Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  “You’d think they grew up together,” Roald muttered. “So what happens now?” he asked slapping the table.

  “What does happen now?” Bergen asked as he squeezed himself back onto the bench beside Kallan, spilling a splash or two on her.

  Daggon, his mouth stuffed with roast pig, said nothing.

  “Well, with the alliance, we have a lot of work in repairing Lorlenalin,” Rune said, snagging a leg of pig from the table. “I imagine we’ll be spending a lot of time there negotiating the treaty between our cities. There’s trades to negotiate, ambassadors to assign…”

  “Should probably organize a Thing for next summer,” Daggon added.

  “And what of Gunir?” Bergen asked, dropping his flagon to the table. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Compose a song,” Kallan said. “You can call it ‘The Woes of Bergen the Bore.”

  Bergen scowled at the half-eaten platter between him and his brother.

  “You know how I feel about responsibility and rules,” Bergen said.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to put your new position to use.” Rune sunk his teeth into the meat before suggesting, “You can use it to woo your wenches.”

  From the window of Kallan’s bower, propped comfortably in the window’s sill, Rune stared through the dark of night into the distance. Pillars of smoke rose from the lake to the sky. At just the right angle, he could see the red flames engulf the twelve ships, their light reflecting on the black sheet of water. From there the flames followed the clouds of billowing smoke beneath the waning crescent moon that provided sufficient light across Gunir.

  With a sigh, Kallan splayed out a gown over her bed alongside five others as the door of her sitting room opened.

  “Still here, Brother?” Bergen asked as he entered the bedchamber.

  Rune said nothing, not bothering to look away from the longships engulfed in flame.

  “The children and Elders from the Northern Keep have settled in, and Geirolf is seeing to the children.”

  “How are they?” Rune asked, not moving from his place in the window.

  “Tired,” Bergen said. “A handful returned sick with the cold that’s moved in, but overall, happy to be home. Torunn has the best venison stew on the fire downstairs.”

  Rune nodded in approval and stared out to the lake in thought.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow, then?” Bergen asked Kallan as she proceeded to straighten the dresses.

  “First thing,” she said.

  Bergen thought for a moment as he tried to decide if he heard disappointment or relief in her voice.

  “And what of you?” he asked, looking to Rune in the window. “How long before you head out?”

  “There!” Kallan said as she finished straightening the skirt of her last gown. “This should be enough.”

  Eyeing the half-dozen gowns one last time, Kallan plopped herself over the end of the bed, arms wide, and scooped up the gowns in a single armload before dragging them to the doorway and Bergen.

  “Here,” she said, grinning, and promptly dumped the gowns onto Bergen.

  “Wha—”

  “Get them to Torunn,” Kallan said. “She’s waiting.”

  “Ugh,” Bergen groaned as if Kallan had just dumped a bucket of mud onto him. “Women’s work.”

  “I didn’t ask you to sew them for the orphans,” Kallan said. “I asked you to take them to Torunn.”

  Kallan listened with delight as Bergen sauntered off back through the sitting room and down the hall.

  The heat from the hearth fire battled against the growing chill outside. Kallan glanced at the collection of herbs and spells she had already tucked neatly away with her satchel beside the bed.

  “You’re lost, Rune,” Kallan said. “The Shadow has your mind.”

  Rune kept his eyes on the ships on the horizon and watched the flames lap the sky.

  “The Fendinn is there,” he said after a long while. “I can feel it. But it’s silent. It hasn’t moved since…”

  Rune sighed and leaned his head back against the window frame. “I don’t know if I’m relieved or worried,” he said. “Maybe both. I don’t know.”

  “What will you do now?” Kallan asked.

  “There isn’t much choice,” he muttered. “The war is over and we have wounded here to be looked after.”

  Kallan nodded in reflection.

  “I have a lot to do in Lorlenalin,” she said. “With Aaric dead and Gudrun—”

  A stale knot clamped her throat and Kallan forced in a deep breath to push it along. Exhaling, she busied her hands, mindlessly unfolding a blanket for the sole purpose of refolding it again in hopes of staving off the waves of grief that often came.

  “I’ve been absent for nearly two moons now,” Kallan said. “It will be a while before I can get back here. Maybe in the upcoming Jol after the snows and the first of the beers are brewed, I can—”

  “Kallan.”

  Kallan forced her head down, refusing to meet Rune’s eye, knowing he slid down from the window. In silence, he waited patiently for her to find her words as he leaned against the bed beside her.

  Kallan sighed and gazed to the window behind him. The gray pillars of smoke filled the sky. For a moment, she contemplated asking him to come with her, and instead bit her lip for control.

  “The Seidr,” she whispered. “Ever since I pulled you back…”

  She shook her head.

  “Something hasn’t felt right since.” Kallan sighed, wishing Rune would leave her alone, and wanting him to stay. “I can See. I understand Aaric sealed my Sight. I understand there were things he didn’t want me to See. That night when he grabbed my arm, he started to unlock what he sealed away years ago. But he didn’t finish.”

  Rune listened quietly, recalling everything from two nights before and not daring to mention the woman they had seen with Gudrun’s head.

  “There are things that are still dark,” Kallan said. “Things, still out of my reach. I felt something there at the core,” she said, “but when I extend my Sight to See, there is only darkness.”

  Kallan exhaled.

  “Gudrun often told me of a place buried deep within the earth where the Seidr dwells at its core.” The words came quickly now. “She explained that, if I were to follow the threads, I would find the Seidr there where it all begins.”

  Kallan paused, giving Rune a moment to answer while she searched for the words to continue.

  “I was there at the core, I am certain,” she said. “But something was wrong, very wrong, and I can’t find the words to call it by name.”

  Kallan met Rune’s eyes.

  “I can’t even bring myself to try,” she whispered and shook her head. “I don’t think I want to.”

  * * *

  Horses were saddled, provisions prepared, and the first of the Dokkalfar moved out to begin the three day trek back to Lorlenalin. The courtyard buzzed with excitement. The constant bustle of servants led by the sharp bite of Torunn’s orders accompanied her stern glare.

  An unusual chill clung stubbornly to the air as the gray clouds moved from the west. The last streaks of sunlight poured into Gunir as Kallan stepped from the keep. Biting the corner of her lower lip, she studied the courtyard and felt her heart sink at Rune’s blatant absence.

  Gathering her skirts, Kallan heaved a deep sigh and forced a smile as she descended the steps into the courtyard where Daggon led two saddled fjord horses from the stables. Bustling servants swarmed the captain as they fastened the last of Kallan’s bags to the saddles beside Torunn, who wasted no time welcoming Kallan into a tight hug as the cold bit their faces.

  “You’ll check in with the children?” Kallan asked.

  Torunn nodded.

  “Every day,” she replied. “Geirolf said he wants to take a look at them and see about getting them a more permanent dwelling than the warrens.”

  “I’ve left some of the apples with him,” Kallan said. “You received the clot
hes from Bergen?”

  “I have the girls already working on them.”

  Torunn grinned as Kallan leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  “If that isn’t enough, raid Rune and Bergen’s wardrobes for more,” Kallan goaded.

  At once, Torunn grabbed Kallan and held her tight.

  “You will be missed, my dear,” Torunn said. “We’ll be watching the roads for your return.”

  With tears that glistened in the sunlight, Torunn released Kallan and took her face in her hands.

  “You’ve filled a void here that has long been needed,” Torunn said, smiling. “And it felt good putting those boys through their own paces for once.”

  With a kiss to her forehead, Torunn released Kallan unto Geirolf, who warmly embraced the lady.

  “Return soon,” he said, taking his time in releasing her.

  Kallan replied with a single kiss to his warm cheek and turned, falling almost immediately into Roald’s open arm.

  With a growl, he hugged her tight and lifted her from the ground.

  Refusing to relinquish her to Bergen, he held her high, keeping her to himself until Bergen punched to Roald’s good shoulder.

  “Come on, Stumpy!” Bergen said impatiently.

  Ignoring the complaint, Roald held Kallan a moment longer before lowering her to the ground.

  “You’ll be missed.” He smiled and left her to Bergen.

  “Dearest lady,” Bergen greeted with a sad smile.

  Kallan raised her gaze to the scar that decorated his right brow.

  “Consider her a peace offering,” Bergen said.

  Curious, Kallan tipped her head in question as Gunnar slunk into the courtyard leading the charcoal gray mare, saddled, bridled, and ready to ride.

  “Oh.” Kallan clamped both hands to her mouth as the mare came to stand beside the pair of fjord horses.

  “Her name is Zabbai,” Bergen said. “Named for a rare…rare lady, much like yourself. She’s been good to me,” Bergen said. “Be good to her.”

  Tears burned Kallan’s eyes. Unable to hold back, Kallan jumped onto Bergen, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, and he tightened his grip on her.

  Kallan released Bergen’s neck and slid back to the ground.

  Eagerly, she approached the mare, allowing the horse to snuffle and sniff her hand. Slowly, Kallan pulled an apple from her pouch and extended it to the mare, who accepted it almost at once. After the horse lowered her guard, Kallan pulled herself into the saddle with Daggon’s help.

  “I still owe you for this!” Bergen called, pointing to his scarred brow as Kallan steered the mare toward the gates.

  “Challenge me!” Kallan dared over her shoulder.

  With a glint in her golden eyes, she flicked a wrist with ease and ignited a white flame.

  Bergen shook his head.

  “You have no idea how happy I am that you are my ally!”

  “Coward,” Kallan called back with a smile, then shifted to face the bailey ahead. Daggon mounted one of the two fjord horses and followed.

  “Are you ready, Your Highness?” Daggon asked from atop his steed.

  Quietly, Kallan gazed over the courtyard and scanned the many faces. Her hopes plummeted when she failed to see one in particular. Without a word, she nodded.

  As Kallan rode through the streets, the Dokkalfar fell in line behind her, some on horseback but most on foot, as they followed her to the bridge of the Klarelfr. There, propped too casually against his horse, Rune leaned with the same bored look in his eye that Bergen often held.

  “What are you doing?” Kallan asked as she came within range at the bridge.

  “Do you really think you’re going without me?” he asked as he hoisted himself onto his horse and readied the reins. “Besides… I can’t trust you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  “But Bergen,” Kallan said. “Gunir—”

  “—will be fine while we work on negotiating the details of the alliance. I’ll not be gone forever. Just long enough to set things in order…until you can find time to slip away.”

  “And Bergen consented to this?” Kallan asked.

  Rune smirked.

  “Bergen doesn’t know I’m gone yet,” Rune said, directing his horse across the bridge to the plains. “Geirolf knows and has instructions to tell Bergen of the arrangement tonight over a pipe and flagon of hop mead,” Rune called as he took the lead.

  “My treat,” Daggon said with a grin.

  The bridge was soon behind them as they crossed the barren battlefield and pillars of dead. Ahead, the forest of Swann Dalr lay and the main road that would take them south.

  Releasing a sigh, Kallan gazed up at the sky. The first of the snows had begun to fall.

  Flooded with a sudden sickness, she looked to the horizons beyond the west at the brewing storm ahead.

  “It’s early,” Rune said about the premature cold. “The harvests have barely begun.”

  “Too early,” Kallan observed, knowing there was much more to the falling snows than she could see.

  With a final glance over her shoulder, she looked down the long line of Dokkalfar that marched from Gunir’s gates. From the plains, she gazed upon Gunir’s keep that rose from the hill and towered over the bailey with grandeur.

  Before looking back to the road, Kallan’s eye lingered on the tower where Kovit still hung chained to the wall. Unease stirred her nerves. Reaching out with her Seidr, Kallan tried to See, and quickly scowled at the sheet of black that blocked her Sight. She still had a lot of work ahead of her.

  * * *

  Inside the keep, Torunn barked her orders and drove the Ljosalfar to their work. No one paid mind to a slender woman with long, ebony hair and a single slender line that marred her right cheek bone. Unseen, she slipped through the Great Hall. Servants, hunched over their tasks, didn’t flinch. Warriors walked the halls as the woman ascended the steps to the second floor and up to the tower floor.

  The guard on duty dozed, jerked himself awake, and failed to see the hem of a gown as the woman rounded the hall to the only occupied cell. There, Kovit hung, bleeding, broken, and half-dead.

  With a creak the guard couldn’t hear, the woman pushed open the door, spilling light across the floor. Her bare feet grazed the stone as she drifted into the cell and came to stop before the Dokkalfr.

  Disappointment filled her golden eyes as she stared at the mass of Kovit chained to the wall.

  “This is how I am to find you,” she said.

  Her soft voice awakened him, urging Kovit to raise his mangled face to Fand.

  “Did you speak to her?” Fand asked, “Does the Drui know?”

  Slowly, painfully, Kovit shook his head.

  The answer seemed to please her as she exhaled and relaxed her shoulders.

  “Very good,” she said, and the deep red of her lips curved into a gentle smile. “And then there was one.”

  Standing in a foot of white that blocked out the afternoon sun, Rune peered through the white, his arrow notched in readiness. It was there, whatever it was that Rune had seen just beyond the snows.

  He shifted his position, and followed the trail of prints into the wood. The snows that had started three days ago still fell thick and heavy along the East Road, making the journey back to Lorlenalin an arduous one. Less than an hour out from the White Opal, a surge of Seidr drew Kallan’s attention toward the Alfheim wood, and a tuft of fur from a fox tail caught Rune’s eye. After sending the caravan on ahead, Rune slipped into the forest.

  Rune closed in on the orange light reflected in the snow at the end of the trail. He slowed, bringing his bow eye-level. Staring down his arrow’s shaft, he moved until he found his target. Just as he prepared to release the arrow, shock stayed Rune’s hand. There, seated contentedly in the snow playing with something in her hands, sat a child encompassed by fire she wore like skin. What Rune had mistaken for a tail were tufts of red hair set aflame by the
fire that failed to consume the child.

  The child turned her round face toward him. Her fox-like eyes gazed sweetly up at him. There was no doubt, seeing her there in the snow, her harmlessness, her gentle curiosity and innocence.

  Slowly, to not startle the child, Rune lowered his bow and extended an open palm. She paused for a moment to look at his hand, almost playfully, then jumped with the agility of a fox and fled. In two great bounds, she was gone without trail or trace.

  “Rune,” Kallan called from the East Road, forcing Rune to abandon his pursuit of the fox-girl.

  “I’m here,” he called and made his way back to the road.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as he emerged from the forest. “I sent you on with the caravan.”

  “Exactly,” Kallan said, hoisting herself into the saddle. “You sent me on. I wanted to stay behind.” Kallan pulled her overcoat tighter against the cold.

  “I don’t see Daggon agreeing to that easily,” Rune said.

  “He didn’t. I used a spell and slipped away.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Rune asked.

  Kallan shrugged. “We’re less than an hour from Lorlenalin. I know these trees.”

  Rune pulled himself onto his horse alongside Zabbai.

  “What was it?” Kallan asked.

  Rune shook his head, unsure how to explain he was outwitted by a fox-child dressed in fire.

  “Never seen anything like it,” he said instead and took up the reins. “It ran off before I could get a close enough look, but from what I could see, it looked like a fox.”

  “There was Seidr,” Kallan said, giving Zabbai a gentle nudge.

  Rune gave no reply as he matched Kallan’s pace and continued along the East Road toward the city.

  Within moments, Kallan had resumed stretching her neck, eager to receive the city. Any moment, Lorlenalin’s peaks would appear on the horizon. Any moment, through the white winter, she would be home. But the snowfall was heavy and the cloud coverage thick.

  Too eager to play with Seidr threads or chat idly with Rune, she nibbled her bottom lip and thought endlessly of that evening when she would see the children again.