Men sprinted, gathering around the two like an encircling wall. All bore weapons. All held their iron in front of them.
Run, Whitefoot! Get to Arvak. He’ll protect you.
Nei! Whitefoot clung to Emma’s neck, digging through her gown with his claws. My teeth are sharp, and I can—
Nei, little friend! Run!
I will not. The polecat shimmied around and clung to the dip of her neckline. His button eyes shone up at her.
"Call them killers off!" commanded Mundi. He hissed into Emma’s ear, covering the skin of her neck with his hot, fetid breath.
The men around her wavered side to side, searching for their assailants.
The air quieted—not a howl, not a single whine or whimper sounded, but the stillness wired the men. Some trembled while others jerked their weapons in front of them, jabbing back and forth at nothing.
Suddenly, from all directions, the soft patter of paws over frozen ground broke the silence.
Wolves descended from the surrounding mounds, their forms solidifying as they peeled through the campsite. Women and children screamed as men plunged forward, stabbing and swinging their weapons.
"I said call them off, or I slice you right here and now!" Mundi’s high-pitched scream echoed in Emma’s ear.
She squeezed her eyelids shut against the assault, pressing back the awareness of Mundi’s blade sinking into her flesh. Whitefoot’s heartbeat raced against her own chest.
Can you call them? he asked.
I’m trying, but—
A shower of visions thundered in Emma’s head: Conspirators murdering wolves, ripping them open, flaying their skins, roasting their flesh and eating them, tanning their hides and building tents and clothing with fallen brothers and sisters. The violent images bludgeoned the girl as Hlif sent them forth at Emma’s attempt to connect.
I understand. Emma tried to sooth the white wolf, but a gnash of teeth, and wild yellow eyes played inside her head.
Arvak swiveled but stayed positioned over Svol’s still body.
Can you stop them? Emma asked Arvak.
Only Svol can influence Hlif, and he still won’t wake.
Men rushed the fire pits, grabbing dead wood, plunging them into the hot coals. They blew to light them on fire, and blazed the torches through the air along with their weapons.
"Listen to me you dark shadows!" Mundi screamed.
The press of his ax against Emma’s throat choked her. She held back a gag, trying to hold her breath and reconnect with the white wolf.
"You come any closer and your Mistress dies!"
Why do we care if he murders you, human? came a gravelly voice in Emma’s head.
Men crouched, protecting their women and children around the perimeter of the camp with outstretched torches lighting up the faces of wolves—canines bared, saliva dripping from their jaws. The wolves paced back and forth at the edge of the camp, growling, yipping, and howling.
Mundi tightened his arm around Emma’s waist, squeezing out the breath she held inside. Whitefoot edged toward the man’s hand, but Emma warned him off with a slight shake of her head.
If you draw first blood, it will be a massacre on both sides, warned Emma.
If I do not strike first, they will murder us all, replied Hlif.
I will not let them, though, even as Emma promised, she had nothing but her will alone to keep that oath. They have not hurt Svol and Arvak. Emma jerked her head toward the two wolves. She wasn’t sure where Hlif was but sensed her in the general vicinity ahead of her.
Svol lives? The white wolf’s tone softened from growl to whimper.
He does, but if you attack, they will certainly kill him.
Arvak’s voice joined their conversation, He lives because of Emma.
Hlif flew from the darkness, plunging over a row of Conspirators, landing on the ground paces from Emma and Mundi. The glow of the torches lit her white fur, transforming the color to an angry orange. A scar above her yellow eye deepened in the shadows.
Men rushed the wolf, but Emma screamed, "Nei! Stop!"
Mundi signaled the men to obey her order, and they froze in place watching the white wolf pace toward them with fear widening the men’s eyes.
Hlif crept toward Emma, crouching. Her muzzle wrinkled back, baring her teeth and gums.
Why should I trust you, human?
Svol’s head bobbed from the ground, wobbling as he raised himself onto his feet. He stared at Hlif. We trust her because I say so.
Though the black wolf’s tone quavered, he pulled himself to his full height.
Another growl sounded in Hlif’s throat, but the noise broke to a whimper and within a heartbeat, the ragtag wolf-pack sprang over the heads of the Conspirators before they could react and surrounded Emma and Mundi.
They formed two circles—one facing Emma and one facing the remaining Conspirators—creating a wall between the two forces.
Mundi spun around with Emma in his grip. She swung like a rag doll in his arm, but she whispered to him, "Put the ax down and release me. They will not harm you. I give you my word."
***
Within a blink, the white wolf sped past Erik, leaping through the air and into the camp with a frightening speed. Though the horizon barely washed with the dim light of dawn, Erik clearly spied Emma, held captive by a bearded man in tattered clothes. The man pressed an ax into Emma’s neck and within a few more breaths, the wolves had leapt over the ring of Conspirators, forming two rings of their own to hold off the attack.
Erik shut his eyes, focusing.
I should not have refused you before, but by the Gods, Emma, I am not about to let you down now.
As he kept his mind on Emma, his body wavered, then dissolved.
Even before his limbs completely materialized, he jabbed his elbow into Emma’s captor’s ribs, then wrangled the ax from the man’s hand. The man, teetered backwards at Erik’s assault, eyes wide.
"Where did you come from?"
The man stared at his ax, firmly held in Erik’s fist.
The Conspirators reacted with a mix of awe and fright. Murmurs sounded around them, "A shadowwalker," "A powerful walker," and "He must be our ally to be touched by the Master’s power?" but Erik paid them no mind, focusing on Emma’s captor.
The man backed away, but turned, jumping, realizing wolves stood at his heels.
With the bearded man successfully dislodged, Erik wrapped his arm around Emma’s waist, whispering, "I have you now. Hang on. We’re going back to Glitner—"
But Emma swung out of his grip, spinning on him, "Nei!" she yelled.
Erik staggered backwards.
She edged up close, composing herself by lowering her voice, "I cannot leave now. They will kill each other if I do."
"But Em—"
"Can you take me and all the wolves?"
Erik swung his head around, counting up the creatures. Thirty-three wolves.
"I can’t Emma. There’s too many. But I can get us both to safety."
Her gray eyes stormed up at him like crashing waves against the shore.
"Nei, Erik Sigtriggson, you listen to me. I am not leaving, and that’s final." She heaved her hands onto her hips like a goodwife scolding her husband for missing dinner.
Erik shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "Emma, I can’t let—"
"I can’t let them be harmed," interrupted Emma.
"The wolves can manage on their own, Emma. They’re wild creatures after all."
"Not just the wolves, Erik," she leveled her gaze on him. "The Conspirators, too. They both need our help."
Chapter 32
Erik watched as Emma strode over to stand next to her captor. Her proximity to the man caused Erik’s hands to ball into fists, but Emma straightened her spine and stood so erect, Erik could have sworn she seemed ten feet tall.
The man made no attempt to recapture her. His chaffed face switched back and forth between Erik, the wolf pack, Emma, and the surrounding men, women, and
children.
Everyone tensed. The wolves’ hair stood on end; their muscles bunched for action. The surrounding Conspirators gripped their weapons and steadied their stance. And sweet, mild, kind Emma faced them off with a confidence Erik had never seen. It was as if she transformed before him into someone more powerful than he could have ever imagined.
She's not who you thought she was, is she? The voice slithered through the back of Erik’s head. For a moment, he wondered if the thought was his own, but he knew better.
I wondered when you would show up, again, replied Erik. I didn't think the Master of Doom and Gloom was so easily overcome.
The voice laughed—a slick, slithering sound. Though Loki's return came as no surprise, Erik had hoped the Shadow had given up on him, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver over the back of Erik's neck.
I see you haven't lost your sarcasm, continued Loki after his amusement subsided, but you and I are more alike than you think.
Ja, I've heard your spiel before. I don't care to hear it again.
My mother abandoned me too.
For a moment, Erik's breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to inhale and exhale. He didn't want the man to see that his statement caught him off guard. Why would he mention his mother? What could the man possibly know about Erik's past?
She left me to rot. The woman who was supposed to love me most cast me away in favor of another. Isn't that what your mother did to you? The whore left you at the docks to suffer the consequences of her loose legs?
Don't speak of my mother.
It doesn't matter. All women are the same. You cannot trust any of them. They possess black hearts. They use you, but when they don't need you anymore, they cast you aside.
Erik kept his gaze on Emma. She addressed the crowd with a strength in her tone that reminded Erik of Hallad; except in Emma's case, the polecat skittered to his regular perch on her shoulder. The wind caught her hair blowing her sun-colored locks back. With her silvery dress, the critter at her command, and rustling hair, she looked no less than a goddess.
"I know you are all hungry—both wolves and alves." Emma addressed the crowd. "I know you are cold and have suffered. But I will not allow your suffering anymore."
The crowd stood still, listening, though their tensed stance didn't waver.
"How can you help?" asked a woman cradling a babe.
"You're just a girl," said another.
"You're the reason we're at war with the wolves!" yelled a man.
"If the False Guardian hadn't killed Lord Lothar, we would be fed and cared for, and the wolves would have been under his control instead of attacking and killing us. Without Lothar, they're a mad pack. It's us or them!"
"I won't starve, either!" added another. "We'll have wolf-meat in our bellies, and you can't stop that."
Agreement broke through the crowd. They raised their arms in the air to cheer. The wolves growled back. Emma closed her eyes for a moment as if speaking to herself. Erik realized she must be communicating with the wolves. Both a black and silver wolf padded to either side of Emma, and reluctantly a white wolf slunk up beside the black.
"Wait!" Emma said.
The crowd continued as if they were about to rally for war, when Emma rose her voice and yelled, "I said wait!"
Her scream echoed off the surrounding hills, and everyone stopped once more.
Look at all that rage she has, said Loki. And you know how rage can be...eating at you as you struggle to contain it. How long before she bursts?
"If you give into fighting here and now," Emma's tone peaked, "You will likely kill each other. And then what? What have you accomplished? Murder? Do you want to murder one another until not a soul is left?"
Erik noticed Emma's hands balled into fists—just like his. He wanted to reach out and calm her, but the last time he tried, she'd pulled away from him.
That's right. Loki's voice rang in the back of his head. She used to need you to protect her. To look after her. But now? She doesn't even want your help.
"I promise you. I give you my vow here and now. If you desist in this violence against one another, I will find a way to help you. I will find food for you. And I will protect you. All of you. Alves and wolves."
"Why should we believe you?" said Emma's captor.
But a rotund woman stepped from the crowd, waddling her way through the ring of wolves, to stand next to Emma. "I believe her," said the woman. "You've nothing to lose by following her and everything to lose if you don't."
"Thank you, Bera," said Emma.
She took the woman's hand in her own, smiling. She directed her gaze over each and every one surrounding her as she spoke. "You can die today, or you can give me a chance to make tomorrow better."
More murmurs broke through the crowd. The wolves’ tails sunk down, their hairs smoothed over their backs. They strutted to Emma and sat beside her—all thirty-three of them. The Conspirators continued mumbling, but they dropped their weapons to their side. Emma's captor strutted up to the girl and clapped her shoulder.
"We've nothing to lose," he said. "But you'd best prove yourself rightful."
Emma's shoulders sunk with a sigh. Erik realized she'd been holding her breath.
She doesn't need you anymore. She snuck out here without you. She lied to you about it. Is that the Emma you know?
Shut up!
And she's going to cast you off just like your mother did.
I said shut it!
You know the truth now. I don't need to say any more. But you and I? We're comrades. We've always been. The moment you were conceived, your soul was mine, whether you realize it or not.
Then Loki's voice silenced as Erik stood watching Conspirators and wolves surround the girl he scarcely knew.
Chapter 33
Astrid awoke in her chamber. Her eyelids stuck closed, strangely puffed, and she rubbed the back of her hands over her lids to open them. The contents of her room blurred as she squinted. The constant light from the rune stones didn't signal what time it was, but her body seemed heavy, as if she'd slept for days.
Lifting her head upright, she spotted the covers pulled tight to her chest. She didn't remember climbing into bed. She hadn't remembered pulling the bed linens over her body. She wriggled her toes beneath the blanket and realized she wasn't wearing her boots.
I always sleep with my boots on. Always.
A glance to the floor revealed her boots lined up against the bed frame, along with her trousers, lamellar, and breastplate.
Also, for as long as she could remember, she always rose before dawn; however, her internal clock warned her it was nearing midday.
The young woman wrestled her arms from the covers and threw back the blankets. She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs residing inside. Then the events of last night crashed down on her: the shadowwalk, the runes, the separation of herself and her brother.
Astrid reached up and rubbed a sore spot over her heart. In a panic, she reached out to that place in her mind where she could always feel her brother but found nothing. The hollowness startled her, and she bound from the bed, her limbs still weary. She shimmied into her trousers, threw on her lamellar and strapped her breastplate in place, then she realized, in that space—the one that had once belonged to Hallad—comfort spread like a balm, calming her, and the panic of missing him subsided.
I wonder what Hallad feels?
Even as Astrid thought the phrase, she realized how strange it was to wonder. She always knew whether he was upset or angry or tense or lonely. She had always sensed the bombardment of his emotions since the night they had met in the Great Woods near his village—so much so she hardly heard herself sometimes. Or had it been longer? She had convinced herself that their bonding had created the emotional connection, but now she realized it had always been there, even before their bond, even before that night. It had always lingered inside her way back in time when she used to view him through the shadowwalk against her mother's orders—she
"felt" him then too.
But now? His absence was so unfamiliar; her entire body seemed unbalanced. Her limbs were weighty, her mind was foggy, and her movements were labored.
Astrid inhaled long and steady like Balin had taught her, trying to settle herself.
Breathe. Breathe. This is for the best.
Her eyes drifted downward, blocking the glow of the rune stones. She wavered, unsteady, seeking her own balance.
Breathe...
Then nothingness. Not a thought. Not an emotion. She didn't sense her brother or his whereabouts. She didn't experience his emotions as if they were her own. For the first time since their bond and before, Astrid sensed only herself.
A rap came at the entrance to her chamber.
Astrid pivoted, still trying to keep her balance. After a short hum and the parting of flader vines, a Norn entered. The woman's appearance was like any of the others: white robed, hair pulled tight in a knot at the center of her head, graceful but old, yet for some reason, Astrid viewed her differently than she had before as if seeing her for the first time.
"Your lesson in song will commence now, as the midday meal has ended."
So it is late in the day.
Astrid nodded to the Norn.
The old woman swept her hand back, gesturing Astrid to proceed. Grabbing her boots, Astrid hefted one over her foot. She tottered trying to stay upright but managed to get both feet covered and sturdily on the ground.
Why do I feel so off?
She scrunched her eyes, but that thought and her own body was her sole awareness. Though the lack of balance was an issue, the lightness of not dealing with another’s emotions and sensations inspired hope.
Maybe it will take some getting used to, but without the distraction of my brother's thoughts and emotions, maybe, just maybe, I'll sing.
***
Hallad registered someone shaking his shoulder but refused to roll over and open his eyes. Fingers pressed into his skin—his bare flesh—jostling him once more. Groggily, he stretched and turned his head. He peeled back his eyelids. What seemed like a sticky film over his eyeballs blurred his vision. He scrunched his lids shut and open a few more times before the silhouette of a woman appeared, hovering over him, surrounded by a bright glow.
Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 17