EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (105 page)

“Our scouts have verified your sister’s location.”
 

Ravenna locked her arms across her chest, standing at the head of a marble table, while the other Norns were seated along with Hallad, Ase, Gisla and the Head Drengmaers. A cot had been supplied for Swan, along with a white robed team of women who examined her.

“Emma?” asked Hallad.

“We received a tip that a Scandian woman was being held by Lord Lothar, Guardian of Holyfell, within his holdings. His servant reluctantly confirmed.”

Hallad bowed his head, thinking.
 

“And what of Swan?”
 

He turned his head to gaze at his pale sister, the robed women hovering their hands over her entire body, faces tight with concern.

“Our walkers have located her soul essence somewhere in the Broken Lands. Because the lands have been violated, the Mother’s touch lies dormant in that realm. Our walkers also possess the Mother’s touch, so it is too painful for them to endure a stay without the Mother’s caress. We had originally thought the Shadow held her, but now we believe the abductor to be a master shadowwalker.”

“We must move. Get me to Swan and send an army to Holyfell for Emma.”

One of the Norns cleared her throat while another flicked her eyes at Ravenna.

“We cannot—” started Ravenna, but Hallad cut her off.

“You must!”

“You do not understand our situation. For the part of Emma, Lothar is highly respected amongst our people. We cannot openly move against him without causing political strife. None of Lothar’s rank has ever been publically accused of being Shadow Sworn. We will need time to deliberate our best move in this situation. For the Svenna—the Broken Lands are many days travel and those with the touch are adversely affected by these lands. We cannot reach her in time.” Ravenna exchanged a knowing glance with one of the woman inspecting Swan. “Only one day remains for your sister before she is lost.”

“So you haven’t any solutions,” stated Hallad.

“We require time.”

“Time that my sister does not have.” The muscles clenched in Hallad’s jaw.

A liveried man entered, casting anxious glances at Ravenna.
 

After Ravenna consulted the man, she returned to the head of the table, announcing, “Emma has been moved to Castle Grimnear, in the Broken Lands.”

Murmurs broke out amongst the Norns as they cast unbelieving glances at one another.
 

“We had thought Grimnear a myth,” Ravenna explained. “We had not been able to get close enough to confirm its existence, but new information points to the fact that your sister, Emma, has been taken there by a master shadowwalker. We now believe that walker to be Lothar.”

Discourse erupted from the women, some protesting, and some praying to the Mother. Ravenna held her hand in front of them, staving off comments. The raven bleeding into her skin deepened.

“What is Grimnear?” asked Hallad.

“Nothing short of an abomination—the core of the Broken Lands. These lands exist, void of the Mother, because the Conspirators abuse her, burning, raping, pillaging her fruits until all has withered and died. We have heard rumors of an army being gathered in the Broken Lands under the direction of a master shadowwalker residing in Grimnear, but until now, we have not had confirmation. Apparently their leader is Lothar.”

Hallad cut in, “Grimnear is where Swan is.”

All eyes rounded to him.
 

“How do you know?” asked Ravenna.

“She told me she would make it right with Emma. I know she has gone to her.”

The Norns turned gazes upon one another, considering Hallad’s statement. Hallad pulled the dyrr from his pocket and placed it on the slick surface of the tabletop. The intake of breath rounded within the room. Ravenna reached for the medallion and picked it up, studying the smoothed gold.

“A dyrr. We thought these a myth as well.” Ravenna stated as she scrutinized Hallad. “How did you come by it?”

“It was given to me by the ward that killed Thyre.” As Hallad said the words, numbness toward his
mother
spread. “I used it to cross to Glitner. Now we will use the dyrr to open a doorway to Castle Grimnear before it is too late.”

“It could be a trap.” Ravenna studied the air around Hallad’s head, her eyes never settling upon him.

“We have nei other options.”

“Then you must take a small party, slip into Grimnear unnoticed and break the Svenna free, Return here with her and bond so your strengths can be joined and you will not run this risk of separation again.”

Hallad nodded as he lifted himself from his seat, reaching for the dyrr. The First of the Norns pulled the dyrr back with a smooth movement, giving her final warning.
 

“A walker can only be held in the walk if she allows herself to be consumed by her own fears. As powerful as Lothar is, it is not his binds that keep her.”

Chapter XLVII

R
OLF
BENT
AT
HIS
MIDDLE
, holding his gut, while Seretta placed her long fingers upon his back, stroking it.

“Can’t you sing? Sooth him?” asked Erik as he watched his little brother.
 

Rolf coughed, the sound rumbling in his throat as if he would heave.

“My touch wanes here.” Seretta glanced up at Erik then extended her gaze outward, toward the landscape.
 

“The land is pained. The Mother lies buried under mounds of destruction. I, alone, cannot coax her forth.”
 

Before them, spread a mighty forest, reaching over the horizon. Only the trees bore no leaves, no lushness, no sweet smell of pine. Burnt and blackened, bark clung in seared lumps to their blanched and dead insides, rising from the ground like thousands of ashen spikes against the sky. The air crackled with cold and a permanent layer of frost remained upon the ground. The overcast sky spread above them, darkening the land below even though daytime still lingered.

“Rolf,” said Erik, extending a hand to his brother.
 

Rolf ignored the gesture and stood upright, swallowing hard in his throat.

“I am fine, only winded. We have traveled quickly.”

Seretta turned a concerned gaze upon him.
 

“You feel the Mother’s pain at this destruction. Your reaction is natural and always worst the first time you feel such devastation. Your touch is great, Rolf Sigtrigson. It is a miracle you ever survived in Scandia for all those years, so far away from her heart.”

The dwarf fumbled in the pouch tied around his waist. Within moments he approached with a tin cup in hand.

“Drink this,” said Andvarri. “It will settle your stomach and numb the pain in your heart.”

Rolf obliged, gulping with little gags as he tried to hold down the concoction. He finished, wiping dribbles of the liquid from his lips.
 

“Thank you, Andvarri.”

“I am glad I could finally do something to help,” said the dwarf, a smile working the ends of his lips.

“What is this place?” asked Rolf as he adjusted his crimson cape underneath his outer coat. They had all donned their fur-lined leathers when the temperatures dropped, with the exception of Seretta who refused to wear the abominations, citing them as unnatural cruelties.

“Blakkrwood,” replied Seretta.

The songvari’s complexion took on a white pallor as they continued their travels in the Broken Lands. Dark circles wore underneath her eyes and her skin stretched in weariness, robbing her beauty.

“How could you have survived here?” Even though Rolf paled, his face lit when he looked at the songvari, as if in a constant state of stupor and adoration.

“It was not easy.” Seretta’s face remained flat. “If we are here too long we wither and die.” She glanced at Erik, as if to warn him of the consequence of this journey. “I was only here for a brief time. Once Lothar figured out I could not be contained, he walked me into Grimnear against my will. I escaped and was traveling to Asheim, seeking sanctuary, when you stumbled upon me.”

With horses in tow, they moved into the barren ground of the Blakkrwood. The frost cracked under their feet as they walked. With every step, Erik felt Emma nearer.

“When I met Lothar, I thought he was a kind and gentle man.” Seretta spoke to Rolf. “Glitner’s policy against those without the touch continued to harden. Their punishments were cruel. In secret, Lothar would tell me of his dreams to save those who were persecuted by the Palace. He said the Mother would not agree with our treatment of them, even though they were deaf to her. And I agreed. In fact,” she smiled, though no light touched her eyes, “my outspoken opinions on the subject got me dispelled from Glitner.”

Erik tried to absorb her story, but his mind wandered. The voice of the Shadow had not returned since Erik’s reunion with Rolf at the edge of Ginnungagap, and with his mind finally his own, it filled with thoughts of Emma.

The first time Erik ever saw her, he was six. She was five. She played with a sparrow in the Green, chasing after the feathered creature. Emma would turn, laugh and run in the other direction while the sparrow darted through the sky, spinning and chasing her back. He had watched her game with the little bird for long moments, when he decided to join in. He approached, but Emma was not watching where she was going. Upon turning, she ran directly into him and they both tumbled to the ground. Instead of getting angry, Emma had looked up at him with those giant gray eyes and smiled. With a laugh, she had grabbed his hand and pulled him up to play with her. From that moment forward, he had loved her.

“Lothar was powerful and I thought he was the epitome of the Guardian—loyal, caring, strong and protective. But, after our union, I began to unravel his secrets. He was a caller, but also something darker. His dreams were plagued and on many nights he would scream in his sleep. I tried to help. I was concerned my husband had fallen into battle with the Shadow. I was right, but there was nei helping him. He embraced the Shadow.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rolf.

“It was then he began to use me. I guess he always did. I just did not see it for what it was. He implored me in ways I could not refuse. His touch of the Shadow was as great as my touch of the Mother. He convinced me we could bridge the gap between the two if we worked together. We developed two dyrrs . . . ” Seretta paused when she realized none of them understood what she spoke of. “A dyrr, it is the old tongue for doorway. Through our combined touch, we designed two dyrrs that would allow any who spoke the runes to cross through the shadowwalk.”

“You could go anywhere?” asked Rolf.

“Anywhere except Grimnear. Lothar insisted we make restrictions to protect ourselves. The intention was that Glitner would finally see the usefulness of those touched by the Shadow. Or at least that is what Lothar told me.
His
intention was to bring armies of Conspirators through the doorways to destroy Glitner.”

“And that’s when you ran?” Rolf slung his arm around Seretta’s waist as they walked, pulling her into him.

“Ja,” she admitted. “But divorce is a crime here. I could not report him because I played a part in his betrayal of the Mother. I did not want to risk anyone abusing me for the power of my touch again. So I hid. I suppose I am a coward.”

“Nei,” said Rolf, tightening his grip on her. “You are a survivor.”

Ahead of them a wolf howled. The cry echoed through the crisp air. Behind them, another wolf returned the call. Almost immediately, howls rose on all sides.

“We must quicken our pace.” Seretta started to jog. “Wolves hunt the Blakkrwood at Lothar’s control, though I do not remember so many. He has gathered an army with these creatures.”

“To the horses,” commanded Erik.
 

Seretta’s eyes widened at his statement.

“I will not let you fall.” Rolf pulled her back to him, smiling down at her, his white teeth showing themselves after days in hiding.

The dwarf struggled with the reins of Rolf’s mare, the white snorting and hoofing the ground at the sound of the wolves. Andvarri willingly let Rolf take over as Rolf hoisted Seretta to the mare’s back, clambering up after her.

Erik grabbed the dwarf and pushed him onto Beyla while Andvarri protested, “I am not such an invalid. I can mount a horse on my own.”
 

Erik ignored him, shoving the little man onto the mare’s croup then jumping up in front of him. The yowls increased, turning to yips and growls, as Rolf and Erik kicked their mounts into a gallop.

Seretta, pressing her body back into Rolf’s grip, yelled back to Erik, “There’s a cave at the base of the hill. If we can get there, we can defend against the wolves.”
 

She pointed toward a hill in the distance. The mountain jutted up out of the spikes of dead trees, a massive mound of rock and dirt. Nothing lived within the crags, but a huge stone structure jutted outward from the cliff face. Square stones defied their position as they poked from the mountainside, forming a dismal looking castle—dull walls spiking into towers against the lifeless backdrop of rock.

A horde of wolves appeared on their heels, eyes yellow lights against the darkening sky. Beyla’s girth labored underneath them. At the sight of the predators, Andvarri squeezed Erik so hard he thought the little man would crush his lungs. The pack gave chase, lunging forward with split mouths and canines dripping saliva.

Frost sprayed Erik’s face as they raced behind Rolf’s white mare. Andvarri let loose his grip to grope for something inside his waist pack. Within a moment’s passing, a boom resounded. Erik chanced a glance backward. The dwarf threw little balls from his pack. The orbs hit the ground, exploding in front of the wolves, snow and dirt flying. The creatures dodged in and out behind them, but continued their onward attack.