Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (26 page)

Ase studied the runes in
the ground while twisting her lips and emitting harrumphs and sighs.

“What do you make of
it?” asked Hallad.

“Here,” Ase pointed the
gnarled stick at the first symbol. “Isa. Locked within ice. Winter chills your
spirit. And here,” she thumped the ground below the next rune, “raidho, a
journey. Isa represents your sister's state, and raidho, your journey.”

“Ansuz,” said Hallad. “Odin’s
symbol.”

“Ja,” replied the old
woman. “I am not sure what to make of it. It can mean new life, which could
mean Swan’s return. It can also mean inspiration. Or a priest.”

“Like the priest of
Upsalla?” interrupted Olrun.

“Possible,” replied Ase.

“What priest?” asked
Hallad.

“Upsalla is the seat of
worship to the god Odin. A high priest commands an army of supplicants there. They
hold a yearly sacrifice, where nine men and nine animals, of all kinds, are
sacrificed to the god in exchange for his wisdom.”

Hallad’s father had
sacrificed a bull to the god Freyr during the Plow Blessing each year, but the godhi’s
son could not imagine shedding the blood of nine men to purchase a god’s favor.

Ase circled ansuz with
her stick and moved to the next.

“Here, hagalaz, the rune
works in reverse. It is a hard master telling of loss before gain.” The
priestess' lips twisted again and she clicked her tongue. “And ihwaz symbolizes
Yggdrasil, the Guardian Tree.”

May the strength of
the Guardian be with you
,
thought Hallad.

“The Guardian promises
strength and growth. The outcome is good.”

“This is not a fortune,
but a map,” argued Hallad.

“Odin hung upon
Yggdrasil to gain wisdom,” said Olrun. “They have such a tree in Upsalla.”

“Isa represents my
sister. With raidho signifying me on a journey to save my sister, ansuz is
telling us we must travel to Upsalla.” Hallad leaned down to study the
scribbles in the dirt. “Ja. This is our next step.”

“What of this rune,” said
Ase pointing to the rune Hallad did not recognize. “I do not know its meaning.”

“I have never seen such
a rune,” confessed Hallad.

“Strange,” agreed Ase. “Neither
have I.”

“The direction is clear,
though. Ansuz points us to Odin’s priest in Upsalla. There we can find the
answers to cross over into Alvenheim. I am sure of it.” Hallad didn’t know if
he was sure, or if he grasped at guesses. All he knew was they had wandered for
two days without a destination and movement toward a resolution set the beat of
his heart back into rhythm.

“Our reports from
Upsalla bear witness of murder and coercion.” Rota wrapped her arms across her
chest. “Are you sure this is wise?”

Hallad didn’t respond. He
glanced toward the carriage and felt the empty hole inside him, the one that
Swan had once occupied.

“I have pledged to you,
Guardian,” said Rota. Her title startled Hallad; he had never heard her speak
of him in such a way. “The Lion Clan follows as you command. Just be sure. Our
lives are in your hands.”

“I am sure,” Hallad
replied. “This is our destination.” He stabbed at the ansuz rune with a thick
finger, hoping he spoke the truth.

Erik drew his broad
sword from his scabbard, pulled down a branch and sliced off the tree’s limb.

“Nei!” screamed Rolf. He
stumbled as he crossed under the low hanging trees, staggering as he reached
out to his brother, his fingers spread in pain. Startled by Rolf’s appearance,
Erik dropped his blade and scrambled to Rolf’s side.

“What is it brother?”
Erik asked.

“You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

Rolf wheezed. His face
flushed a painful crimson color.

“By the gods, Rolf, what
is the matter with you?”

Erik reached for his
brother, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, but Rolf swatted him away. Bending
at his middle, Rolf heaved again, holding his chest as if stabbed clean
through.

“I can’t stand it,” Rolf
whimpered.

“Can’t stand what,
brother? I cannot help you if I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”

Andvarri hopped over to
the brothers, his injured leg bent at an impossible angle.

“What’s going on?” he
squeezed out between tight lips. The dwarf put up a good front, but his pale
skin and the beads of sweat breaking over his lip spoke of the man’s pain.

Rolf straightened,
shaking his head in confusion.

“I don’t know what happened.”
Rolf tested his feet on the ground and walked in a circle, rubbing his chest
with curiosity. “It’s gone. I feel fine now.”

Erik shrugged his
shoulders then returned to severing another branch from the apple tree, when
Rolf cried out again, “Nei! Stop!”

With exasperation, Erik
turned on Rolf.

“What is wrong with you?
I need to get Andvarri’s leg set.”

But the sight of Rolf—fallen
to all fours, heaving for breath, his face burning red—caused Erik to, once
again, rush to his collapsed brother. He picked him up by the waist, turning
him and lowering him into his lap while Rolf grabbed at his chest, bringing his
knees upright.

“You cannot cut the
branches,” Rolf whined. “She dies a little when you do.”

“Take a deep breath,
brother. Tell me where it hurts,” Erik said as he held Rolf’s head in his lap.

“I told you. You’re
killing her,” Rolf cried. He squeezed at his chest, wrenching both his tunic
and skin within his fist.

Erik sent a questioning
glance to Andvarri. The dwarf scooted downward, lifting his right leg as he
did, lowering himself and arranging the busted limb out in front of him, while
his face spread with pain at the effort.

“The land?” Andvarri
asked Rolf. “Is that who Erik kills?”

Rolf nodded, relief of
their understanding washing over his face, releasing the tight press of his
features. Redness drained from his cheeks and forehead and he lay still, spent
in his brother’s lap.

“We’ll rest. We’ve been
pushing hard these last few days.”

Lowering Rolf’s head to
the ground, Erik eased his body out from under him and rose.

“I’ll make a fire—”

“Nei!” screamed Rolf,
rolling over to push himself upright. “Did you not hear me? A fire will hurt
her! I can feel it. Everything she feels. I feel it too. When you cut the
branch, I felt the sick slither of your sword in my skin. Brother, you cannot
harm her.”

“So we sit here and
freeze?”

“If we must,” Rolf
insisted, crossing his long arms over his chest, his glare determined. Erik
wondered if he had ever seen his little brother in such a state of defiance.

“We rest then,” Erik
said, softening.

Erik collected the
branches he had already cut and ripped cloth from an extra shirt in his pack
then set about adjusting Andvarri’s leg. Rolf huddled by the trunk of a nearby
tree, seeming to take comfort from the contact of his back with the bark.

Initially Erik had
planned to make camp for his two companions then set off to find help and seek
Emma. He hadn’t thought out the details, only knowing Andvarri could not travel
in his current condition and needed the attention of a sage, or seidr-wife, or
at the least a village mid-wife. Though he fumbled at the dwarf’s instruction—Andvarri
retching when he set the bone—Erik knew his lack of healing skills could
cripple the dwarf in the long term and did not want to take the chance. He also
didn’t want to be beaten about the ears with a rolling pin if he returned
Andvarri to his wife in a broken condition.

But Rolf’s new state of
sensitivity wore on Erik. Could he sense the land’s pain? Or had crossing into
this strange world coerced his wits, the way Erik’s own sanity had been in
question since losing Emma? He couldn’t leave his little brother and feared
Andvarri would not be safe alone, but he couldn’t abandon the quest for his
beloved either.

Erik closed his eyes and
fought the battle inside his head—the one waging Rolf’s wellbeing against
Emma’s. He nodded off, dreaming of Emma in a blue dress with long wolf-like
fangs for teeth, battling Rolf, who caused the earth to tremble with a song
from his lips. When his heavy lids managed to crack back open, Rolf was gone.

*****

Erik scrambled to his
feet. He maneuvered around a fitfully sleeping Andvarri and bolted through the
apple orchard, searching for signs of Rolf’s passage. Birds chattered from high
branches, settling in for the evening and calling out to their flock in a wild
composition of night song.

If Alvenheim was not the
land of the gods, it should have been. Sweet, white blossoms blushed with pink
flourished on every tree branch alongside shiny red fruit, telling Erik the
mysterious grove would somehow defy all logic and produce ripe apples in a
continuous batch. He reached up to pluck one, but thought of Rolf’s violent
reaction and decided to continue his search instead.

The sun dipped over the
horizon, casting rays of sunlight throughout the thick orchard, the downy grass
beneath him a whisper upon his feet as he walked. Rolf’s big footprints left
dents in the grass and Erik followed them to a stream, where his brother’s
steps disappeared. Erik stepped into the stream. Surprisingly, warmth washed over
his shins, as the water lapped against his feet. The tepid, clear water
revealed vibrantly colored teal, maroon and gray rocks shining in its depths.

As Erik crossed, a voice
drifted over the pattering of water against rock. Each note danced in the air,
clear and resonate, a woman’s sweet falsetto. The melody carried a caressing
quality, as if the singer intended to show her devoted love to her audience
through her notes. He had never heard such a striking voice in all his life,
save Swan’s when she had spoken to him in the dream. He fouled at the thought
of
that
woman
and cleared his mind of any of her associates,
namely his ex-blood sworn.

Erik continued on,
picking up Rolf’s muddy tracks on the other side of the creek. The song carried
him forward, wrapping him in its summer melody. Though he could not make out the
words, which were all sung in an unfamiliar tongue, it didn't matter. His
worries, his anger, his determination, all dissolved with each and every note.

Before he knew it, he
stumbled upon Rolf, watching something over the upward sweeping branches of a
heather bush. He reached out to pluck Rolf’s sleeve. Rolf turned and shushed
him with a finger to his lips, directing his gaze to a woman sitting in the
meadow clearing at the edge of a transparent blue pond.

Amber hair flowed around
her heart-shaped face, framing brilliant blade-green eyes. She focused on a
stone centered on the ground in front of her. Her ample lips formed strange
words, as the melody floated out around her, while willowy hands danced over
the object before her. She wove her fingers through the air matching the rhythm
of her song and the rock melded, moving in rivulets as it morphed in shape,
growing upward toward her hands. The gray of the stone took on a luminous
quality, glistening in the waning light, as it twisted into form—flowers,
vines, sky, clouds and the sun showering down upon the scene created in rock. A
bell-like dome topped off the creation. The woman’s song lilted and a runic
symbol sparked into existence in the fluid stone, white lightening blazing its
way across the surface.

Erik pulled Rolf’s
shoulder backward and whispered, “She’s one of them. A songvari. She could be
dangerous.”

“Nei,” said Rolf, still
entranced by the woman’s ability.

“Let’s go,” persisted
Erik. “Before she spots us.”

“Nei,” said Rolf once
more, not bothering to look away from the woman.

The songvari stopped,
glancing to her side. “Who’s there?” she called out.

Neither brother moved.

“I know you are watching
me.” The woman rose from her work and turned toward the heather bush.

Rolf stumbled from the
brush, towing Erik by his side, forcing his elder brother into the clearing.

“I didn’t mean to spy. It’s
just—” Rolf’s words evaporated on his tongue. He stared at the woman
dumbfounded.

“You’re very beautiful,”
Rolf stammered, his face blooming red. He bowed, bending to his knees.

The woman assessed the
two brothers. “You are not from here,” she stated.

Since his little brother
seemed stricken by the idiot stick, Erik answered, “Nei, we are not. We beg
your pardon mistress. We have nei intention of causing insult.”

“None may carry weapons
here.” She gestured toward Erik’s broadsword, strapped at his waist.

Rolf fumbled at his
midriff, produced a knife and placed the blade upon the ground. A wide,
white-tooth grin spread his lips, his eyes sparking at the songvari.