Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  Kallan pulled her overcoat closed. She thought of how much the children would have changed and how long the children may have fared without Eilif. She tried to ignore the sudden rise in tears and changed her thoughts to that night’s banquet when she could dive, mouth first, into a pie.

  All the foods that Rune would have to try… I’ll have to send some back for Bergen—

  The scent on the wind changed. Kallan wrinkled her nose.

  We’ll have to set up trade between our cities. There is a lot to do to prepare for the new shipments that will come in from Gunir. I’ll have to work out the details regarding the imports and exports with Rune.

  She felt her heart flitter at the thought of trading out some of the colored glasses in Gunir with the finer weaponry.

  The winds blew strong, and this time, Kallan could not ignore the stench of smoke.

  “Hold,” Rune said, pulling back on his reins. Kallan followed suit and peered curiously over the trees into the farthest horizon. Smoke and cloud billowed then rolled into each other. The wind rustled like wisps and spoke.

  “Drui.”

  A distant scream carried over the trees, and Kallan whipped her reins, sending Zabbai into a full gallop.

  “Kallan!” Rune cried and sent his horse galloping behind her.

  Kallan steered Zabbai up the mountain, through the last of the forest and, with a sharp whinny from Zabbai, Kallan pulled back unexpectedly on the reins. Where Livsvann Falls roared, ugly masses of red flames indulged themselves on Lorlenalin, turning the White Opal red. Kallan heard nothing. Not the shrill edge of her own voice or her feet striking the frozen ground as she ran through the snows toward the fire that had encompassed the city. She had seen fire like this once before, ages ago within the mountains of Svartalfaheim, when she was but a child.

  The flames consumed the last of the screams. Behind her, Rune sent his horse up the road.

  “Kallan!” he cried, but Kallan didn’t hear. All she saw was Lorlenalin burning.

  “Drui,” the wind whispered.

  But Kallan was screaming.

  “Kallan!” Rune shouted and kicked the horse harder until he was riding beside Kallan. Leaning down, he slipped his arm around her and plucked her up from the road. She fought him, battled, and punched, desperate to fight her way into the city. Rune pulled back on the reins, and placed all his strength into holding Kallan from running into the fire.

  “Daggon!” Kallan screamed.

  A wall support cracked then bowed and broke.

  “Daggon!”

  The stones of Lorlenalin crumbled.

  “Daggon!” she screamed, but the fire and the thunder of Livsvann’s Falls took her voice and she went unheard as the wind seemed to call to her.

  Drui.

  Kallan clawed at Rune’s arms, desperate to fight her way to the warrens, to the children, and to Daggon as she unleashed her final word, helpless to stop it.

  “Daggon!”

  995 years after Baldr…

  Silence encompassed the world at the roots of Yggdrasil. In the distance, a single drop of moisture plunked into a shallow pool, sending off a series of high-pitched echoes amplified by the cave walls. Within its depths, through the darkest caverns, Nidhoggr slept.

  Loptr raised his eyes to the snake secured above his head. The clear, thick venom swelled and slid to the tip of the fang where it began to pool. The next drop would soon fall. Loptr’s rage seethed and he tightened his jaw, ready for the searing pain that would come.

  The thunder of hooves pounded the ground and Svadilfari released a snort.

  In a series of fluid movements, Sigyn slid from the saddle, pulled the bundle from the side satchel, and turned to Loptr fastened beneath the snake. Throwing back the cloth, she revealed the silver sheen of Laevateinn’s elding steel blade secured by a tang buried in a hilt of black onyx and ordained with black pearls.

  Just as Loptr caught sight of the sword, Sigyn lunged, blade drawn, and screamed.

  “No!” Loptr roared, shaking the ground with his will to stop her.

  And then there was silence.

  Seidr light rolled down the silver blade from a hand that clamped Laevateinn’s blade. Sigyn’s breath beat the air.

  There, standing over Loptr in flowing gowns of white, stood Danann peering down at Sigyn, Loptr, and Laevateinn.

  Danann’s hair, as gold as the Seidr in her eyes, hung past her waist, and her lips curved into a smile.

  A drop of venom slipped from the snake’s fang and Loptr’s flesh sizzled. The giant howled. Rocks sliced his spine as he arched his back against the stones. Losing her grip on the sword, Sigyn relinquished the weapon as her legs gave out and she fell, sobbing, in a heap on the cave floor. The searing pain of the venom on Loptr’s brow subsided and his howling faded until the caverns were quiet again.

  “Sigyn.” Danann’s voice flowed over the jotunn.

  With a sigh, Sigyn lifted her eyes to the Aes Sidhe and Danann tightened her grip on Laevateinn.

  “I need your help again, Loptr,” Danann said, looking upon Loptr bound beneath the snake.

  Sweat stained his brow and Loptr smiled as the next droplet formed.

  ###

  Thank you for your support. May the kindest of words always find you.

  – Angela B. Chrysler

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  Angela B. Chrysler is a writer, logician, philosopher, and die-hard nerd who studies theology, historical linguistics, music composition, and medieval European history in New York with a dry sense of humor and an unusual sense of sarcasm. She lives in a garden with her family and cats.

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  A complete list with audio is available at www.angelabchrysler.com

  Alfr (Alf) Elf

  Alfar (Al-far) Elves

  Alfheim (Alf-hame) Elf Home

  Bergen Tryggveson (Bear-gen Treeg-vay-son) Ljosalfar and berserker

  Caoilinn (Kway-linn) Ljosalfar

  Daggon (Day-gon) Dokkalfar

  Dokkalfr (Do-kalf) Dark elf

  Dokkalfar (Do-kal-far) Dark Elves

  Dubh Linn (Doov Linn) Dublin, Ireland

  Dvergr (D-vare-g) Singular

  Dvergar (D-vare-gar) Plural See “Regarding the Dvergar” at www.angelabchrysler.com

  Eilif (A-leef) Dokkalfar

  Eire’s Land (Air’s Land) Ireland

  Elding (El-ding) A mysterious metal infused with the Seidr only used by the Dokkalfar and the Dvergar.

  Elding (El-ding) The age in which the Alfar reach full maturity and stop aging.

  Finn (Fin) The Old Norse word for the Sami

  Finntent (fin-tent) The Old Norse words for a portable teepee-styled tent still used by the Sami

  Fjandinn (Fee-yan-din) The old Norse equivalent to the Christian word “Devil” used by Norsemen prior to the introduction of the Christian culture.

  Freyja (Fray-ya) Norse goddess

  Gamme (Ga-may) The Old Norse word for an earthen home still used by the Sami

  Ginnungagap (Gi-noon-ga-gap) The Great Gap

  Gudrun (goo-droon) Dokkalfar

  Gunir (Goo-neer) The Ljosalfar city in Alfheim

  Hel (Hel) Loptr’s daughter, Hel, guardian and overseer of Helheim

  Helheim (Hel-hame) The Norse version of the Underworld where Loptr’s daughter, Hel, resides.

  Idunn (I-thoon or I-doon) Norse goddess

  Jotun (Yo-toon) Giants

  Jotunheim (Yo-toon-hame) The home of the giants

  Kallan Eyolfdottir (Ka-lon A-olf-do-teer) Dokkalfar

&n
bsp; Loptr (Lopt) The Old Norse name for Loki

  Lorlenalin (Lor-len-a-lin) The Dokkalfar city in Alfheim

  Ljosalfr (Lee-yos-alf) Light Elf

  Ljosalfar (Lee-yos-al-far) Light Elves

  Midgard (Mid-gard) Literal translattion “Middle-Earth.” Midgard is the human realm.

  Nidingr (Ni-thing) Literal translation: “Nothing.” The status of “outlaw” given to a dishonorable coward who has been stripped of his station, property, and citizenship in Norse culture.

  Odinn (O-thin or O-din) Norse god

  Olaf Tryggvason (O-lof Treeg-va-son) Historically, the first king of Norway.

  Note: Olaf Tryggvason has no relation to Bergen or Rune whose last name is Tryggveson. The name of Olaf’s father was “Trygg” while the father of Rune and Bergen is “Tryggve.”

  Seidr (Say-th or Seed) The life source bound to the elements and all living things and referred to as “magic” in the Deserts.

  Seidkona (Say-th-kona or Seed-ko-na) Old Norse for “Witch”

  Surtr (sert) Lord of the Fire Giants

  Sigyn (See-gin) Loptr’s wife

  Svartálfr (Svart-alf) Black Elf

  Svartálfar (Svart-alf-ar) Black Elves

  Svartálfaheim (Svart-alf-a-hame) Home of the Black Elves

  Thing (Thing) The Norwegian Parliament still in existence today in Norway.

  Tryggve (Treeg-vay) Ljosalfar

  Wicce (Witch) Anglo-Saxon word for “Witch”

  Winter and Ash (Tales of the Drui Book #3)

  CHAPTER 1

  Silence. The snow fell lightly onto the ash and stone. The birds that had long since nested here came no more. Silence of the worst kind settled over Lorlenalin’s streets.

  Kallan walked among the ash and snow. Her crimson gown upon the stone, the only sound. Without a word, she stepped through the ruins of Lorlenalin. She inhaled, expanding her chest against the empty chasm that filled with the silence left behind. Silence and stone. Silence. It and Kallan were all that remained of Lorlenalin.

  Each footfall was like an echo that drummed life back into her. Each breath was as a renting reminder that she lived while they did not. It violently reawakened her to her solitude and she repeated Bergen’s words in her head.

  Dead on the cold dank shoals

  Dead on the barren floor

  Millions could weep no more

  Silence the thousands.

  Kallan stopped beside the dilapidated stone, crumbled and broken, unrecognizable, save for the location. Once the grand fountain in Lorlenalin’s center, now a ruin.

  It would be Jol soon. Voices would have been raised in song this day. Voices no more will sing. A shiver ran up Kallan’s spine. A month ago, she would have broken to her knees and screamed. A week ago she would have dropped her shoulders and sobbed. This day, she could only stand and let the agony of grief eat through her. There were no tears left for this.

  There now the children be

  Those who’ve forgotten me

  Too dead to smile for me

  Silence the hundreds.

  And so it was done. Kallan stepped and stopped. Her eye caught a gleam of something. Not stone or beam. Not skeleton or skull. Not this time. Kallan bent down and pulled the smooth white bracelet from the ash and snow. She knew the etchings, inscriptions, and eternal knots long before her skin went white. She clamped the elding bracelet in her hand and remembered.

  Rind.

  A pinch of pain found her through the hollow remains. Too clearly, she could hear Rind’s little voice once more.

  “Will you promise?”

  She had slipped the bracelet over the tiny hand and watched as Rind spun the bracelet over once then snuggled into her and went to sleep.

  “I promise,” Kallan whispered and closed her voice on a sob. If there had been tears left, one would have fallen. But her heart was empty and her eyes were dry.

  Once more Kallan walked through the ruins of Lorlenalin, clutching the bracelet. For hours at a time she wandered with no place to go and no one to find. She walked as if looking for someone she knew wasn’t there. Regardless, she walked and looked.

  She wandered for hours taking in each broken step and stone. She wandered for days. The snow only fell. She wandered for weeks… a moon passed and then another. She wandered until she could no longer count the moons. Walking and circling the steps of Lorlenalin. Maybe there was someone, somewhere. Maybe she wasn’t alone. She wandered until the silence carved out the last of her heart in the depths of her solitude.

  * * *

  At the base of a mountain, at the shores of the sea, Livsvann’s water flowed. The snows fell here, coating the gray sands with white. Rune stared into the Kattegat and waited. For moons he waited, ready for when Kallan, at last would pull herself away.

  “Rune?”

  Rune stared a moment longer into the sea before turning to give a weak smile to Torunn. Her cloak pulled tight on her shoulders. Though he couldn’t see it he knew, she had fastened her gray hair tightly to her head beneath her hood.

  “Rune, it’s Jol.”

  “So it is.”

  “Come home.”

  Rune smiled, cold and distant.

  “I’m waiting here, Torunn.”

  Torunn sighed quietly and came to stand beside Rune. Even the docks were left in ruins.

  “Has there been anything?”

  “Nothing. No clue, no sign. No life.”

  “Will you go to her?”

  “That isn’t what she needs now, Torunn. She has lost everyone. Her orphans, herfather, her friend, Gudrun, Daggon . . . Astrid . . .”

  Rune shook his head.

  “She has nothing left. The least I can do is stand here and wait and be here when she decides to find me.”

  “But it’s been months. It’s Jol. Get Kallan and come home. Bergen is gone. All of Gunir has felt the magnitude of this. The city is colder than the snows.”

  “Torunn, I love you. But I will not move a foot away from these shores until Kallan is ready to leave.”

  Torunn’s shoulders fell. She wouldn’t fight a known defeat.

  “It is the least I can do for her.”

  Torunn nodded, but when she turned to go, Rune called her back.

  “Torunn.”

  She gazed over her shoulder.

  “Did Cook make the Jol pudding this year?”

  “As always. And the halls are strung with balls of holly and pine.”

  Rune nodded. He could smell the cinnamon and pies . . . such comforting warmth during such a dismal time.

  “Could you—”

  “I can bring you a basket.”

  Rune smiled. Though still cold, a touch of warmth broke through.

  “Thanks Torunn.”

  Torunn gathered her skirts and trudged back up the hill, following the waters of Livsvann and leaving Rune to Kallan and the sea.

  * * *

  Rune crunched the snow beneath his boot. But she didn’t turn. Frail and thin, Kallan stood staring at the gray sky. Her gown fell like sheets of blood on white. The silence was deafening, but Rune stood and waited.

  “I can’t hear the sea,” Kallan muttered. Her throat was dry and cracked from disuse.” I never noticed before now. I never cared. I wish I could. It would help fill the silence.”

  Rune glanced at a pile of rubble buried now beneath the elements. Most of the ash was gone save for the path Kallan had worn into the snow with her pacing.

  “I’m so cold,” Kallan whispered. “And I can still hear them. Their voices, so clear. Their faces…I remember so clearly…” Kallan turned. Her face usually so pale, was nearly as white as the ice that clung to the ruins.” It’s as if they are here…in the keep, in their beds... They’re just sleeping and I can see them if only I will it…If only I tried. And so, I keep walking, as if I’ll turn a corner and see them. And I can reach out and touch their faces. And all will be well again. If only I bother to try…I can take their hands again…if only I bothered to look. All I have
to do is call out, and they will answer. And so I walk…but there is only ever snow.”

  As she spoke, her breath hastened and dry tears swelled, but never fell, and a madness had taken her, leaving behind a wild look in her golden eyes.

  “I have to remind myself that they’re gone,” Kallan said. “Even though Lorlenalin’s streets lay in ruins, I have to remind myself that they’re dead. And I hate it! And so much of this tastes like a lie… But if I don’t… I’ll forget and I will never stop looking.”

  Rune dared take a step closer, uncertain if Kallan would collapse as she shook.

  “There is nothing I can think that doesn’t remind me, nothing I can do that allows me peace. Living is a constant reminder. But I live, and they are dead…all dead. And what’s worse, I don’t even know why. How I want to die…to join them. How I want…to join them, if only to end this writhing in my chest…”The wave she held back broke forth.” My heart has been cut from me! It’s buried here among the ash! If only I look, I could find it! I can feel it!I know it’s there! And I want it! If only I look…I will find it…I will find it! So I look and I wander to find my heart again.”

  Grief pulled her shoulders down and arched her back as Kallan buckled beneath the sorrow. But, she did not falter. She did not fall. Kallan stood and kept her feet on the ground. Rune drew near and took her and held her as she sobbed for all of Lorlenalin and the children and the Dokkalfar who lay dead there.

  * * *

  The snows fell silently on the streets of Gunir. A stale fear hung in the air, the kind that quelled even gossip. The horse masters barked their orders with more venom. Mothers scolded their children with more bite. But no one spoke of the unease that clouded them all. Inside Gunir’s keep, Geirolf tightened his back as he hunched himself lower over his bowl of stew. The vast fire behind him barely fought back that chill. Instead, he slurped his soup, minding his own, as infected by the cold as anyone there.