Dolor and Shadow (51 page)

* * *

Cradled between the mountains, through the woodlands of Heidmork, Rune and Kallan trekked along the banks of the Raumelfr that twisted through clusters of birch and patches of reindeer moss. As Rune slogged along, clutching Freyja’s reins, Kallan passed the days atop Astrid trying to germinate the seeds from her golden apples. Each attempt barely swelled the seed coat, leaving Kallan more frustrated as the hours slipped by. At the end of each day, after filling their stomachs and resting their feet, Kallan returned to her lessons.

The green of the Northern Lights streaked the clear sky, casting an emerald hue overhead. Kallan huffed and tucked her knees to her chest. Three days of incessant practice, hours of endless concentration, had yielded almost no change in the latest apple seed.

Atop his bed of furs, stretched out with ankles crossed and arms folded under his head, Rune peered across the fire. Kallan stared into the flames, the seed clutched in her hand.

“How goes it?” he asked.

Kallan sighed.

“It was easier when it was just pouring out of the earth.” She looked the seed over for any sign of growth. “It feels locked, somehow, like it’s there, but I can’t get to it.”

“You need to rest,” he said, positioning his arm over his eyes.

Kallan rested her chin in the crook of her knees.

“What I need is Gudrun,” she mumbled.

Exhaling, Kallan released her legs and settled herself back onto the pile of furs. With the seed still closed in her hand, she pulled the leather overcoat to her neck.

“The elements are the same,” she said, staring up at the lights, “passing through the air, the water…moving through the earth.”

The silent, red lights spilled across the sky like ribbons.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “It’s there, just…out of my reach.”

“You’re tired,” Rune said, his arm hung over his eyes. “You’ve been putting in hours every day since we left. You hardly stop to eat before jumping back into more hours working on this.”

“I’m so close.”

“You need sleep, Kallan.” Rune said.

Still plagued by dampened spirits, Kallan stared at the Valkyrjur’s Lights.

“Goodnight,” she bid though her eyes were still wide and alert, her mind still laden with thought.

“If you say so,” Rune said.

The frogs chirped. An ember popped. The sound of a picked blade of grass broke the evening’s chorus. Rune shifted his arm and gazed at Kallan.

Idly, she twisted the blade between her thumb and a finger.

“How long before we see Alfheim?” she asked.

Rune covered his eyes with his arm again.

“Tomorrow we leave Heidmork,” he said. “Then we pass through Raumariki. Within half a fortnight, we’ll be in Viken.”

“And Alfheim?”

“Alfheim is across from Viken,” Rune said. “We’ll have to pass through Vingulmork before we see Alfheim.”

Kallan pulled the overcoat closer as red light flowed like a river across the black sky.

“There’s no moon,” she said.

“No. There is not.”

“The Lights of the Valkyrjur are much clearer here,” Kallan said.

“They are.”

Kallan lay, gazing upon the lights. She wasn’t ready for sleep.

“Rune?”

“Hm?” Rune grunted, keeping his arm splayed over his eyes.

“Have you ever heard of the Seidr Sionnach?”

Rune sighed.

“Kallan…until you and Gudrun came to Alfheim, no Ljosalfr had ever heard of the Seidr, let alone a ‘Sayth Shonach’.” He ended the word on a botched guttural sound.

Kallan grinned.

“The Seidr Sionnach,” Kallan repeated. “The Sionnach were a pair of foxes twice as tall as a man and strong enough to pull a sleigh across the snows of Jotunheim.” She stared at the lights of Odinn’s Valkyrjur. “They loved each other beyond this world until one’s release was the other’s breath. They roamed wild and free, wreaking havoc, nonsense, and all sorts of mischief among Men. All who looked upon the Sionnach feared them and so…despised them.”

Lowering his arm, Rune lay and listened quietly.

“One day,” Kallan continued, “Freyja looked down from Asgard and saw the Sionnach frolicking without worry of what Men thought. Their adulation became her conviction. And she loved them. She loved them so much that she gave them her Seidr. Freyja taught them how to wield it and the Sionnach grew in power and strength alongside her. Over time, they too grew to love her. Some stories tell of how they pull her chariot across the skies.” Kallan grinned. “It was said that from the earth, the Sionnach, with their red Seidr flames trailing behind them, looked like two red cats bearing Freyja across the night.”

Kallan grew silent as she stared into the ribbons of red dancing upon the black.

“Sionnach,” Rune said. “That word isn’t of Alfheim.”

“It’s from Eire’s Land,” Kallan said, twisting her head around to better look upon Rune around the fire. “Gudrun brought the story back with her.”

“Eire’s Land,” Rune whispered and returned his arm to his eyes. “I haven’t heard a story from Eire’s Land since…”

Rune’s voice faded with his thoughts and he was quiet again.

Biting her bottom lip, Kallan stared across the fire.

“Rune?”

“Yes, Kallan.” His voice was light with infinite patience.

“Do you think the children are alright?”

Rune inhaled.

“Yes, Kallan,” he said, ensuring his eyes remained on the sky. “I’m sure the children are alright.”

An owl hooted in the distance.

“Rune.”

“Yes, Kallan?”

“I miss the children.”

Rune pursed his lips.

“I know,” he said.

The ribbons danced.

“Rune?”

Rune exhaled, renewing another round of patience.

“Yes, Kallan?”

“Good night.”

A smile pulled at his mouth.

“Good night, Kallan.”

* * *

Rune and Kallan awoke to a downpour on their last day in Heidmork. The storms added substantial volume to the river, tripling the water’s roar as the droplets hammered the ground in a continual, sharp staccato.

By midday, they crossed into Raumariki where streams flowed through vast lakes that peppered the lands with blue. Despite the elements, Kallan busied herself with the Seidr, while Rune trudged over the soaked ground. The rains continued into nightfall as the gray day ended. Hunched beneath a low hanging pine branch, they spent the night huddled against the cold, wrapped in wet blankets and Kallan’s overcoat.

The next morning yielded no mercy from the deluge and, unable to ride with a wet saddle, Kallan walked alongside Rune. They journeyed on much like they had been, staying close together and silent. When dusk blanketed them in blue and gray, they stopped for the night, too withered in spirit to walk.

Beneath a cluster of pines where wide branches blocked most of the elements, Kallan ignited a pile of dried pine needles and dead branches she had managed to dry out with her Seidr flame while Rune unsaddled the horses. Together, they did their best to wipe the horses dry with wet blankets then laid out their blankets, cloaks, and boots around the fire.

The fish sizzled in the firelight. Rune’s stomach tightened with hunger as the aroma rolled off his dinner.

“Kallan.”

He flipped the skewers.

The constant hush of rain swallowed his voice. He waited a moment longer, turning them over one last time, before placing the fish on a flat stone.

“Kallan,” he called again, but no answer came.

After giving Astrid a quick pat, he made his way to the Raumelfr where he felt her Seidr with the Beast’s hunger. There, on the banks of the Raumelfr, he stopped short at the sight of Kallan standing thigh-deep in the river. With her hair sleeked back, and her drenched gown clinging to her body, Kallan stood with extended arms.

In an enclosure of golden Seidr, she pulled and guided several strips of water from the river’s course. Like glass ribbons, the minute streams twisted and flowed up and around and over until they encircled her.

Engrossed with her skill, Rune watched her every movement, mesmerized, as she raised her hands and flicked her wrists, commanding a handful of droplets to stop midair. Keeping her glass ribbons flowing, Kallan tapped a single drop with a slender finger, then another, commanding each, in turn, to fall. With a backhanded sweep, Kallan willed the next series of droplets to follow the direction of her hand. Like golden threads, the Seidr bound to each one and followed Kallan’s instructions. With a final sweep, she raised her delicate hands and severed her Seidr. And, just as smoothly, the frozen droplets fell and the minute streams returned to the river and Rune’s Beast quieted with the settling Seidr.

Standing soaked between the rain and the river, Kallan suddenly took notice of Rune.

“It’s here,” she beamed. “I didn’t sense it before, but it’s here.”

With each breath, the water shimmered on her neck.

“The fish,” Rune said, unable to remember what about fish he had to say.

“Fish?”

The water glistened on her lips.

“Yes,” he said stupidly. “Fish.”

“Is it ready then?”

She smiled. He watched her chest heave with excited breath.

“Yes.”

Brimming with optimism, Kallan pulled herself to shore. There, Rune helped her back to land. She wrung the water from her clothes and twisted the rain out of her hair then did her best to warm herself by the fire as she ate.

By the time they had finished picking apart the skewered fish, the two-day deluge ended, leaving them eager for a dry night’s sleep.

* * *

Rune stared into the darkness. The waxing sliver of the crescent moon provided almost no light. The orange glow of the fire’s cinders had faded with the night chill. Rune whipped his head to the side and frowned.

Kallan’s bedroll was empty again.

Already the Beast was alert and pacing, wanting the Seidr he felt from afar. With a sigh, Rune threw back the furs and, taking up
Gramm
, rose to his feet. Feeling the threads the Beast desired, Rune followed its appetite through the cluster of pines. Over foliage and forest debris, he followed the path of Seidr threads until a distant light glowed then flashed, directing him to an illuminated clearing ahead. Only then did he ease his shoulders with relief and Rune fought down the Thing inside of him with its ever-growing hunger.

Taking care to stay in the shadows, Rune slipped through the branches and trees. Content to watch Kallan from a distance, he peered through the forest. Enveloped in a golden light that twisted and warped its way around her, she stood as she had at Bilrost. She had kicked off her boots, leaving her bare feet, delicate ankles, and half shins clearly visible beneath the high hem of her skirts.

Pulling the Seidr through her, Kallan exchanged it for her own and positioned her hands, palm-side up, then released her energy from within, bathing herself in sheets and streams of golden Seidr.

A shadow blackened the forest behind Rune, and a whisper rose. Unsheathing
Gramm
, Rune shifted toward the darkness and raised the blade at the ready. The red pommel glistened in Kallan’s light.

“You would raise my own sword to me?”

The guttural chill of a familiar voice forced a second look from Rune. Stepping into the Seidr light, donned in heavy black boots, worn trousers, and tunic, Ori emerged from the forest, taking the shadows with him. A threadbare travelling coat replaced the one given to Kallan, and a sword—simpler, plainer—replaced
Gramm
.

Rune relaxed his shoulders and lowered the sword. The Dvergr gazed at Kallan in the clearing, who was now busy tying eternal, complex knots with her Seidr.

“She’s become her mother,” Ori said, engrossed in the spells she weaved.

“Why did you come here?” Rune asked.

Somberness blanketed Ori’s black eyes as he tore his attention from Kallan.

“I’ve been following you since Throendalog.”

Rune clenched his jaw. Not once did he detect the Dvergr’s presence and Rune pondered how that was possible. Where Bergen boasted his skills with the blade, he boasted his skills in tracking.

“If you’re here to take her back—”

The Dvergr was already shaking his head.

“Motsognir insisted someone keep on your trail,” Ori said.

“Motsognir?” Rune said.

“The leader lived, but barely,” Ori explained. “If anyone else had volunteered to hunt you, Kallan would be in Svartálfaheim right now and you would be dead.”

Rune stared through the little light provided by Kallan’s Seidr.

“Your point is clear,” Rune said. “At any time you could have taken her and didn’t. Now what do you want?”

“I must be brief.” Ori’s words flew from his mouth in a hush. “There is more to say than I have time for. Olaf is here.”

The words rent Rune’s nerves.

“He’s less than an hour behind you,” Ori said. “Right after you passed through his camp, Olaf followed. He and his men hunt you.”

Light from Kallan’s Seidr brightened Ori’s pale face, making his black eyes appear larger than they were in the dark.

“How did they—”

“The apple,” Ori said, studying Kallan in the dark. “They saw her use the apple. They know.”

Rune swayed with lightheadedness.

“Immortal apples,” Rune said. Kallan’s Seidr had grown, twisting in and around itself until he lost the beginning and the end of her complex knots. The Beast paced, eagerly waiting for Rune to drop his guard. “Every mortal who comes to learn of their existence will race to get their hands on one.”

Ori nodded. “The secret’s out and Olaf’s racing.”

“To the borders of Alfheim, he’ll follow,” Rune said, gazing at Ori. “He won’t stop.”

“Not with the campaign he’s started,” Ori said. “Not for this.”

Rune eyed the Dvergr suspiciously.

“This is the second time you’ve helped me.”

“Her,” Ori corrected. “Never you.”

“Who are you?”

Ori drew in a slow, steady breath. “Motsognir is my father.”

The slits of Rune’s eyes darkened.

“A Dvergar prince,” Rune mused, “son of the king who murdered her mother. How can I be sure you aren’t looking to finish what your father started?”

Anger blanketed Ori’s eyes. “My father’s decisions do not reflect my own.”

Flooded by thoughts of his own father, Rune’s judgment softened as Kallan swept her hands, extinguishing her Seidr and dispelling the knots of Seidr she had woven. Eagerly, the Beast waited. With a sudden flick of her wrist, a ball of blue flame burst to life in her palm. Mesmerized, she stared at the blue flame and turned it over as curious as a child inspecting a new bug.

“Why would a Dvergr risk death for a Dokkalfar queen?” Rune asked.

“Not a queen,” Ori said, “a friend. One I owe my life to.”

Ori shuffled his feet as he moved to leave.

“Ori.”

The Dvergr paused.

“What does your immortal king want with Idunn’s apple?”

The question held Ori just long enough to answer.

“Motsognir doesn’t want the apples,” he said. “It’s the pouch my father is after.”

Rune shrugged. “Without the apples, it’s just an ordinary pouch.”

“To you,” Ori said. “To Kallan maybe. To Motsognir…” Ori’s voice trailed off. Shaking his head, he turned back to the shadows. “There is no time.”

The Dvergr vanished as he stepped back into the shadows.

“Get her out of here and stay on the move,” Ori called unseen through the black. “They’re coming.”