EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (86 page)

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.”

Chapter XX

T
HE
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?”

Hallad nodded.

“She holds her tongue because she carries enormous power within. To speak would be to release the power and she cannot allow the floodgate to open. Yet.”

“Says who?” Hallad prodded.

“You must have faith.”

“Faith in what?” Hallad rounded on Serpent Mother, unable to control his anger. “I know nothing of your Goddess. I have followed your priestess blindly, been led to your Sacred Groves, and now I am to sit like an obedient dog and obey while my half-sister’s life is threatened. I cannot remain idle. I must seek out my sister and save her from any ill fate besetting her.”
 

Swan pressed into his side, and a mix of comfort and irritation rushed through him. He tried to contain the prick of annoyance at her proximity, but he could not. The old feeling of blaming her for his inactivity seized him, but within a blink, Swan’s emotions withdrew, as if she built a wall in the place inside him that harbored her. Momentary relief from her constant barrage eased him. He glanced in Swan’s direction and realized hurt flashed across her eyes.

Serpent Mother exchanged a wordless understanding with Ase.

“Emma’s fate is her own, Hallad Avarson. Your concern is to your twin. Your duty is to the one true Goddess.”

“I will bond, as you say, as sal drengrs.”

Serpent Mother nodded in satisfaction, but before she could reply Hallad added, “But we will bond tonight, and seek Emma upon daylight. Half-sister or full. She is still my blood and still my responsibility.”

Serpent Mother directed her speech towards the women warriors. “Rota and Olrun, Headwomen of the Lion Clan.”

Each bowed their head at her address.

“I have heard of your misunderstanding upon meeting Hallad and your disrespect toward this man, whom our Goddess has willed as the Savior’s Guardian. In reprimand you are commanded to train the Savior and her Guardian in the skills of drengrs.”

Olrun’s mouth opened in defiance but Rota caught her wrist, growling at her between her teeth in a warning of silence.

“Good,” Hallad answered. “Then our action is decided. We will train tonight, and leave at sunrise.”

“Nei. You will train with the Headwomen of the Lion Clan and you will be bonded as sal drengrs if and when the time comes.”

“I will not play games. I am a godhi’s son and I will do as my station commands.”

“You are Isla’s son! She is daughter of the Temple. You are supplicant to the Temple.” Serpent Mother rounded on him like a viper, ready to strike, her voice a hiss in the still air. “If Isla had raised you, you would have learned respect for Our Lady. I do not request this of you. The Goddess commands your compliance.”

The drengmaers crowded in close to Hallad’s back and he realized his status. Prisoner.

Chapter XXI

A
PAIN
-
FILLED
HOWL
,
BELONGING
in the tales Rolf told by firelight, shot through the Lion Clan’s campsite. Hallad peered about, seeking the source. Fires burned low, banked by rocks, barely enough fodder to keep the embers glowing.

After their abrupt dismissal from the Sacred Groves, Rota and Olrun had escorted Hallad and Swan to their camp in the depths of the IronWood. Though the women had not bound them, Hallad knew any movement toward escape would have been met with a sword.

Mist rolled throughout the damp forest, tendrils entwining like the fingers of Loki, announcing morning would arrive dusted with frost and night would bite at bare skin with vengeance. The cry rang again until the wail broke into sobs.

Olrun sat on her heels, her freckled skin flushed by the dim fire.

“What’s going on?” Hallad asked as he removed his swan sword from its scabbard, sharpening the edge against a rock.

“Intruder,” Olrun replied, pulling a flask from her skins and taking a long swig, the scent of mead spilling into the night air. She smacked her lips and wiped them with the back of her hand.

Swan sat across from Hallad, staring into the brush—her emotions a mystery for the first time. He could still sense her presence, but not in the same way. She’d managed to buffer their intensity. Hallad wondered if their connection had severed. His chest heaved with relief. Maybe this sal drengr business wouldn’t be necessary. At his thought she turned, her cool eyes catching his. When he met her gaze, hurt spattered across her face. Guilt welled in him. She could still feel his emotions, even if she blocked her own from him.

Two drengmaers appeared, pacing through the tangled brush as gracefully as deer, as dangerously as she-lions. Each bore a spear and stopped to face Olrun, though standing askance so their backs touched. The drengmaers were identical. In Hallad’s experience twins were exposed to the elements at birth, though he still hadn’t puzzled out how he had been saved from that fate.