Fire and Lies (41 page)

“Oh, no.”

Kallan faltered as she fumbled and clambered to the stallion’s side. With trembling hands, she touched the velvet of his chestnut nose. His lifeless, brown eyes stared into nothing as his mouth hung unnaturally agape, frozen in the exact position as when the life had left him.

The shaking that started in her hands travelled like tremors into her body. Someone screamed, but she didn’t hear.

“Astrid.” Kallan’s voice cracked.

Again, she failed to hear Rune call her name. Her grief drowned out all sound. Unaware of the thunder of hooves striking the ground from the edge of the battle where Aaric emerged from the forest, Kallan kneeled and passed a gentle hand over Astrid’s face.

“Kallan!” Rune called, running hard toward her, over the bodies and the battlefield.  “Kallan!”

Madness settled where comprehension failed Kallan and with a wild eye, she glanced up just in time to see Rune racing toward her, reaching out for her as he cried her name—as Fand slid off her horse and released a stream of Seidr from Aaric’s hands.

The Seidr arched and the Beast within Rune rose up to meet it, but this Seidr consumed the Beast. The Beast screamed as Fand’s Seidr impaled Rune, twisting his body and launching him into the air. Horror obscured Kallan’s face as she watched his broken body slam the ground with a definitive thud, taking the last of her sense with it.

Lost to the sound of the battle, lost to the dismay that consumed her, Kallan scrambled to Rune’s side, oblivious to the winds and rains—oblivious to the Fae goddess who took the form of a raven and flew from the plains.

Kallan’s head quaked with incomprehensible disorder. No longer able to steady the shaking that passed through her, Kallan brushed her fingers across Rune’s face and succumbed to the confusion that clouded her senses. Droplets of rain streaked his lifeless brow. The last of her reason tipped into darkness.

From the Alfheim Wood, Aaric ran through the battlefield to meet her. Overhead, the raven cawed.

“Coward!” he shouted at the bird. It replied with a gleam in its golden eyes, and Aaric turned his attention back to Kallan.

The trembling in her body had stopped. Calm took her and the sounds of the battle died away with the last of his men, leaving only the hard patter of rain and the snort from his horse.

Bergen and Roald lowered their arms and assessed their surroundings. Gray and dead encompassed them in the rain as Bergen, with a smile on his face, found Aaric running full speed at Kallan. Panting, Bergen trailed the Dokkalfr’s gaze to a heap dumped on the ground before Kallan.

The jovial gleam in Bergen’s eye vanished. All color drained from his face as his body fell numb to the world, and Bergen knew his brother. Terror sent a cry from Bergen’s throat as he sprinted across the plains and fell to his knees beside his brother.

As if all life had drained from her eyes until only hate remained, Kallan raised her gold, arctic eyes to Aaric. Through the rain-soaked strands of hair, Kallan stared. Coldly, she clamped her fingers around
Gramm
’s hilt and took the sword from Rune’s dead hand.

Aaric slowed to a stop several feet from Kallan.

“Kallan,” Aaric called over the rain. “Don’t do this.”

Numbed by the pain, deadened by hate, Kallan rose to her feet. And the rains fell. A callous calculation erased all feeling, save for the mass of rage that filled her. From the air, she drew on the threads of Seidr, undeterred by the skill of her foe, consuming her sword-less arm with an energy she compacted with her own.

The winds snapped about, biting the skin as the rains bombarded the battlefield. Aaric hardened his stance, refusing to back down from the Seidkona’s wrath. With a step, Kallan brought her arm around and sent a single stream of white toward Aaric’s head.

The sudden attack left him stunned, but only for a moment. He re-directed her attack, forcing her Seidr to the ground, exactly as Kallan had seen with Gudrun.

“Kallan! Please!” Aaric cried.

Undaunted by his defense, Kallan sent a second blast, which Aaric re-directed as he had before.

“You must hear me!” he said, taking up a blade from the ground.

Another surge of white Seidr flew from Kallan’s hand and, slowly, she made her way toward Aaric. Each time, he seized it and guided it into the earth beside him until his tactic became predictable.

“Please don’t make me fight you,” Aaric said.

Kallan fired the Seidr she pulled through the wind until she closed the last of the space between them. Scrambling, Aaric stumbled back then fired off a stream of his energy as she hoped he would.

Impervious to the amount of Seidr Aaric wielded, Kallan raised Rune’s sword, blocked the attack, and siphoned the energy into the blade until
Gramm
sparked angrily. Beads of sweat rolled down Aaric’s temple as Kallan sent another surge of white that Aaric fed into the ground. He retaliated and streamed more Seidr and Kallan blocked, diverted, and pulled Aaric’s attacks into the sword.

“Kallan,” Aaric said. Heaving, he managed a step back. “There’s workings here you don’t—”

Kallan snapped her wrist, releasing a white stream of lightning that cut Aaric short.

Gazing past Kallan’s glowing white blade, Aaric found the golden eyes through the rain. With a jerk of his arm, he took up his sword and swung to block.

The cold clang of his blade resonated through his arms and he glanced down at a dagger with black, polished stones caught at the hilt. He pushed off the blade

Aaric swung his sword, and caught
Gramm
. The Seidr-charged sword sparked as they wielded their blades down and around. Aaric lunged and Kallan blocked. Aaric thrust and Kallan sidestepped as
Gramm
sparked in Kallan’s grip.

Flicking the dagger, Kallan sliced Aaric’s face and he fell back, tapping the strip of blood on his cheek. In the time it took Aaric to take a hand from his sword, Kallan sheathed the dagger and snapped her hand up as Aaric fired a stream of Seidr that Kallan caught with her bare palm.

Siphoning the Seidr into her own, Kallan welcomed and pulled Aaric’s Seidr into her, charging her own strength. The gold of her eyes gleamed bright white as she fed Aaric’s Seidr down into the earth.

Breaking off his Seidr, Aaric reached for his sword, but before he could raise his blade, Kallan fired a blast of wind that struck his chest and sent him barreling through the air. He landed with his sword and a crunch. Groaning, Aaric clambered to his knees and Kallan brought down her sword. A deafening clash caught Aaric’s blade and Kallan landed a punch between their blades, crunching Aaric’s front teeth.

Aaric fell back, holding his mouth, and scrambled to his feet, the front of him painted red.

Scowling, he lunged and Kallan let him come down against
Gramm
. There, Aaric bore his weight over her. And once he believed he had her, when he believed her strength would falter, Kallan plunged the stone-encrusted dagger up, beneath his sternum, and ripped open the core of his Seidr.

Immobilized by the gash to his stomach, Aaric fell to his knees as Kallan brought Rune’s sword to rest on his shoulder. Aaric opened his mouth to speak, desperate to utter any word to stop her, as Kallan positioned the blades onto his shoulders.

She panted. Her unyielding rage seethed. And Kallan saw nothing, not the wide eyes of Aaric’s voiceless plea, or the gurgle he emitted with his last breath as she released the Seidr from
Gramm
seconds before crossing the blades through his neck.

Kallan pushed off the body, raised the dagger, and plunged the blade into Aaric’s body over and over.

For Swann. For her father. For Rune, she stabbed the corpse again and again.

For Astrid, for Gudrun, for Eilif, until the pain she was starting to feel again dissolved.

For Kovit.

But the pain didn’t wane.

A strong, hand firmly caught her wrist and Kallan spun about to meet Bergen’s wide, black eyes through the downpour. Through the rain, she saw his tears.

“Kallan.”

He spoke with a grief as grand as her own.

Huffing, she studied his face blanketed by raw hate that wouldn’t let her go. The rain pattered quietly and mingled with their tears.

“I’ve been where you’re going, lass,” he whispered. Bergen sadly shook his head. “Don’t go there.”

Jerking her wrist free, Kallan lowered the blood-soaked blade and glared at Aaric’s headless body. Without a word, she turned to the lifeless heap of Rune.

S
oaked through with blood and rain, Kallan heaved deeply with rage. Numbed to the weight of the sword in her hand, she stood in the rain as hate surged through her. Ignoring Bergen and Roald, she stumbled over the sleeping and the dead to Rune’s side. To her knees, she fell, deadened to the pain pulsing through her.

Each movement sent a voiceless scream tearing through her as Kallan examined Rune. His body had already begun to grow cold. The Seidr had long left him. A spell could not bring him back any more than a Seidr-infused apple from the gods could.

Desperate to deny what she already knew, Kallan looked wildly about from Rune’s feet to his face. Desperate for a solution to jump up and save him, but nothing came. The rains only fell.

Hot tears streaked her face as she fell deeper into the truth that demanded she accept what she knew. Madness started to take her and she let it. Buckling beneath the loss, her hands flew to her face and Kallan broke. Behind her, Bergen stood beside Aaric’s corpse, taking in the scream that rent the air as Kallan’s grief filled the chasm Rune’s death left in them both. She shook as she sobbed, frail and weak as if she would crumble beneath the gentle patter of the rain.

Her mind succumbed to the darkness that would become her insanity, willingly falling into that void, but something darker stirred from within, pulling on her desperation to live.

“No!” Kallan screamed and she punched the earth.

Determination ignited her strength and, snapping her head up, the gold of her eyes glistened. She knew, too well, the threads Gudrun taught her and she, at last, could reach them.

“If I have to pull all the Seidr from all the earth, I will bring it back for you,” Kallan muttered.

Crazed with the refusal to fail, Kallan placed her hands upon Rune’s chest and willed herself to reach into the far depths of the Seidr, down past her core, into the deepest chasms of the earth.

Into the ground, Kallan pushed her consciousness, following the threads of Seidr. They mingled with earth and air through the waters, and on to the ends of the world. It was there she followed the threads, and siphoned the energy, pulling on all strands like a weaver, who would pull from a tapestry. And together, at once, the Seidr slowly started to obey and shift.

Kallan pulled the energy out from its hub and directed it along every strand. Deeper she dove into the black stretches of the unknown where the Seidr first dwelled beyond the Gap. Kallan merged with the lines that flowed to the seas, plunged to its depths, and farther still until she lost herself in the Seidr.

It carried her down to its chasms where it grew, secreted far beneath the earth and the sea, where it lay forgotten in the golden palaces of the Aes Sidhe.

The Fae palaces of Under Earth glistened. Beside a golden river of Seidr that encircled a city, Danann raised her perfect, pale face from the waters and turned her ageless, golden eyes to the East.

Dag’s soft footfall grew louder as he entered the white courtyard and came to stop beside her. He too, with his golden eyes and tapered ears, had felt the tremor and stared. Both seemed to drip in threads of Seidr, as if their clothing itself was woven with its strands.

“What is it, Danann?” he asked, as intrigued by the disruption as she.

Danann’s long, golden hair fell past her finely tapered ears to the river’s edge where it swayed in the gentle winds.

“Something stirs in the Northern Way,” she breathed and sharpened her senses.

Dipping her delicate hand into the Seidr river, she waited and reached out along the threads with her own Seidr as she followed the path to the disturbance.

A delicate smile pulled her mouth into a fine curve and Danann lifted her eyes to Dag.

“The Drui breathes,” she whispered and Dag sharply inhaled.

Stiffening his back, he looked to the east.

“Nine hundred years,” Dag breathed and shifted his gaze to Danann, who had withdrawn her hand from the river.

“There was a child,” Danann gasped. “And the Seidr of the Druἰ flows right to her,” she said with an ever-widening grin.

“I’ll summon the guards,” Dag said, but Danann placed a hand on him.

“No,” she said. “We wait. She will come to us.”

Into the sea, back through the air, the Seidr raced like water along the threads. Back through the earth, it flowed up into Kallan, who pulled the energy into her and down her arms into Rune.

With a sudden gasp, Rune arched his back against the surge and breathed free of the Fendinn’s hunger.

Kallan pulled back her hands as if his life had burned her. Breaking the flow, she released the Seidr. Gasping, Rune lay with his heart beating hard against the massive flow of energy Kallan had poured into him. As if trying to regain his whereabouts, Rune looked wildly about. The clouds had diminished overhead and left a bright, clearing sky as he regained control of his breath again.

“You…
Uskit
!” Bergen barked over Kallan’s shoulder.

With astounding relief, Kallan gasped and, free to feel once again, she fell onto Rune, shaking beneath her tears. Around them, the spell dispersed and the Alfar stirred.

With Bergen’s help, Kallan and Rune rose to their feet.

Ever smiling, Kallan clasped tightly to Rune’s hand, paying mind to little else.

“We have a problem,” Roald said, drawing Rune and Kallan’s attention to the battlefield.

The spell had worn off and the first wave of confusion had lifted. The second wave was settling in as Dokkalfar recognized Ljosalfar.

“We don’t have much time,” Rune said. “Re-form the ranks,” he ordered and joined Bergen to restore order.

They scrambled, reforming the Ljosalfar, but the Dokkalfar, abandoned and leaderless, took up sword against the only known enemy surrounding them.

“Reform the ranks!” Bergen bellowed, urging the Ljosalfar to find order among the chaos and abandoning all worry with the Dokkalfar.

Pockets of skirmishes grew, disrupting the ranks as confusion settled in where the Dokkalfar stood.

“Enough!” Kallan bellowed, forcing her voice out over her people.

A wave briefly calmed the skirmishes, but once they failed to see Aaric mounted, ready to lead them, they rose up again.

Siphoning her Seidr, Kallan inhaled again and located each life source. If she failed to unite them now, she would have failed completely.

“Enough!” she screamed again, this time adding a harmless pulse of Seidr through the wind.

Dokkalfar and Ljosalfar alike faltered against the force and the call of a Dani horn sounded, forcing all eyes to the east.

“He’s here,” Rune muttered, looking out among the fifteen thousand that stood on the horizon, ready with armed archers and spearmen.

* * *

The Midgard king of Dan’s Mork gazed to the west. The numbers before him were staggering, but unorganized as small skirmishes continued to break out. Forkbeard’s blood chilled as he gazed upon the Alfar. He furrowed his brow, knowing instantly that something was not right.

“What is Borg doing?” Vagn asked, peering up at Forkbeard perched high on his steed.

Forkbeard’s throat tightened.

Fueled on Borg’s adamant vow that he would have the support of the Dokkalfar, Forkbeard had heeded the words of his wife and amassed his troops. He pulled as many as he could from all of Northymbra: from Jorvik to Loden. He had left the northern reaches of Danelaw nearly bare.

“I don’t care.” Forkbeard grimaced. “So long as Borg upholds his end of the bargain.”

The Alfar had risen back to their feet, giving Rune the time he needed to re-establish his order.

“Form ranks!” Rune commanded of the Ljosalfar as Kallan took up her sword still lying beside Astrid’s body.

The Ljosalfar obeyed and fell into line as they sorted out themselves.

“Hear me!” Kallan cried with a Seidr-enhanced voice, walking through and among her kin to restore order to the masses. Slowly, the Dokkalfar repositioned for battle. Slowly, a front line formed alongside the Ljosalfar. But, almost instantly, pockets of fighting broke out again.

“Stand down!” Rune barked to his own, reasserting order among his ranks just as Kallan prepared to send off another pulse. She marched before the lines of Dokkalfar, crying out as she moved.

“Look at me!” she begged of them, sending her voice out over the thousands. “Look at me and know me!”

Silence fell among the troops as the last of the chaos dispersed and the mass quieted.

“We all have been deceived!” Kallan pleaded, hoping they would see her familiar face. “Now look at me as you once did! Look at me and know me!” Slowly, the chaos cleared and questions came as Fand’s spell broke.

“Come! Rise up once more with me! Fight with me so that, should I live, I may look upon you and know you as my brother! My brother, who dared to fight alongside me this day! This day! When we rise up together in arms and fight! Not against me, but alongside me. Share this fight with me. Rise up and fight with me!

“For centuries, I have fought beside you, my brothers. Stand with me as you once did and know me again! I may not live to this battle’s end, and many who stand before me shall fall. But should you fall then fall beside me as my brother. Know that if I should fall and go with Odinn into his halls, I will lift my eyes from the darkness and I will look to you with my final breath, and I will call you my brother!

“I call to you, rise up this day and fight with me! Rise up and win with me! Rise up and call me your brother!”

Kallan raised her sword to the sky, sending her voice out over the masses.

“Rise!” she bellowed. “Rise!” She turned to the west.

“Rise!” She led them on as their voices joined with hers.

“Fire.” Forkbeard’s order unleashed the archer’s volley. It showered the Alfar as they charged over the plains of Alfheim.

Forkbeard stifled a sigh as the whole of the Alfar barely flinched against his archers.

“Again,” he muttered, knowing the sacrifice he would need to make before leading the majority of his troops back to the ships.

Cursing Borg, Forkbeard witnessed the thousands charge through his arrows as if they were pellets of rain.

“Charge.”

Kallan grasped her white whips of Seidr that flowed from each hand. With each turn, she met a Dani and slashed her whips around and down, exercising full control as her eyes glistened gold.

“And again,” Forkbeard ordered.

Desiring nothing more than a single arrow to pierce Borg’s chest, Forkbeard shifted his gaze over each face, desperate for the one Dokkalfr, who had promised him victory, to fall.

With a wide grin plastered across his face, Bergen wielded his Firstborn, swinging the blade wide with ease as he charged ahead of his troops and caught Dani after Dani with his blade. Bare-chested and brazen, the Dark One lunged into battle eagerly slashing alongside the Seidkona, who snapped her white Seidr whips.

“Once more,” Forkbeard ordered as the fourth and last volley peppered the Alfar. But they remained formidable, undaunted by the barrage of his archers.

With a sick that had settled in the pit of his stomach, Forkbeard dropped the next order, despite his rising temper.

“Spearmen at the ready,” Forkbeard said. “Make it look like it was worth the expense.”

Vagn didn’t flinch. The line of spearmen snapped their arms in unison, waiting for the command that would send them charging across the plains to their deaths.

“Advance,” Forkbeard muttered.

From his seat, the Dan’s Mork king watched the Alfar swallow his front line as they charged to their deaths.

A glint of a red pommel caught the sun as Rune lunged, head first, into the lines of spearmen. Alongside the berserker and the Seidkona, he wielded his sword and dagger. Slashing a spearman, Rune brought
Gramm
down across a spear then up again, plunging his dagger into a Dani. Beside him, Bergen’s laugh carried over the battle as Kallan relinquished her whips only long enough to send a blast of Seidr into Forkbeard’s front line. With a flick of both wrists, she restored her white Seidr whips.