Her breath came hard and fast. She screamed with all her strength, though no tone left her throat.
Mamma! I need you to teach me now!
After a moment, there, amid the sing-song and love-making moans of her brother and the First, against the soft croon of the Mother’s song and the slithering wrongness that plagued the land, came the subtle tone of her mother’s voice.
I am here for you, child. Always. Whenever you call, I will come.
Chapter 29
I have to make it stop, begged Astrid.
Make what stop?
The walk. It’s wrong. It’s evil. It’s a dark thing just like me.
Nei, child. I told you, the shadowwalk is just a view into another place. That’s all.
But…
Astrid couldn’t admit to what she’d just done. She fought against the vision of her brother and Ravenna, pushing the sound and images away, though they remained—a tangling, undulating mound of flesh riddled with the sound of Ravenna’s passionate melody.
What is it? came her mother’s voice, ripe with concern.
It’s Hallad. I can’t…
What?
Separate myself from him.
She swallowed. She said it. Was she supposed to separate from him? Surely the point of the bond was to bring them together, but this? She shook her head.
When her mother’s voice didn’t respond, she gulped, and thought, I crossed a line. I disappointed her once and for all.
Another moment pulsed on by and finally, her mother’s tone soothed her once again. I see your dilemma.
You do?
Of course, child. A man has…needs. And those needs require privacy.
Ja, agreed Astrid, relieved her mother understood without pressing her.
But it’s not the walk you need to stop; it's your connection to Hallad.
But our bond—
Will still be there—that can never be severed. But I can teach you to draw a ward between you so you can free yourself of his emotions, and concentrate on what you’re meant to do: sing.
Astrid shook her head. Her gut wrenched at the thought, but the visions of her brother still played in her mind.
You remember what I told you about the walk?
That I shouldn’t be afraid to use it?
I will give you the word, and you must go into the walk, draw the rune and sing the word. Then you will gift your brother with the discretion he requires.
What will he feel?
Solace. He’ll reach for you and know you are well.
What if I’m not well, she thought, but didn’t voice her concern.
Has your bond helped you to sing or distracted you from it?
There was truth in what her mother asked. The bond has complicated everything. And Astrid knew she could not continue as it was.
Before I give you the word, there’s another lie I must correct. The Mother and the song—they are not the same.
Astrid furrowed her brows. I don’t understand.
Just like the Scandian myths and legends, the Alven myths and legends are twisted from the truth. They are concocted to validate their way of being.
How can that be?
Urd is like the grandfather and grandmother of us all—creating the Mother. Then, she sang and created us, her children, which is why when we sing, she responds.
But what of the Guardian Tree? How does he fit into the whole?
Leave him out of this for now! The tremor in her mother’s tone seemed unusual, angry even but within a breath, her tone smoothed and she continued, Urd and the Mother are similar in that they use the one source. They are connected through Urd’s creation of the Mother. Song vibrates through the Mother—giving voice to the energy, but they are not entirely the same. So take a listen, what do you hear?
Astrid quieted her mind and listened. There, in the depths, the Mother crooned.
I hear the Mother, said Astrid.
And what do you hear from her?
She pricked her ears. The sickness she’d sensed slithered just underneath the land’s surface.
I hear wrongness.
Wrong how?
Like a blackness in her depths. Like she hurts. Like she’s separated from something essential.
Now listen beyond that. What do you hear?
She stretched her neck, straining to hear. Finally Astrid heard pure song. Beyond the land. Beyond the air. Beyond everything as if it were nothing and everything at once.
The song.
And where does that come from?
Everywhere.
And is it wrong?
Astrid continued listening. The slithering that echoed in the land was different from the song that sourced from everywhere. There was a blackness in the heart of the land—a dying, a separation, a sickness. But in the song, its sheer power rang through.
Nei, confirmed Astrid.
The Mother is a creation of the Well of Urd. She uses the well, this source magic, and she sings to her children to create, but she is not the same as the well. And this is the lie you must understand the truth of: Urd does not favor light or dark. Urd simply responds. This, you must know, if you are to sing.
Astrid shook her head. I don’t understand.
You will soon enough. I promise you that. Now, here is the rune you must sing in the walk to give your brother the privacy he needs.
***
After her mother’s voice left her, Astrid closed her eyes and imagined the gray-shifting landscape of the shadowwalk. Within a heartbeat, her feet sank into the slithering mist. Immediately she sang the word, Algiz. The rune drew itself in the air, creating a bubble of light around her.
She heaved in another breath. Do I actually want to do this?
Astrid thought of all the truths her mother had just told her. She grappled with them, unable to comprehend what they all meant. If Scandian lore was wrong, it stood that Alven myths could be as well. She knew there was some type of truth lingering through the words of her mother. Didn’t Ravenna use the song to all but strangulate her own citizens? If what her mother said was true—Urd didn’t judge right and wrong but simply responded—that’s how Ravenna could use the song to destroy, rather than heal? But then what of the Mother? There were still so many questions she wanted answers to.
Astrid thought of her promise to Hallad. She’d revoked that oath the moment she walked into the in-between world.
But I haven’t kept my promise to him, regardless.
Somehow it felt worse to walk willingly against her brother’s warning than to slide into it unaware.
But she couldn’t continue invading his privacy. She couldn’t even concentrate with the onslaught of his whereabouts and emotions. She was tired of knowing what the First said about her when she wasn’t around. She was sick of hearing how many times she failed her brother’s expectations as well. And the invasion of their intimacy? Unacceptable.
Astrid lifted her finger in the air.
Brodir, she sang.
The word spilled through the air around her. Light glistened at the edge of her fingertip. She drew a squiggly line, then another.
Brjota, she added to the song.
The tune rang out with a sharp note. Astrid drew another rune as her mother had instructed; it joined the first that still hung in the air in a shower of white light. Upon completion of the two runes, she stood watching the quavering light dance in mid-air. Then the light zigged violently, turned and shot straight through her heart.
Chapter 30
Emma’s eyelids sank. She blinked, fighting back tiredness. Night wore on; the embers wavered in the fire pit, threatening to go out and take the last bit of warmth with them. Two guards, placed by the leader of the Conspirators, Mundi, paced circles around Emma, Arvak, Svol and Bera. The older woman had lost her freedom in the camp, given her relationship to Emma—not to mention having untied Emma and bringing Alfridr to help her, so Bera had curled up on the ground next to the girl with her legs pulled tight to her girth and sle
pt beneath a ragged blanket. Bera had procured a blanket for Emma too, but once the older woman drifted off to sleep, Emma draped the cover over Svol.
Whitefoot snored in Emma’s ear, still wrapped in the girl’s hair. Even in his sleep, the polecat’s stomach growled. An entire day without food was hard on the little critter’s faster digestive system.
Svol sleeps, but his fever has broken, said Arvak. His chest fills at a steady pace. Perhaps when he wakes, he’ll be strong enough that we can break for it. You should sleep too. I will wake you when Svol is ready.
Instead of giving into sleep, Emma groped in her top, fishing out the dyrr. She studied the medallion’s face. Different runes than before still morphed, accompanied by a soft glow. She sighed, realizing the medal was useless now that she had no way to decipher the runes. Upon her realization, the dyrr’s light faded; the runes stopped, returning to the static etching of the Guardian Tree. The medal lay lifeless in her hand. She hiked up her skirt and stowed the piece in her stocking, yanking her skirt back over her shins before a guard cast a leery eye upon her.
Emma rubbed her hands together, leaning into the circle of rocks that surrounded the dying fire. Morning’s breath shed a new layer of frost on the ground paces from where they snuggled close to the last bit of warming cinders.
Her eyelids grew heavier. She allowed them to sink shut for moments while her breath settled into a slow rhythm, but the wail of a baby jerked her awake.
She turned her head, examining the source: a mother and a babe, no more than a year old. The baby’s cry intensified. The mother tried rocking and shushing the poor child, but even from the distance, Emma could tell the little one’s belly protruded and what should have been fat cheeks sunk with starvation beneath the child’s eyes. The mother whispered to the child, squeaking out a tired lullaby and tried to stick a snow soaked rag into the babe’s mouth. The child sucked with all his might, but when he discovered the rag produced no milk, he spat the cloth out and hollered—his little fists wound tight and his skin blooming red.
These people aren’t criminals. They need help. Just like the wolves, thought Emma.
She started to stand. She didn’t know what help she could provide, but her instincts moved her limbs, and she obeyed, but before she could cross the distance to mother and baby, more guards approached.
One snatched her by the wrist, pulling her.
"Come with us," he said.
"Why should I?" protested Emma.
"Because Mundi had decided what he’s going to do with you."
Emma switched her gaze between the two guards. They looked as hungry as the babe, but far more dangerous. The one jerked her again, dragging her forward, as a broad sword clanged at his side.
Emma? asked Arvak. The gray wolf eased to his paws. His hackles bristled; his ears twitched.
Stay with Svol, she instructed. If something happens to me, I’m counting on you to get the both of you out of here.
Arvak hesitated, but Emma returned a firm stare, settling the gray wolf back to his position beside Svol.
The two brutes dragged Emma through the camp until they approached a tent. One flung open a wolf-hide flap while the other shoved her inside.
Emma stumbled but straightened as promptly as she could.
The leader of the Conspirators turned from his own fire pit which blazed with flames. The warmth inside flushed Emma’s cheeks. Her entire body prickled as she started to thaw.
Mundi stroked his knotted beard, studying Emma. In the fire’s light, she made out the faint tattoo of a raven on his cheek, hidden underneath the gnarl of facial hair. The man’s cool gaze sent a chill back down over her spine despite the warmth of his tent.
Whitefoot stretched his paws and poked his head from his hiding spot beneath Emma’s hair.
What’s going on?
"I decided what you will do for us, little lass." Mundi’s voice slid over her, sending another wave of goose pimples over her back and neck.
"Since you be one of them callers, and since you know the Lord’s wolves, you're going to call the rest of the pack to us when I tell you to. But when I say. Understand?"
Careful, Emma. He reeks of murder, warned Whitefoot.
"Why?" she asked.
"Be none of your business why. You're just going to do it, that’s all."
Emma straightened her spine defiantly, standing as tall as she could muster, but her head still fell two feet short of Mundi’s. He towered over her and yanked on his knotted beard.
He wants you to call the wolves, so he can finish them off, said Whitefoot. Kill them all.
That’s what I figured as well.
Getting better at reading people, are you?
The girl stood on her toes, and subdued the anger bubbling inside her, then said to Mundi, "I’m so sorry that your people are in such a bad way."
The leader narrowed bloodshot eyes on her. "I say you’re going to call them wolves for me."
"I want to help you."
"Then we agree." A smile slipped over Mundi’s face.
"I want to help you get sustenance to these people, roofs over their heads, and warm beds to ease their aches."
He laughed, but his grin soured. "How’s a little lass like you going to do us any good? You can’t sing for our supper."
"Nei, but if you let me go, I can convince my brother to help these people. I know if he saw them—"
"Your brother?"
"Ja," said Emma. "Hallad Avarson of—"
"Do you think me daft, lass?"
"He can help you."
Mundi’s face burned ten shades of red. He rolled his hands into fists. For a moment, Emma thought he’d strike her, but the man stood, glaring at her.
"The same brother who slaughtered Lord Lothar? That same brother?"
"He’s not your enemy." Emma gulped. "He didn’t know about all of you. He would have never put you in harm’s way. I’m sure if he saw—"
"The False Guardian, help us?" Mundi’s laugh resembled a roar.
Emma stepped backwards. She grabbed her skirts in her hands, working them into a fist. She wished for a knife or a chiseled bone—anything sharp—but the thought was ridiculous. Even if she possessed such an object, she wouldn’t know how to use it, and an entire army of men awaited them outside. She switched her gaze sideways, then back toward the bellowing man. Mundi’s face split open, but there was no mirth in his eyes—just anger.
What’s happening, Emma? Arvak asked. She sensed the wolf dart upright, his hairs standing on alert.
Before Emma could answer, a chorus of howls broke through the night. Even Emma’s back stiffened at the sound.
Mundi’s laughter stopped short. "I said you call them wolves when I say, not now! Not when we ain’t ready to fight them!"
He stormed past, knocking her off balance as he bolted by and threw open the tent’s flap. A blast of icy air sucked inside.
The wolves wailed again, resounding all around the Conspirator’s encampment.
Mundi whirled on Emma, pointing a dirty finger at her. "You called them on purpose! You called them to kill us!"
"Nei, I didn’t call them. I swear on the Mother’s breast."
"The Mother’s breast?" Mundi spat on the floor.
Men scampered from their bedrolls, or those lucky enough, their tents. Women grabbed children, hugging babes to their breasts and dragging toddlers by their arms to hide behind carts and rocks. Iron glinted in the dull light before dawn as Conspirators raised their blades, their knives, their saxes, and broad swords—Lothar might not have provided them with adequate clothing and shelter, but he had placed iron in every able-bodied man’s hands.
Arvak! yelled Emma. What’s going on?
It’s Hlif—the white wolf—and the remaining pack, said Arvak. She paces the perimeter. She’s come for revenge. She’s come for blood.
Chapter 31
An eerie howl sounded in the distance as Erik trudged through the snow at the base of Castle Grimnear. He’d pic
ked up Emma’s tracks, accompanied by the paw prints of a single wolf a while back, and followed them into a crevice beneath the base of the fortress. His ears pricked at the sound. He straightened and stared into the distance, but darkness pervaded his vision.
Erik’s gaze shot back to the ground: scruffs of the booted feet of a dozen men swarmed the area and from what he could decipher, they marched Emma and the wolf out of the crevice not too long ago.
The wolves yowled again.
There’s trouble.
Erik shook his head, peeling his eyes wide. Tiredness weighed heavily on him, but the sound of the wolves pumped energy into his limbs. He strode in the direction of both the tracks and the wolves’ howling. Clearing the crevice, Erik broke into a run.
As the young man peaked the ridge, a camp spread before him. Fires died in the lightlessness of the night, but Erik spied the vast array of tents spattered over the land. The skin on his neck pricked up, and the young man spun on his heel as he sensed a presence behind him.
Yellow eyes burned several paces from him. A deep, resonate growl sounded. The pale form of a large wolf silhouetted against the blackness of the night.
Erik reached for his broadsword—the metal icy in his palm. He glanced behind him, toward the firelight, spotting a whirlwind of movement in the camp.
In the distance, a man hauled another, smaller form along. The form buckled, then stood, defiantly fighting to keep their footing. Not by sight alone, but from a deep, gut feeling, Erik recognized the figure.
Emma. Oh, by the Gods, Emma!
He wrapped his fist around his broad sword. The wolf in front of him paced a step toward him, the rumble in the creature’s throat intensifying at its slow approach.
***
Mundi jerked Emma to the center of their encampment. He’d retrieved an ax before leaving his tent. He whirled the girl in front of him, and placed the sharp edge of metal to her neck, pressing into her skin.
The Conspirator pulled the girl’s backside close into his body, intensifying his grip. The stink of him filled Emma’s nostrils—a man who'd seen neither steam nor water in many moons if not seasons—and his cold sweat seeped through the thin material of her gown, coating her with the man’s wetness.
Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 16