Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (2 page)

The others hung on
Rolf’s words, but only the song humming from the bowels of the Great Wood
chimed in Hallad’s mind, drawing him toward the forest’s edge. None of his
companions noticed as he crossed into the dense copse. The spiny branches of
myrtle scratched his legs, bereft of any of the buds that should have already
blossomed. Rolf’s words melted into the stillness of the forest, as the other
voice, the enchanting songstress, took hold of Hallad, urging him deeper into
the ancient woods.

As he crept through the
forest, sweat beads broke across his forehead, denying the chill of dusk. He
fingered his bow, his hand stiff. The heady scent of earth and aging roots
accosted his nostrils. The moon caused shadows to take over, playing tricks in
the sleeping undergrowth.

I should turn back
.

Out of the distance,
rose the howl of a wolf—a long, low, hungry yowl. Hallad jumped and fumbled for
an arrow. He nocked his bow tight, drew his elbow back, his hand fitted to his
cheek, his forearm stretched to full length. The baying lingered as if
originating from another realm, filling the thick air.

The woman’s voice broke
at the wolf’s cry. Then, as if to soothe her nerves, the singer continued, increasing
her volume to drown out the howl. A trickle of sweat moved across Hallad’s lip.
Shadows became lurk-abouts in the brush.

Hallad shifted from side
to side, pointing his arrow with deadly accuracy at every movement. His heart
knocked. His blood coursed. Something moved in the distance. A crack.

The arrow released and
within a heartbeat a strangled moan echoed, silencing the song that played
inside his head.

The godhi’s son
scrambled through the brush toward the stifled groan. As he passed, the forest
floor opened up, allowing sure footing. It was as if the land itself welcomed
him as he raced along, heart pumping. He broke through the thicket and stopped
thunderstruck in a wide open clearing. Hallad dropped the bow from his hand; his
will to move slid out of his body.

A long-limbed beauty
straightened up from the edge of the still waters of Prophetess Cove, turning
to face Hallad. The woman’s white hair silvered in the cast of the moonlight,
shimmering off her naked limbs. Beads of water sparkled on her skin like
hundreds of white jewels. The woman fixed her cool gaze on Hallad. Her hardened
eyes defied the fact she bared all to a strange man. Hallad could not turn
away. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes stayed prisoner to her own iron
black.

The empty space inside
Hallad rushed with emotions he couldn’t identify. As their eyes connected,
awareness surged through every muscle, the bones and the blood of his body—a
sense that on this night, the Norns drew forth his destiny from the rune
stones. A shine in her dark irises, a flicker of her eyelids, told him she felt
the same.

A shift in her carriage
broke Hallad’s stare. He realized the woman gripped a battle sword in her right
hand. Women did not carry swords! In his village and throughout the lands of
sudr
Scandi they carried keys, needles, small knives
and broaches, proudly displayed on a chain strung around their dresses, but
never swords. Even the men in his father’s longhouse wouldn’t possess such a
fine instrument.

"Hallad!" Emma
rushed into the opening, maneuvering to get close to her elder brother. "Hallad!
I beg you to mind your conduct!"

Erik
and Rolf had arrived moments before, each carrying torches. The cove
illuminated as flames rose in licks toward the sky, emitting billows of pungent
smoke. The smell of burnt pine wafted in the air. Both Erik and Rolf had
stopped upon seeing the naked woman—or girl. By the firelight the stranger
appeared to have lived around as many summers as Hallad—her body was not fully
developed, her hips still narrow and her white breasts high and firm.

Erik
immediately turned his back toward the young woman. Rolf gaped, his jaw
hanging, eyes protruding at the unclothed stranger. Emma attempted a
disagreeable frown in his direction. Rolf shrugged his shoulders and swiveled
around, tangling his feet in the dead grass as he twisted. Erik worked the end
of his long torch into the ground, while Rolf followed suit, trying to regain
composure.

Emma
crossed the distance, catching her brother by the waist; his height wouldn’t
allow her to grip his broad shoulders. As she tried to rotate Hallad, Emma
addressed the stranger.

"Please
excuse my brother. His manners have escaped him." Unable to turn Hallad in
the opposite direction, Emma exhaled in frustration. "Upon the honor of my
house, I ask your pardon and welcome you to the bounty of our table."

The
stranger didn’t respond. She shifted her frosty gaze from Hallad to Emma. With
a fluid grace, the young woman crouched, placing her sword by her feet. As her
hand left the hilt, the design lay exposed. The flawless steel had been
meticulously shaped into an ash tree, its mighty roots digging into the belly
of the earth—an identical signet to his father’s.

Hallad
scrunched his eyelids and drew a breath, trying to reason. Why would this woman
possess his father’s signet?

The
stranger dressed in fluid movements. Her hair fell like icicles around her
waist as she fastened on a stark shift. Her stone-worn shift, silver-white
hair, milky skin and bottomless eyes made her look more like a swan than a
woman.

The
stranger pulled on tight, black leather trousers, accentuating the narrowness
of her hips. After tying off the top of the trousers, she slipped a
lamellar
breastplate over her head,
fastening it in place. She completed her wardrobe with black leather boots, the
soles thicker than any warriors’ in the godhi’s longhouse.

A
thought shot through Hallad. He wondered if the stranger was a valkyrie. A goddess.
A swan maiden.

The
woman bent to pick up her sword, but instead of sheathing her blade she gripped
the hilt as if waiting for an attack. Emma sucked air from her lungs, panicked
at the stranger’s action. Erik spun around faster than a windstorm upon hearing
Emma’s distress, spotting the young woman with her battle sword in hand. He
brandished his own blade in response and sprang forward.

"Move
back, Emma!" he shouted, blocking the woman’s path toward Emma.

The
stranger spun her sword, loosening her grip on the hilt, whirling the steel
around until the blade pointed outward.

"Gentle
Goddess Freyja!" Emma piled her skirts in her fists to make her way around
Erik and over the bramble, jogging toward the stranger.

"Emma!
Nei! Do not go near her." Erik lunged forward, but Hallad stayed him with
a hand to his shoulder.

"She’s
hurt!" Emma hastened toward the young woman. Freeing her skirts, she held
her hands cautiously in front of her, murmuring to the stranger. "We won’t
harm you."

Erik
pitched forward again, but Hallad squeezed his shoulder tighter.

"Wait
a moment," urged Hallad. 

The
uncommon tone of Hallad's voice caught Erik, causing him to pause.

"Will
you look at that," Rolf said. "It’s like she’s charming a snake."

All
three young men exchanged mystified glances.

"I
can’t let her . . ." Erik wrinkled his forehead.

"She
will be all right." Hallad reassured him, but wasn’t sure why he thought a
stranger with the battle sword, who was possibly a valkyrie, wouldn’t harm his
little sister.

Emma
drew in closer until she touched the woman on the arm. As she inspected the
wound, she recognized the head of the arrow hidden in the stranger’s flesh and
turned to accuse her brother.

"You
shot her?" Emma said, both shocked and indignant.

Hallad realized
a trace of blood clumped on the back of the young woman’s bicep. When he had
burst through the bramble she must have already broke off the shaft and turned
to meet her attacker, hiding the gash from his view.

"Shooting
valkyries!" cried Rolf. "You’ll call forth the gods’ wrath on the
entire village!"

"She’s
not a valkyrie," Hallad replied, trying to convince himself.

"Nei,
godhi’s son. I know many a maiden who ventures the Great Wood at night with a
battle sword for company." Rolf raised his brows, challenging Hallad to
deny him.

"Hush,
Rolf," Hallad responded.

"I
do not take orders from the godhi’s son. The day you become the godhi and take
the oaths of Odin, perhaps I will change my mind." Rolf stuck his nose in
the air and snorted. "Besides, she
is
a valkyrie."

"Blood
brother, there is truth in what he says. Have you ever seen anything like her?"
asked Erik.

Hallad
recalled the singing—how it had seduced him into the forest. Could she have
been the singer? Yet she had not uttered a word since their arrival.

The
stranger sat motionless, without as much as a blink, while Emma prodded to
remove the point. His little sister cleaned and bandaged the stranger’s wound,
ripping pieces of her own linen underskirt to use as a dressing.

Hallad
regarded the girls as Rolf and Erik bantered about valkyries and the wrath of
the gods. The stranger’s eyes shifted uneasily, and the skin on the back of
Hallad’s neck rose. The air grew cooler. Aside from Erik's and Rolf’s chatter,
the only audible sound was the lapping of the opaque water on the shore as an
unnatural quiet crept over the Great Wood.

The
stranger jumped to one side as if she expected a lurk-about to come at her from
the shadows. Emma backed up, circling her, cooing reassuring phrases as if she
spoke to a wild bird. The young woman didn’t notice. A disturbed look possessed
the stranger’s face. Her eyes darted as if she awaited the strike of an enemy.

Hallad
raised his hand between Erik and Rolf to get their attention. In the next
breath, the young woman gripped her sword, spun it three times, and pushed Emma
behind her. Emma fell, the wind knocked from her lungs.

"Emma!"
Erik screamed, firming his grip on his broad sword. He sped toward the stranger
with a swiftness that defied his shorter physique.

"She
is
a valkyrie,"
said Rolf, his feet rooted where he stood.

"Move
aside!" yelled Erik as he leapt in front of the young woman—but the
stranger ignored him, jabbing her blade into the stale air. She swayed back and
forth, cutting in and out, in some odd dance with her blade.

Erik
extended his fingers to catch the front of his beloved’s dress, but the
stranger seized Emma’s arm, pulling her out of Erik’s grip. She planted Emma on
the ground behind her, leaving Erik with only the chain from Emma’s dress in
his hand.

Tremors
built inside Hallad
.

 I
need to do something.

An inexplicable chill
blasted into the clearing at Prophetess Cove, freezing them all in their spots.
From nowhere, blackness ripped into the air as if a knife cut open a curtain,
and darkness oozed through. The murk spread, crossing ground, its inky tendrils
snaking over the dormant land, filling the space between the two women.

The stranger swung her
neck around like a great bird, seeking Emma.

The rose-color leached
from Emma’s cheeks. Her eyes enlarged as the darkness slithered toward her,
crawling up and over her skin. Fear rolled over her face. A single tear escaped
her eye to stream downward, rolling over her chin to dissolve into the glacial
air.

Erik screamed. He
struggled, but remained fixed to the ground.

An unseen force held
them entrenched within its bitter grip. Before their eyes, Emma’s body
gradually disappeared into the blackness until there was nothing left in her
spot but the cool air and the earth beneath.

The frigid air dissipated. The space where Hallad’s little
sister had sprawled held nothing more than the ground’s rough traces, the only
hint she had been there at all. Hallad sought the stranger across the distance.
Her features steeled against him.

"Emma!" Erik’s face darkened, his voice cracking
at her name.

The elder brother fell to his knees, his arms reaching
forward into empty air. His fist clutched the key, ripped from Emma’s dress. His
distressed look focused on the stranger.

"What have you done with her?"

Erik thrust himself upright, his broadsword still clutched
within his fist. With his blade extended, he charged the stranger with all the
fury bound in Muspell. Hallad sprinted after him, but even with his longer
strides he knew he could not catch Erik before his friend ran the young woman
clear through.

The stranger returned Erik’s fire with a stare, her hair
draped about her like a blanket of snow. The sharp edge of Erik’s weapon raced
toward her chest, yet she didn’t budge. Instead, she dropped her sword. And
waited.

A frustrated grunt sounded from Erik as he pulled back on
his hilt, stifling his blow; he lodged his blade into the hard earth, releasing
the hilt. He snatched the woman’s breastplate with both hands, grappling to
retain his grip on Emma's key and the woman at the same time. He pulled her
close, kicking her sword away, and shook her.