EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (98 page)

Runes transformed across the medallion’s surface: isa, ihwaz, ansuz, raidho, hagalaz and another symbol Hallad did not recognize. Then the medal repeated the sequence.

Hallad scrambled out of the carriage.
 

“Ase!” He caught his toe on the edge of the entry, lurching off the carriage, and nearly ran over the old woman, who already stood in front of him as if she waited for him.

Fully cloaked, with her pine green cowl pulled up over her head, the priestess answered, “It’s about time.” Then she motioned with her walking stick for him to sit and show her the medallion.

Though confused at her immediate appearance, Hallad obliged, keeping his concentration on the transforming symbols. He did not want to lose the message and continued to repeat the runes in his head.

The old woman watched the symbols appear and disappear, scratching identical runes into the ground with her cane until the entire progression was transcribed in the dirt.

The warmth of the metal died in Hallad’s palm. The last rune vanished, leaving a smooth, motionless surface. Rota, Olrun shadowing, arrived at their commotion. Though Rota’s boots were laced tight and she wore all her clannish clothing in perfect arrangement, Olrun looked as though she had battled with a bear in the woods—her hair disheveled, tunic askew, and barefooted.

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.

Chapter XXXVII

E
RIK
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.