"We better get on with this, if we're going to make a run at it," said Emma.
They nodded at one another, as if silently making a plan. Then Emma disengaged and crossed to the black wolf, kneeling down in front of him. She leaned her head into his, pressing her nose against Svol's. The girl reached up and stroked his ears, weaving her fingers into his thick fur. His head sunk under her touch; she cooed under her breath. Arvak strode to their side, and all communed in their own language, and as they did, the pack started to settle.
Erik turned and stared at the Merciful. How would he explain what to do? He wasn't even sure how he managed to shadowwalk himself. It was a natural extension. He never thought about how to walk. It just happened when he desired it.
He glanced back and Emma. She believes I can. He faced the crowd and cleared his throat. "Those of you I spoke with before, come forward."
A group of men, women, and even a few children, eyes flashing skeptically back and forth, moved out of the crowd and came toward Erik.
"We're going to bridge the Gap using your combined ability in the shadowwalk, so we can get everyone across."
"How?" "That's not possible." "I barely see in the dream. I cannot walk across a thousand pace drop!" came the protests.
"Look," said Erik, "you don't walk across. You shadowwalk. It's different."
"I'm not plunging to my death!"
"Nor I!" yelled another.
The familiar boil of frustration brewed in Erik's belly at their protests, but he caught Emma gazing at him—her face lit with a smile, with pride, with hope—and he willed himself to breathe normally.
Stay calm, he told himself. She believes I can do this.
But then again, he thought. She believes in Hallad too.
Erik shook off the doubt—was that his thought, or someone else's?—and continued. "Have faith," he said to the crowd. "Stand in formation as I taught you before. Each walker will take the hand of a non-walker and so on, until a solid line is formed."
He didn't know if the lineup would work, but rationalized the formation was their best chance. From experience, he knew they needed to touch to bring another through the walk with them, though he'd never tried it.
Emma released the black wolf, patting his chest and nodding at him, then strode to Erik's side. The white wolf, Hlif, Erik thought she was called, growled low and dangerously, but one show of Svol's canines sent her cowering and licking at Svol's mouth. Even though the black wasn't wholly recovered, even though his bare hide sported a half-mended scar the length of his entire side, the otherwise fearsome white wolf shuffled around him like a cloying pup.
Erik escorted Emma to the center of the line, and they all joined hands. His mind whirled. How do I describe this? Emma squeezed his hand while they stood waiting. He searched his mind, thinking hard about the times he'd entered the shadowwalk.
The Merciful grew restless, shifting their feet back and forth.
Emma jerked his hand as if to say, "Come on, Erik, get on with it."
But his mind blanked.
"I can't do this, Emma."
She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ja, you can. I know it, Erik. You can."
He closed his eyes and imagined how he felt when he crossed into the shadowwalk. After another uncomfortable moment of fumbling around in his brain, Erik realized the answer: focus—concentrating so fully and wanting it so much that you already thought you were there.
He found his voice and addressed the awaiting crowd. "Now focus on the other side of the Gap. Think of nothing but setting foot on the other side. Close your mind if you must, so you can picture it clearly."
Grumbles came from down the line, but Erik continued, "Are you ready?"
A hapless tone of agreement followed.
"Set your desire for the other side. See it in your mind's eye. Feel it underfoot. And cross."
Erik’s body tingled, signaling his departure, and within a blink, he solidified on the opposite side of the Gap. He glanced side to side—Emma on one, and Bera on the other. He'd done it!
But then as his gaze spread, he realized only Emma and Bera had crossed with him.
The older woman slunk to the ground, sitting on her round bottom. She fanned herself with her palms, gulping in deep breaths. "Oh, my! That's not what I expected."
"Sit for a moment, Bera," said Emma. "The sensation will soon pass."
Erik spun around and spotted the rest of the line, still standing on the opposite edge of the cliff.
He sighed. "It's not going to work."
Emma edged in close to him, as if trying to gain warmth, or solace, or both.
"Please, Erik. I can't leave them here, defenseless. I just can't."
How could he deny her after refusing to shadowwalk her to the wolves in the first place? Maybe none of this would have happened had he agreed to help her in the beginning. Maybe their predicament was all his fault.
Erik kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her soft skin. Then, he shadowwalked back, and yelled, "Again! Join hands! We try once again!"
This time, Erik, a shadowwalker, and two non-shadowwalkers traveled across the Gap. When they materialized, Emma clapped and cheered. The Conspirators wobbled to their knees, but Emma scrambled to them helping to steady them.
She cooed at them, "You'll gain your strength in a bit. The first time in the walk is hard."
"I'll say," said one of the men. Then he turned, slumped, and vomited.
Erik pulled Emma aside. "It's still not good enough, Emma. If we go on about it like this, it will take half the day to cross, if not more. And if half of them get sick crossing, how will they find the strength to march to Glitner?"
"What choice do we have?
"We don't know what has happened, if anything. We could rest, or find a way around without shadowwalking."
Emma shook her head. "Do you believe nothing happened? That we're safe, sitting here?"
Erik swung his head around, taking in the Conspirators—a ragtag bunch of starving men, women, and children. The wolves paced, and Whitefoot's nose twitched with apprehension. But worse, an eerie silence squashed the land. The hairs on Erik's neck, back, and arms had stayed standing at attention since that beautiful, awful noise sounded, and every one of his senses warned him: something horrible comes.
Erik grunted, turned, and disappeared through the walk and tried once more.
As he materialized for the third time on Emma's side of the Gap, returning with another three passengers, a scream rang out.
"Grab her hand!" Emma yelled.
"Oh, by the Mother! Don't let her fall!" cried Bera.
Erik turned spotting white knuckles clinging to a rock. He ran to the Gap's edge, grabbing the woman's wrist with both hands and tugged. Alfridr hung over the side of the cliff, feet dangling, rocks tumbling.
The songvari squeaked as tears pooled in her eyes. "Please help me."
Adrenaline rushed into Erik's limbs. He pulled. He yanked. He scrambled back, foot by foot. Arms wrapped around his waist, tugging along with him. Another set of arms squeezed around him, and within a few heartbeats, Erik, Emma, and Bera all dragged Alfridr to safety.
They all lay in a pile at the edge of Ginnungagap, panting to catch their breath. Alfridr shook, trembling and sobbing again.
"Emma," said Erik once his breath settled. "There's nei way we can risk that again."
Emma's eyes rounded, then narrowed. She turned to the polecat resting on her shoulder as if listening, then kissed Whitefoot's nose as all color raced from her cheeks. "Whitefoot says darkness, a blackness like he's never sensed before, is coming, Erik, and he says it's just about here."
They stared at one another, speechless. Emma trembled, and just when Erik started to reach for her, Loki's voice boomed inside his head.
There's another way to get these people across, you know. Remember, I protected them under Lothar, too. I worry for their welfare just as much as your little woman does. And just to prove to you that I'm on your sid
e, I'm going to give you the way.
More than the polecat's warning, more than the screeching noise that bombarded them earlier, more than his own alarming senses, Loki's offer set Erik's fear over the edge. He knew taking favor from the Shadow came with a price. But if there was ever a time he couldn't refuse, if there was ever a moment he had no other choice... it was now.
***
A figure shimmered before them in shades of gray-brown smoke; it solidified into one form. Weyland appeared, and Emma gasped; she scampered backwards. Whitefoot, still perched on her shoulder, hissed; his tail bushed.
Erik bound to his feet, straddling the space between the man and Emma. He reached back, hugging Emma behind him, seeking her hand. Instead of fingers, he found her fist balled tight. Her heavy breath warmed his tunic.
Both Bera and Alfridr squeaked at his appearance. The awareness that the rest of the Merciful watched with curiosity, bore down on Erik.
"What do you want?" demanded Erik.
"Don't trust him," said Emma, her words spaced with short huffs. "He was Lothar's ward."
Weyland smiled. Or did he frown? "Haven't you told her?"
"Told me what?"
"Being Lothar's ward was just a ruse. I'm also a citizen of Asheim, right, Erik?"
"What's he talking about?" asked Emma.
Weyland knew I was watching him in Asheim? What else does he know?
Erik's realization sparked another. If he's allied with the Shadow, then Rolf...
For the first time in many moons, he worried over his brother's safety, though there was nothing he could do for it at the moment.
"There's a lot you don't tell her, isn't there?"
"Get to the point," said Erik. "What do you want?"
Emma edged out from behind Erik. "What does he mean? What don't you tell me?"
Again, the disturbing smile-frown passed over Weyland's nondescript features. "The Master speaks to your beloved, just like the Master spoke with Lord Lothar."
Emma cranked her head upward, seeking Erik. Her brows fanned down over her questioning eyes, asking Erik to deny the statement.
Erik couldn't. His gaze switched between those big, beautiful accusing eyes of hers, begging for understanding.
"Tell me the Shadow doesn't speak to you, Erik," Emma finally said.
He pressed his lips tight. "It's not what you think."
"The Shadow speaks to you?" Emma gulped; she shifted her stance, creating space between them. "And you never bothered to tell me?"
"More like pesters me, Emma. Like a buzzing fly."
Her arms crept upwards. She folded them over her ribcage.
Every feeling Erik ever had of inadequacy flooded him. "But I don't listen to him, Emma. I don't."
Erik flinched, looking around, unable to bring himself to watch the accusation in Emma's face any longer. Mundi watched him with peculiar interest. Bera fanned herself, and Alfridr's gaze froze, as if the woman went numb.
Loki’s voice slicked through the back of Erik’s head. I told you. Now she knows what you truly are. Now she doesn’t accept you.
Whitefoot scrambled down Emma's front. The critter hopped a few times in a frenzied dance before Erik, then bit his boot. Erik jerked, but Whitefoot held on until Emma leaned over, picked up the polecat and cooed in his ear.
You’ve certainly lost her this time. You fight and fight for this woman, but now that she knows you’re mine—
I am not yours.
Aren’t you?
In that moment, Erik feared the Shadow was right.
To Erik’s surprise, with the polecat cradled in her arms, Emma stomped toward Weyland, and yelled, "Answer him! Why are you here?"
The force in Emma's voice caused Erik's muscles to twinge.
Weyland replied by stretching out his hand and unfolding his fingers. A second dyrr lay in his palm. "To give you the gift my Master promised you."
"We don't want it," said Erik.
"Take it," said Emma.
Erik turned on her, but she stared at Weyland with such venom, Erik thought daggers would fly from her eyes.
"You don't know what you're saying," said Erik.
"Don't I?" She folded her arms tighter around her. "How else will we get these people to safety?"
"Em, the Shadow will want something in return."
"Nei," interrupted Weyland. "He wants nothing but to prove his worth to you. It comes without obligation."
"I don't believe that."
Emma crossed the distance and snatched the dyrr from Weyland’s hand; within a blink, Weyland disappeared just as Loki's voice returned inside Erik's mind.
I'm glad you accepted my gift, more or less. Here are the runes for you to say in order to cross...
Chapter 43
Hallad! Astrid reached for her brother inside her mind, though she knew she wouldn't find him there—her ward had made sure of that.
I have to warn him. I have to warn everyone. Mamma? Mamma! Where have you gone?
Her mother's voice never replied, and the mere flash of needing to alert Glitner propelled Astrid back into the Palace. All around, traces of her struggle with the Guardians—was it only moments ago?—displayed themselves across the room: toppled chairs, sliced fabric, puddles of water with abandoned leaves, yet no one remained.
"Move along!" A voice echoed down the corridor.
Shuffling feet against the stone floors sounded. Thumping, scuffling and muffled tones followed.
Astrid broke into a jog, shoring up her sword in her grip, but her body shimmered, and she shadowwalked to the head of the commotion.
Guardians pushed prisoners—an entire city's worth—into the main hall. At the sight of Astrid, prisoners waffled. The guards continued to thrust them through the hall until they spotted the hold up. Men and women were bound and gagged with satiny material. No knots were tied; rather, the material weaved seamlessly as if grown in place.
Astrid bound up and cut the nearest gag off one of the prisoners, slicing through the material without nicking the person's skin.
"Halt!" yelled a Guardian.
"Why have you stopped?" Ravenna's slippery tone rang out from behind the mass of guards and prisoners. The swish of slippers parted the guards, and she appeared with her arm wrapped through Hallad's.
"Sister," said Hallad. "We have returned with songvaris to aid our cause."
The two strode across the floor. Astrid glared at her brother.
Since when does our cause enslave? but she knew he wouldn't hear her.
Astrid's heart knocked as Hallad smiled. He smiled! As if he won the village's strong-arm competition. Ravenna stroked the hairs on Hallad's arm, and it seemed every muscle in Hallad's body relaxed, though Astrid couldn't tell by feeling his movement as she had always done, only by seeing.
More prisoners and guards pushed in from behind, and the rumble in Astrid's heart clunked to a stop.
A man, a burly, bear of a man, facial hairs pressed tight to his skin by the binding over his mouth, appeared through the archway.
Balin!
The sharp intake of Astrid's breath battered, hard and fast.
The man's cheeks rounded, as if he grinned from beneath the gag, and all Astrid's muscles conspired into a run. She bound past Hallad, pushing Ravenna aside as she jetted past them and threw herself at Balin, wrapping her arms around his girth.
Balin clucked with a laugh, his entire chest quaking. She pulled back, staring up at the man when he jerked his eyes sideways. Astrid followed his gaze and from behind him, her mother emerged—not frail, not broken, like she'd last seen her—standing straight with a healthy glow kissing her skin. Water pricked the corners of her mother's eyes.
Astrid's teeth chattered as she released Balin. She shook her head, unbelieving.
I thought you were dead. I thought you spoke to me in the afterlife…
Then the sight of the gag registered, and Astrid tore the fabric from her mother's mouth.
"My ljos," said her mother.
<
br /> And in that moment, when her mother first spoke after their separation, Astrid knew: the voice was not the same as the one inside her head, the one that had told her to sing. It was similar. In fact, the tone was almost a perfect match, but the other voice—the one she trusted to give her the words to sing—didn’t possess the warm undertone that Isla's did. And never once, had the other voice ever called her "ljos."
Astrid shook her head. She should have seen it before. She was too wound up in wanting it to be her mother that she blinded herself to the simple fact that her mother would never neglect to speak her endearment to Astrid.
Her mother wrapped herself around her daughter's waist. Tears rolled from Astrid's eyes as her mother squeezed her around her middle, but Astrid rallied her strength and pushed herself away to free both Balin's and her mother's bindings with her blade.
Then she swirled, facing Hallad. "What have you done?"
Everyone gawked at the sound of her voice—fragile, weak, like an infant testing words. Even though it trembled, bell-like tones and the flittering of bird songs rang through its undertones.
"Daughter," said Isla. "You speak." Her mother's amber eyes flooded with more tears. "Finally, you speak."
Hallad stared from across the room. Ravenna gripped his arm, tugging at him, but he lurched out of her reach.
"Daughter? How can that be? Our mother is dead. Serpent Mother said so. She said she felt her twin, our mother, die many moons ago."
"There are ways," said Isla, "through song, to disconnect from your twin. I used it on my own sister once so she would not worry over me anymore."
An audible swallow sounded in Hallad's throat. He staggered forward, as if his brain switched off from automatic. His head bobbed back and forth as his gaze switched from mother to sister. "Is this true? You disconnected from me?"
Even with the ward in place, Astrid knew Hallad now realized the truth. Even though she could no longer sense his emotions, she knew her betrayal shot through him.
Hallad’s face sagged as she nodded; all the brightness fled from his blue eyes.
Isla strode the rest of the way to her son, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. She ran her fingers over his jaw line, exploring him as if for the first time. "Oh, my handsome boy. How I've wondered what kind of man you'd become."
Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 22