Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (13 page)

Before the tree
stretched wooden planking painted in vibrant crimson, indigo and white. An
intertwined design of cats, boars, moons and swords worked its way into a five-pointed
star. A rune was carved at each point: kanunaz, fehu, uruz, tiwaz, ansuz and at
the middle, algiz, meaning protective sanctuary.

Rota and Olrun forced
their pace as they escorted Hallad and Swan into a barrack-type dwelling vestr
of the sanctuary. The room smelled of honeyed ham, beef, bread and mead. As
soon as he crossed the threshold, a skirted woman with a stark white apron held
out two welcome chalices, foaming to the rim with mead.

Hallad complied by
taking the cup and drinking, the fermented honey warming his throat. Swan
grabbed her cup at the same time and drank without pause, until it was emptied.
Scandian customs required the male be served first, but under the circumstances
Hallad didn't question this slight of tradition.

"Welcome to the
Hearth of Freyja. We are most honored to offer our hospitality," said the
woman, her round cheeks and middle suggesting an appreciation for cooking.

"Thank you. Your
hospitality is most generous." Hallad inclined his head.

Swan, standing as
straight as a sword at his side, stared at the woman.

"I am Amma, Hearth
Mother. Please be welcomed to the bounty of our table." With her
introduction, she spread her arms back toward a table, decked with a feast.
"If you require anything, please don't hesitate to ask upon Rota or Olrun."

Rota's head jerked up,
as if the woman had slapped her.

"We’ve done our job
in escorting them. Waiting on them should be a hearth duty," Olrun
blurted.

"You will discover
the reason for the punishment soon," said Amma, turning to leave.

Hallad cut in. "We
appreciate your hospitality, but I have reason for swiftness. I need to speak
with your head priestess now."

Amma turned, leveling
her stare on Hallad. "Serpent Mother will summon you when she is ready for
you. Not before."

"But—" Hallad
started.

Hearth Mother turned and
exited before he could continue. Hallad bunched his shoulders in frustration. Angst
wailed at him the longer he left the fates of those he loved in the hands of
unknown women. His body itched for action.

"Eat,"
directed Olrun. "You do not want to insult Hearth Mother."

"Insult her?"
Hallad asked.

"Trust me,"
the large freckled woman replied as she poured herself a mug of mead, glugged
it down and refilled her glass. "If she returns and you haven’t eaten, you
will be sorry."

Swan ignored their
banter and dug into the spread before them as if she was starving. Even Gisla’s
cooking hadn’t kept her satiated. Hallad wondered if her legs were hollow.

"What is this
place?" Hallad asked Olrun. He gave up talking to Rota. She only grunted
answers when she chose to answer at all.

"This is the Hall
of the Hearth." The freckled woman downed another cup of frothing mead.

"The Hearth?" Hallad
asked.

"Ja. There's the
Hearth, the Temple and the Clans."

The oversized drengmaer
emptied the mead horn into her glass, lifting the mug for another swig. Rota
narrowed her eyes at her sal drengmaer.

Olrun explained, "I
wasn't drinking more."

Rota squeezed her eyes
into an even more intimidating glare.

"In sooth, Rota. I
poured it for the man."

The freckled warrior
pushed her glass toward Hallad. Hallad motioned to his own full cup. Olrun
scowled back at him as if he bore the mark of a traitor.

"What happens next?"
Hallad asked.

"You'll be summoned
I suppose."

"Summoned?"

"By Serpent Mother
and the Clan Elders."

Olrun circled her thick
finger around the top of the chalice, stealthily moving the glass back toward
her.

"Then we'll be
bonded as sal drengrs and we can leave?" He waved toward Swan, to indicate
the two of them.

The freckled woman's
face split in half as a laugh escaped her lungs. She pounded her fists on her
thick thighs, sounding louder than Thor’s thunder. Even straight-faced Rota
smirked.

"Who? You two?"
Olrun choked out through her amusement.

"The priestess said
we'd be bonded as sal drengrs."

Olrun stopped in
mid-laugh, her face stilled. She glanced at Rota.

"Could it be?"
she asked her sal drengmaer. "If we believed him to be the Serpent
Mother’s consort, when he is something more—"

"Quiet sister."
Rota’s eyes shifted to the table, studying the horn of mead.

"What do you speak
of?" asked Hallad.

Neither woman replied.

Hallad picked at his
meal, an expanse of crusted brown meats, herbed cheeses and honeyed breads. He
gulped down his food under the wary eyes of the drengmaers.

The night wore on. Neither
of the women spoke. The drengmaers’ reserve, added to Swan's indefinite
silence, wore at Hallad's nerves.

Hallad paced back and
forth as daylight faded through the mantle of the trees above. Orange and pink
rays dimmed as the torchlight threw shadows against the walls. Soon, the sparse
windows of the longhouse produced no natural light; only a yellow cast of the
surrounding torchlight leaked through. Hallad worked himself ragged pacing back
and forth. He stopped to sharpen his new sword, comforted by the clank of the
metal against stone—a methodic, rhythmic lulling that dulled the thoughts in
his mind—thoughts of Emma, of Erik, of his father, of the woman pronounced as
his twin, of bonding. All convoluted into one unattainable responsibility
weighing so heavily on his shoulders that his knees wanted to buckle.

Finally, Hallad’s
patience expired. He headed toward the door. Rota crossed before him faster
than flame, blocking his escape.

"Let me pass."
Hallad’s voice thickened in his throat.

Making no attempt to
move, the drengmaer rested a broad hand across her sword.

"Am I a guest or a
prisoner?"

Still, the woman didn't
move.

Swan bolted to Hallad’s
side. Olrun skirted behind Rota almost as quickly as Swan had come to Hallad’s
aid.

"Do you think I'm
going to fight two women?" Hallad recalled Swan with the rough in Birka,
realizing his insult too late.

Rota looked as though
her eyes would shoot nails through his skin, as she and Olrun grabbed their
sword hilts in unison.

A swish of metal against
metal sounded in the silence between them as Swan unsheathed her sword,
spinning her blade three times, training the point on the two women faster than
any of them could budge.

Suddenly, the door swung
open, and Ase appeared. She took in the precarious standoff, but ignored it,
announcing, "Serpent Mother will see the Savior and her Guardian."

The hollow sound of a bone pipe played an unfamiliar melody,
the musician hidden from sight. Women dressed in white cloaks entered from
behind the yew tree that occupied the center of the grove, swinging incense
tins from long ropes. Smoke mushroomed
through the air, filling the space with the perfume of burning alder.

The bone pipe ceased its
last note, echoing throughout the grove. Two women dressed like
drengmaers—except, instead of donning only one type of animal fur, their
mantles consisted of an array of skins—marched onto the dais, placing
themselves over uruz, the rune symbolizing brute strength. Hearth Mother
appeared after them, positioning her bulk over fehu, the rune for cattle. A
white-cloaked woman glided onto the platform over tiwaz, the rune for spiritual
warrior. A cowl hung over the woman’s face, obstructing any view of her
identity.

Another blow of the bone
pipe resounded, and a black-cowled figure emerged from the edge of the ancient
yew. She mounted the stairs and slid to the middle of the five-pointed star,
standing directly over the algiz rune for protective sanctuary.

Hallad, Swan, Olrun, and
Rota remained where they had first entered, over the kanunaz rune, while Ase
Jorrun stood at the ansuz position.

The pipe began again,
and the melody crescendoed until the song fell into silence.

After long moments of
utter stillness, the figure in the middle lifted off her cowl, settling the
hood over her shoulders. The woman’s hair streamed down into the blackness of
the cloak, a silver sheen in the firelight. The only lines betraying her age
creased her forehead; the rest of her skin remained placid. Her eyes stared
forward as if the spirit who inhabited her body left long ago.

"The Goddess has
bidden and you have come."

The black-cloaked woman
bowed, wisps of her silver hair escaping from her cowl to fall about her waist,
flowing down as long and smooth as Swan's. Then the High Priestess bid the sky.

"Thank you, Gentle
Goddess, for leading them to the safety of your hearth."

Hallad cracked a knee,
ready to bow, but none of the others moved a muscle.

"You have been sent
to us through the guidance of our Lady, the holy goddess Freyja. We welcome the
Savior and her Guardian to her Hearth."

Rota elbowed Olrun in
the ribs at the words Savior and Guardian, casting a glare at her sister.

The pipe rang out once
more as two girls entered, wearing stark skirts embroidered with black cat
emblems around the hems and across the breasts. Each carried a traditional
Scandian horn overflowing with honeyed mead. The girls extended the horns in
welcome to Hallad and Swan. As before, Hallad and Swan both drank, though
Hallad only sipped, still full from the meal at the Hall of the Hearth.

Serpent Mother waved her
arm in introduction, the fluid black material flowing like shadows in the
night.

“You have already met
our Hearth Mother. She will be your hostess for your stay and provide you with
anything you require."

Hearth Mother curtsied,
flaring her heavy skirts. For the first time, Hallad noticed the hems of her
skirts donned patterns of boars.

"These women,"
Serpent Mother swept her arm toward the drengmaers, "are our Dreng
Mothers."

Both women bent their
necks in unison, with less enthusiasm than Hearth Mother, their stoic faces the
perfect representation of hardened warriors.

“And lastly, our
Daughter of the Temple."

The white-clad woman
bowed deeper than any of them, dropping her head to the ground.

"They are the Clan
Elders of the Sacred Hearth of Freyja and all decisions reside with the Elders
and myself."

The High Priestess’
hollowed eyes lingered on Swan, examining her face, her hair, her stance. She
nodded approvingly, then continued, "Listen to what the Goddess has
proclaimed for you both. I understand you have been told little of your
heritage. Only that you were born twins—a sacred bond given to you directly
from the Goddess. Many moons ago ours was a clan in its infancy. Without
direction. Without protection.  Then the Goddess sent her servant, a Norn, into
our midst and entrusted us with the prophecies of the Savior and her Guardian. We
have guarded these prophecies and awaited your arrival. Now she instructs us
that you must be bonded as sal drengrs."

"When?" Hallad
asked.

All the women cast surprised
glares in his direction, except Serpent Mother, whose face remained as still as
a pond. Hallad realized he shouldn't have spoken, but he needed to find out
when this bonding would take place. He wanted to know what could be done for
Emma. Erik's recent accusation goaded him onward, rekindling his duty to his
little sister. Swan's feelings rushed into him, mirroring his own—irritation,
frustration and unwillingness to wait.

Serpent Mother continued
without any acknowledgement of his interruption. "The teachings of the
Gentle Goddess showed us the power of twins as the Goddess bore twins, and in
succession, her twins begot twins and so forth until all of the aspects of the
Gentle One existed in both the land of the gods and of man. But the Shadow
weakens the one true Goddess. So the Goddess sent a Norn to tell us a set of
twins would be born from twins. As her children, these offspring would be
necessary for not only the survival of man, but of the gods. The destiny of
these offspring is to become one. Sal drengrs. The bonding ritual was handed
down to us by the Goddess herself to strengthen our clan, so we could protect
and serve. And now we will provide the ultimate service to our Goddess by
guiding and bonding her Savior and Guardian.”

“How do you know we are
the Savior and Guardian?” Hallad interrupted again.

Serpent Mother did not
reply.

“Then we are wasting
time,” Hallad said.

“The power in your
sister is the greatest we have ever seen.”

“What power?” asked
Hallad.

“See how she does not
speak?”