EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (103 page)

Had the woman threatened to kill him? Or did she warn him of an impending fate? Recalling Emma horror-struck at the sight of Swan, Erik concluded the warrior woman intended to cause Emma harm.

Loki’s voice replaced Swan’s, booming within the abyss.
 

I can take you to Emma.

How?
asked Erik.

You must leave your companions. Only you alone can cross through the shadowwalk.

Erik remained silent as he considered the option. His efforts to find Emma had failed. He feared her danger eminent, her time short.

Come to me. Cross through the orchard. Travel vestr until you reach a wide canyon. I will show you how to cross through the shadowwalk in physical form. You will be with her, where Lothar holds her in Castle Grimnear, within moments of my instruction, but you must come alone.

Erik’s mind sped.
 

If I agree?

You and I will seal our pact. We will be allies.

Dawn broke over the horizon as Erik opened his eyes. Dim light created silhouettes out of the surrounding trees, a pink-purple hue washing the skyline. Rolf and Seretta sang in the distance, Rolf’s tenor harmonizing with Seretta’s clear soprano. Andvarri snored, wrapped in rabbit furs, his eyelids flinching in a dream filled sleep.

Edging forward, Erik strained to hear his brother and the songvari, their voices blending in a perfect complement to one another. Rolf sang words Erik could not understand, and he wondered how his brother had learned them so quickly. As he crept closer, he could see they worked their hands in unison over a stone, as if dancing together, mirroring one another. The stone yielded at their fluid gestures, molding into the shape of a tree—reaching branches, full with bloom, gnarled roots, thick with age. Erik had never, in his entire life, seen his little brother so proficient, so graceful, and so joyful.

When the two stopped their song, Seretta said, “You have a strong touch, Rolf. You could advance to songvari with practice.”

Color rose in Rolf’s cheeks at her compliment. A grin spread his face, but within a breath, fear replaced his smile.
 

“What do you think will happen to my brother?”

Seretta reached for him, placing her long fingers over his lanky ones.
 

“I have done what I can. The Mother’s touch can only do so much with one who has been seduced by the Shadow.”

Rolf stared down at his stone creation, nodding his head.

“The best you can do for him is to stay close. Keep him near. Support him and let him know you love him. The love of a brother can rival even the Shadow.”

Erik drew back at their conversation. His heart thudded at Rolf’s devotion to him. He drew in a breath and held it, telling himself he was doing the right thing—for Emma’s sake, he had to.

Erik snuck back to their campsite and picked up his belongings. He stuffed what he needed in his saddlebag, leaving the rest for Rolf. He tiptoed to his mare. The elder brother brushed Beyla as she nickered at him, flicking her eyes backward at his hasty movements, switching her ears back and forward again. With a pat of her chest he grabbed his saddle, threw it over her back and cinched the strap tight, then attached his bag behind the cantle. Erik mounted and nudged the horse forward with a click of his tongue and tap of his heels.

Beyla’s hooves thundered against the ground as Erik raced. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. He swiped at the wetness with the back of his forearm and hammered on, urging his mount faster and faster. Images flashed: Emma, her face struck with terror, the black-white swirl of Swan facing her, Rolf’s defeated posture, his head hanging as he spoke of his brother, Lothar’s vulpine smile as he stood by Emma, holding her hand. The visions rushed at him with crushing force, pounding into his mind as the horse’s hooves beat the ground.

Neighing, Beyla stopped short and pranced in place. She snorted and bucked her head up and down, pulling at the reins. Before them spread a vast canyon as deep as it was wide. Several paces ahead, the land broke into a cliff, spiraling thousands of paces straight down. The craggy edges of rock poked from the gap’s sides. The meadow thinned from grass to rubble, a brief warning of the drop ahead.

Erik slid off Beyla, pacing toward the cliff’s edge. Stones tumbled downward as he neared the rim, taking a silent dive into the chasm below. Peeking over the side, he could make out the outline of a river cutting through rock at the bottom of the gap, so far below the water appeared no larger than a thin blue line.

As Erik backed away from the cliff, he searched for Loki. The rumble of hooves caught his ear and he turned. A white mare carrying two forms rushed down the path behind him. Rolf’s scarlet mantle waved in the air and Seretta’s amber hair flew. The songvari clenched her arms around his little brother’s waist, struggling to stay upright, bobbing around on the mare’s back as if she had never ridden in her entire life. Rolf’s skin flushed, redness blazing his cheeks. They skidded to a stop in front of Erik and Rolf launched off the horse’s back. He thundered to Erik, planting himself in front of his brother.

“You were going to leave me?” he accused. Rolf’s cheeks stretched in an unbelieving grimace.

“I—” Erik started, but Rolf interrupted.

“You were going to leave me in Steadsby. And now you are going to leave me here, in a strange land, where I do not know where to go or what to do. I have followed you from the moment I could walk. I have loved you from the moment I was born. And all you ever want to do is leave me.” Rolf’s eyes flashed with rage, the rims reddening along with his skin.

Erik stared at his little brother unable to form words. His head buzzed.

“And you have nothing to say to me,” prodded Rolf.

Seretta found Rolf’s arm in an attempt to sooth him, but he jerked away, closing the distance between Erik and himself.

Loki’s voice invaded Erik’s head.
 

You must leave him if you want to be with Emma.
 

Erik shook his head back and forth, as if to dislodge the Shadow from his mind.

Rolf thought the gesture supplied an answer to his question and he snorted.
 

“Perfect. Just perfect.” Rolf threw his hands up, huffing air.

Struggling to keep the conversations straight, Erik tried to answer. “Brother, you don’t understand, I—”

“I understand my entire life I have done everything to get your attention. Everything! I follow you around like a puppy and you barely even notice me. But when you do realize I’m around, you never approve of me. I’m some appendage you can cut away and leave behind.”

“Nei, brother,” started Erik, but Loki assaulted again.

If you do not leave him and follow me, Emma will be lost to you forever.

Erik reached up to grab his hair, tugging hard, scrunching his eyelids closed.
 

“Nei!” he screamed.
 

His breath came hard and fast. He opened his eyes to view his little brother.

Rolf stammered, backing away.

“Nei.” Erik’s voice boomed again. “You don’t understand. I have to get to Emma. She is in grave danger. Lothar moved her to a place called Castle Grimnear.”

Seretta’s face paled at the mention of Grimnear.

“If I don’t do this . . . If I don’t leave—”

“You cannot leave me.” Rolf’s tone shrunk, sounding ten seasons old. “I am your brother.” His shoulders shook.

Now,
commanded Loki.
I will only give you one chance.

“Please,” begged Rolf. The red rims of his eyes welled.

The vulnerability of his little brother wrecked Erik. Rolf’s loyalty over the years proved unmatched.
 

“I won’t leave you,” said Erik.

Rolf lunged forward, enveloping Erik in a hard embrace, thumping his back with the palm of his hand. Erik stiffened at first, then loosened into Rolf’s grip—then hugged him back fiercely.

“I just want you to be safe,” Erik whispered.

“We are both safer when we are together,” Rolf said, still clinging.

Pulling out of the hug, Erik warned, “But we must find a way to Emma.”

“You do not need the Shadow to get to Grimnear,” Seretta offered.

Erik’s attention shot to the songvari.

“I know how to get to Grimnear.” Seretta cast her gaze downward, unable to look either brother in the face. “I was once Lothar’s wife.”

After the songvari explained their destination and their plan of travel, they collected Andvarri and returned to the canyon Seretta called Ginnungagap. Loki’s voice did not return for the length of the day giving Erik the rarity of peace.

They traveled sudr along the canyon, seeking the narrowest spot. When they arrived at a suitable destination, they stopped.
 

Rolf and Seretta edged toward the gap, joined hands and sang. Their melody rose skyward, their voices increasing, swelling with the wind. As they sang, the Mother responded, creating a bridge that stretched across the entirety of the gorge and they walked into the Broken Lands of Alvenheim.

Chapter XLV

“D
O
NOT
GIVE
UP
.”
 

A
SE
’
S
form blurred before Hallad, green cape blending with her gray hair, until Hallad only recognized the greenish gray blob of her shape before him.

Ase’s tone turned into a frantic whisper.
 

“I call for the Goddess at night and chant for Serpent Mother as well, but my gift in seidr-craft resides with runes and herbs, not with the spiritwalk.”

Hallad tried to open his mouth to speak, but his lips cracked from lack of fluids and he could not find his tongue. He no longer felt the dry ache of his throat or the hunger in his belly or the burn of his raw skin against the binds—only numbness, a deadening—as all his senses closed down in defense of the constant barrage of pain.

The image of Swan blinked in front of him as his lids threatened to close. He fought to prop them open, but lost the battle as they drooped shut once again. Swan had been placed in the center of the chamber, surrounded by alder incense. Maids brought her daily offerings of goose feathers, birch branches and honeyed milk. Hallad counted the days by the piles of donations. Seven. Seven days had passed while he hung from the great ash in the courtyard of the Temple of Upsalla. Counting the nine days of travel, only two days remained until Swan was lost to this world.

The image of a rune floated into his mind. Algiz. He tried to form the word on his lips, his tongue too thick to comply. Was it part of the puzzle of the medallion? Hallad fought the haze settling inside his brain.
 

Nei.
 

Algiz was the first rune his father had taught him as a boy.
Algiz means protection. A shield. Speak the rune to ward off evil, to call forth sanctuary,
his father had said so many moons ago.
 

Father
, thought Hallad.
I have failed, once again.

“Hallad!”
 

Ase risked jabbing his toe with her walking stick, trying to rouse him. The poke seemed no more than a fly on his deadened foot.