross to Glitner. Now we will use the dyrr to open a doorway to Castle Grimnear before it is too late.”
“It could be a trap.” Ravenna studied the air around Hallad’s head, her eyes never settling upon him.
“We have nei other options.”
“Then you must take a small party, slip into Grimnear unnoticed and break the Svenna free, Return here with her and bond so your strengths can be joined and you will not run this risk of separation again.”
Hallad nodded as he lifted himself from his seat, reaching for the dyrr. The First of the Norns pulled the dyrr back with a smooth movement, giving her final warning.
“A walker can only be held in the walk if she allows herself to be consumed by her own fears. As powerful as Lothar is, it is not his binds that keep her.”
Chapter 4 7
Rolf bent at his middle, holding his gut, while Seretta placed her long fingers upon his back, stroking it.
“Can’t you sing? Sooth him?” asked Erik as he watched his little brother.
Rolf coughed, the sound rumbling in his throat as if he would heave.
“My touch wanes here.” Seretta glanced up at Erik then extended her gaze outward, toward the landscape.
“The land is pained. The Mother lies buried under mounds of destruction. I, alone, cannot coax her forth.”
Before them, spread a mighty forest, reaching over the horizon. Only the trees bore no leaves, no lushness, no sweet smell of pine. Burnt and blackened, bark clung in seared lumps to their blanched and dead insides, rising from the ground like thousands of ashen spikes against the sky. The air crackled with cold and a permanent layer of frost remained upon the ground. The overcast sky spread above them, darkening the land below even though daytime still lingered.
“Rolf,” said Erik, extending a hand to his brother.
Rolf ignored the gesture and stood upright, swallowing hard in his throat.
“I am fine, only winded. We have traveled quickly.”
Seretta turned a concerned gaze upon him.
“You feel the Mother’s pain at this destruction. Your reaction is natural and always worst the first time you feel such devastation. Your touch is great, Rolf Sigtrigson. It is a miracle you ever survived in Scandia for all those years, so far away from her heart.”
The dwarf fumbled in the pouch tied around his waist. Within moments he approached with a tin cup in hand.
“Drink this,” said Andvarri. “It will settle your stomach and numb the pain in your heart.”
Rolf obliged, gulping with little gags as he tried to hold down the concoction. He finished, wiping dribbles of the liquid from his lips.
“Thank you, Andvarri.”
“I am glad I could finally do something to help,” said the dwarf, a smile working the ends of his lips.
“What is this place?” asked Rolf as he adjusted his crimson cape underneath his outer coat. They had all donned their fur-lined leathers when the temperatures dropped, with the exception of Seretta who refused to wear the abominations, citing them as unnatural cruelties.
“Blakkrwood,” replied Seretta.
The songvari's complexion took on a white pallor as they continued their travels in the Broken Lands. Dark circles wore underneath her eyes and her skin stretched in weariness, robbing her beauty.
“How could you have survived here?” Even though Rolf paled, his face lit when he looked at the songvari, as if in a constant state of stupor and adoration.
“It was not easy.” Seretta's face remained flat. “If we are here too long we wither and die.” She glanced at Erik, as if to warn him of the consequence of this journey. “I was only here for a brief time. Once Lothar figured out I could not be contained, he walked me into Grimnear against my will. I escaped and was traveling to Asheim, seeking sanctuary, when you stumbled upon me.”
With horses in tow, they moved into the barren ground of the Blakkrwood. The frost cracked under their feet as they walked. With every step, Erik felt Emma nearer.
“When I met Lothar, I thought he was a kind and gentle man.” Seretta spoke to Rolf. “Glitner’s policy against those without the touch continued to harden. Their punishments were cruel. In secret, Lothar would tell me of his dreams to save those who were persecuted by the Palace. He said the Mother would not agree with our treatment of them, even though they were deaf to her. And I agreed. In fact,” she smiled, though no light touched her eyes, “my outspoken opinions on the subject got me dispelled from Glitner.”
Erik tried to absorb her story, but his mind wandered. The voice of the Shadow had not returned since Erik’s reunion with Rolf at the edge of Ginnungagap, and with his mind finally his own, it filled with thoughts of Emma.
The first time Erik ever saw her, he was six. She was five. She played with a sparrow in the Green, chasing after the feathered creature. Emma would turn, laugh and run in the other direction while the sparrow darted through the sky, spinning and chasing her back. He had watched her game with the little bird for long moments, when he decided to join in. He approached, but Emma was not watching where she was going. Upon turning, she ran directly into him and they both tumbled to the ground. Instead of getting angry, Emma had looked up at him with those giant gray eyes and smiled. With a laugh, she had grabbed his hand and pulled him up to play with her. From that moment forward, he had loved her.
“Lothar was powerful and I thought he was the epitome of the Guardian—loyal, caring, strong and protective. But, after our union, I began to unravel his secrets. He was a caller, but also something darker. His dreams were plagued and on many nights he would scream in his sleep. I tried to help. I was concerned my husband had fallen into battle with the Shadow. I was right, but there was nei helping him. He embraced the Shadow.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rolf.
“It was then he began to use me. I guess he always did. I just did not see it for what it was. He implored me in ways I could not refuse. His touch of the Shadow was as great as my touch of the Mother. He convinced me we could bridge the gap between the two if we worked together. We developed two dyrrs . . . ” Seretta paused when she realized none of them understood what she spoke of. “A dyrr, it is the old tongue for doorway. Through our combined touch, we designed two dyrrs that would allow any who spoke the runes to cross through the shadowwalk.”
“You could go anywhere?” asked Rolf.
“Anywhere except Grimnear. Lothar insisted we make restrictions to protect ourselves. The intention was that Glitner would finally see the usefulness of those touched by the Shadow. Or at least that is what Lothar told me. His intention was to bring armies of Conspir
ators through the doorways to destroy Glitner.”
“And that’s when you ran?” Rolf slung his arm around Seretta’s waist as they walked, pulling her into him.
“Ja,” she admitted. “But divorce is a crime here. I could not report him because I played a part in his betrayal of the Mother. I did not want to risk anyone abusing me for the power of my touch again. So I hid. I suppose I am a coward.”
“Nei,” said Rolf, tightening his grip on her. “You are a survivor.”
Ahead of them a wolf howled. The cry echoed through the crisp air. Behind them, another wolf returned the call. Almost immediately, howls rose on all sides.
“We must quicken our pace.” Seretta started to jog. “Wolves hunt the Blakkrwood at Lothar’s control, though I do not remember so many. He has gathered an army with these creatures.”
“To the horses,” commanded Erik.
Seretta’s eyes widened at his statement.
“I will not let you fall.” Rolf pulled her back to him, smiling down at her, his white teeth showing themselves after days in hiding.
The dwarf struggled with the reins of Rolf’s mare, the white snorting and hoofing the ground at the sound of the wolves. Andvarri willingly let Rolf take over as Rolf hoisted Seretta to the mare’s back, clambering up after her.
Erik grabbed the dwarf and pushed him onto Beyla while Andvarri protested, “I am not such an invalid. I can mount a horse on my own.”
Erik ignored him, shoving the little man onto the mare’s croup then jumping up in front of him. The yowls increased, turning to yips and growls, as Rolf and Erik kicked their mounts into a gallop.
Seretta, pressing her body back into Rolf’s grip, yelled back to Erik, “There’s a cave at the base of the hill. If we can get there, we can defend against the wolves.”
She pointed toward a hill in the distance. The mountain jutted up out of the spikes of dead trees, a massive mound of rock and dirt. Nothing lived within the crags, but a huge stone structure jutted outward from the cliff face. Square stones defied their position as they poked from the mountainside, forming a dismal looking castle—dull walls spiking into towers against the lifeless backdrop of rock.
A horde of wolves appeared on their heels, eyes yellow lights against the darkening sky. Beyla’s girth labored underneath them. At the sight of the predators, Andvarri squeezed Erik so hard he thought the little man would crush his lungs. The pack gave chase, lunging forward with split mouths and canines dripping saliva.
Frost sprayed Erik’s face as they raced behind Rolf’s white mare. Andvarri let loose his grip to grope for something inside his waist pack. Within a moment's passing, a boom resounded. Erik chanced a glance backward. The dwarf threw little balls from his pack. The orbs hit the ground, exploding in front of the wolves, snow and dirt flying. The creatures dodged in and out behind them, but continued their onward attack.
*****
A bang from outside captured Emma’s attention and she rushed toward the window. She peered through the smudged glass, trying to find the cause, but could not see anything more than a blur of shapes barreling through the dimness of the frozen forest below. Closing her eyes, she communicated with the polecat.
Whitefoot. Spy on Lord Lothar. See what's the matter.
The polecat unraveled himself from Emma’s hair and scurried down her silver-blue dress to the floor. He hopped back and forth with excitement for a moment before dashing forward and squeezing through the space between the slate floor and door. Though Grimnear did not possess the complicated runes of Holyfell, Lothar kept Emma’s chambers locked with iron bolts from the outside, stating her confinement was for her own safety.
Emma sent one last thought to the polecat as he disappeared.
Be careful Whitefoot. Do not let the lord discover you.
I am too clever for his slow wits, replied the polecat, and Emma’s face spread in a smile despite the fact she wore her wedding dress.
Emma returned to the window and waited, staring outward. She caught her reflection in the dark glass. Her eyes took on a melancholy even she did not recognize. Her hair had been piled high on top of her head. Ringlets escaped and sprayed over her neck and down her back. The dress clung to her as all the others she’d worn since arriving in these strange lands did, but this one shone with silver throughout, making it shimmer with every movement she made.
In these last days, she had wracked her mind for a solution to help those she loved, and still nothing came until today, when Lothar announced she would be prepared for their union. She did not know how to escape, so she had dressed, hoping at some point before her delivery to Lothar she would find a way to break free and make a run for it.
Within the long, sleepless nights she had made connection with the wolves swarming Castle Grimnear. They feared her at first, but Emma realized their trepidation sprung from their lack—lack of food, lack of security, lack of comfort.
Whitefoot entered her mind.
Intruders, he said. The lord calls one Erik. He’s furious he is here. He has called the wolves to corner and destroy him, but to save the woman who travels with them. He is confused about the woman—angry and eager at the same time.
Erik! Emma spun from the window, covering her mouth with her hands to control a squeal. Are you sure? She held her breath, waiting for Whitefoot’s confirmation.
An image of Lothar speaking Erik’s name to his wolves bloomed in her head.
Emma’s heart thudded. Her breath quickened.
Come back to me Whitefoot, she said.
Another image shot through her mind—the polecat scrambling along the corridor, slipper adorned feet giving chase, a waxy hand grabbing and squeezing. Then nothing. Her mind went blank.
Whitefoot! Emma called to him, but the polecat did not reply.
Whitefoot! she cried again.
Not a single image filled her mind. Her chest tightened, as her mind worked frantically.
Think, Emma, think. She told herself. I have to act now!
Emma closed her eyes, pressing them shut as she called to the pack of wolves outside Castle Grimnear.
Chapter 4 8
The guttural growl of wolves reverberated through the doorway of the dyrr. As Hallad exited the rift caused by the medallion, he tightened his cloak around him, against the icy air, and spotted the pack pinning its unseen prey against the base of a cliff. The creatures’ hackles spiked, engorging their size. He drew his swan sword to defend against them as Rota, carrying Swan, Olrun, Jorn, Ase, and Gisla appeared behind him. The rest of the Lion Clan had been left behind so their small party would risk less notice. Ase had insisted on traveling with them, arguing she was needed to ensure Swan's care, and towed Gisla along, claiming the apprentice as a necessary companion. Hallad hadn't agreed, citing they should remain safe in the Palace but conceded when Ravenna maintained that a priestess would be a necessary ally.
As the opening blinked out of existence, Hallad realized the dyrr delivering them to this spot had been a trap. When he had concentrated on his desired destination before departing Glitner, he had envisioned himself inside Grimnear, but he could not hold the thought, always blocked by darkness. The secondary endpoint outside the castle seemed suitable, until now.
Jorn, Olrun and Rota readied their blades. Rota balanced Swan on her shoulder as she took position with Olrun. Jorn waved the priestess and her attendant behind them, but the wolves remained trained on their target.
An explosion hit the pack. Ice, dirt and rock streamed through air, separating the wolves momentarily.
Hallad glimpsed Erik’s face through the parted beasts and screamed out, “Erik!”
Erik jolted at the sound, seeking Hallad across the distance.
Hallad could not read his expression—certainly startled, but relieved? Glad? At Hallad’s call, a wolf swiveled its enormous head around, hackles raised, canines piercing through pulled up lips. The creature stared at him, eyes glinting against the darkening sky. Then the beast raised its head skyward an
d yowled, its call resounding through the deadened forest surrounding them.
Branches cracked in reply, a brittle break in the night. Canine bodies entered Hallad’s line of sight, masses of shadows low to the ground, tearing in from every direction. More wolves sped toward the group, pads pounding against ice.
Rota placed Swan on the ground, while Ase and Gisla hovered over her. The warriors formed a tight circle around Swan, Gisla and the priestess, as the onslaught washed over them.
Wolves sprang from the dark, leaping through the air, meeting their swords. Though the creatures fell, more replaced the initial wave, until each of the warriors fought off several of the beasts at a time. The wolves' jaws lunged, grabbed, and ripped at their arms and legs as the warriors continued to fight.
“Stand back!” Ase’s voice commanded over the tumult.
Hallad chanced a glance backward, giving a wolf the opportunity to pummel through the air, smacking into Hallad’s chest and sending him onto his back.
A man appeared in the center of their circle, his skin white as wax, his hair the color of winter's frost. Two wolves flanked him, growling at Ase. Rota and Olrun rounded in unison, but more creatures leaped from the dark, dragging them downward. Jorn, struggling with two of the beasts on each arm, rushed forward, but the weight of the wolves sent him to his knees.
From his appearance out of thin air, Hallad assumed the man was none other than Lothar. The lord gestured with a slight flick of his wrist and the two animals at his side lunged, taking Ase and Gisla with them to the ground.
Gisla screamed, but Ase hit the ground with a silent thud.
Lothar stepped over Swan, peering down at her, examining her.
As the lord reached his hand downward, the two wolves pinning the priestess and her attendant raised their heads. Their ears flicked. Their eyes shot upward, toward the tower. In another breath, the rest of the army of beasts repeated the action. A whimper broke through them as their hackles dropped, tails folding under them.
Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 24