Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (23 page)

Bera’s face whitened. "Shush
child!"

"You told me not to
talk about them, but Lothar—"

"You didn’t tell
him, did you? Say you didn’t, child."

"Nei. Your advice
stayed in my heart. I did not tell him." Emma bit her lip. "But I
think he knows."

"Oh." Bera’s
voice sounded hollow.

The water level reached
her shins. Emma removed the rest of her undergarments. She slipped onto a ledge
in the pool, the water wrapping around her like Erik’s arms holding her tight
and safe.

"I need to know why
they are bad, Bera. Are they dangerous?"

Bera filled the bath
with sweet smelling oils from an urn. The familiar scent of linnea flowers
filtered through the room. The woman’s features tightened as she ignored Emma’s
question.

"Bera, please tell
me."

"Child, I cannot
speak any more than I have. Please understand."

The older woman drew a
sponge from a cabinet and scrubbed at Emma’s back.

"Please Bera, you
must." Emma’s voice sounded against the walls, startling her with its
force. She dropped to a whisper. "Someone is in danger. Please."

Bera closed her eyes
against Emma’s words, her face contorting as her features stretched tighter.

"He . . . " the
words stuck in the air, "he frightens me."

"Lothar?"

"Hush." Bera
glanced sideways as if she thought someone hid amongst the stone walls to
listen to them. Then she nodded.

"He frightens me,
too," Emma admitted. "He has asked me to do something unbearable. That
is why I must know about the dreams."

"I don’t care much
for myself, but for my boy. If he knew that I told . . . " Her voice fell
away as if tumbling from a cliff.

"He saved him, why
would he harm him?" Emma drew her arms around her middle to calm her
tremors; even the heat of the water was unable to keep her chills at bay.

"I have heard
things that are better left unsaid."

Emma nodded.

"He even . . . "
Again the older woman’s voice trailed off.

"Even what?"

Bera shook her head, her
eyes like dams trying to hold back a mighty river.

"I do not know what
I say."

Emma nodded, letting the
woman escape from the words.

"Is there something
evil in the dreams?"

"The Palace says
anyone who shadowwalks is subject to the call of the Shadow. Shadowwalking is
different from regular dreaming. You see things in other places, people who
actually exist. You glimpse into their worlds." Her voice deadened. "Like
when you see your love, it is real." Bera took a breath. "Then the
Shadow comes. You cannot hide from it. It seeks you, hounds you, until you give
in. Those with the Mother’s touch can be strong enough to resist, but those who
cannot feel her sink into the Shadow."

"Could someone get
hurt? Or killed in the shadowwalk?"

Bera’s thick gaze met
Emma’s. "Ja, child. Or worse."

The confirmation was all
she needed. Emma knew what must be done.

“Our guests have a grand
need. A legendary quest is at hand. We have gathered as a village to decide the
best way to offer our help to these travelers who have become our friends and
brothers.” Elder Eitri spoke to the crowd assembled deep within the bowels of
the Skaggs. His words lingered in the cavern, echoing off the moist walls and
ceiling of miniature stalactites—so delicate they resembled winter’s first
icicles on the godhi’s longhouse back in Steadsby.

The Elder sat in the
center of a long table, surrounded by other impossibly old dwarves. Villagers
crowded on wooden stools in front of the table. The cavern of the meeting hall stretched
into blackness; the entrance to the fabled gold mines of the dwarves stood several
paces away.

Erik fingered the key
beneath his shirt.

This is stupid.

He wondered how long
he’d have to stay here, listening to this quest nonsense. It was bad enough he
had to listen to Rolf’s far-fetched stories, but now an entire village indulged
in the absurdity.

Rolf perched himself on
the edge of his seat, eyeing the dripping rocks and bolted doors, an unbreakable
smile spreading from ear to ear.

Erik squeezed his fist
around the key. At least he hadn’t heard the voice again—the one who promised
him Emma. He wondered if it would be so bad to hear it again, and to see her,
touch her, smell her once more. He shook his head.

Tricks. Lies,
he told himself.

But his mind convoluted,
mixing images and thoughts. He couldn’t keep them straight. And here he sat
listening to a bunch of half-wits and dwarves deciding how he would travel. By
Thor’s thunder, he would not have allowed such nonsense moons ago. He cursed
himself for letting his spine soften. His hand rested upon the clandestine key
as the smooth metal soothed the skin beneath it.

The assembled villagers
nodded and mumbled agreement as Elder Eitri continued, “We help those in need. Service
has always been the dwarves’ destiny and these young men have a great need.” He
paused, searching the crowd with his good eye; his other eye was a mass of
sagging wrinkles, like a knot in an aged oak.

Someone hollered out from
the crowd, “Elder, what is the need?”

Others nodded. The same
question rolled off their tongues.

“Before I tell you, I
want you to realize there is great danger in this quest. It is not to be undertaken
without serious consideration.”

The villagers mumbled
consent.

“Our new brother, Erik,
has lost his betrothed to the Shadow."

Erik’s eyes darted at
the word betrothed. If anyone had spoken those words in Steadsby, Thyre would
have had Erik tried by the Hall for his improper proposal. Elder Eitri possessed
more layers than Erik thought.

A short roar of outrage
passed through the crowd.

“It is the council’s
belief the girl is alive, but being held in another realm. One a few of you
have heard the stories about. One called Alvenheim.”

The old man knew more than
he ever let on. Erik jumped from his seat.

“Where is this
Alvenheim?” he demanded, the old fire burning his belly.

Elder Eitri’s one eye
narrowed, catching a mirthful light, causing Erik to realize the Elder aimed
the words to rile his attention. He settled himself back down, scowling.

“We know little of this
place. I have ventured there once in my physical form, many, many moons ago,
when my younger bones could carry me.”

“Alvenheim,” whispered
Rolf. “The realm of the elves.”

Rolf’s eyes danced in the
dim cavern. Fire blazed from wrought iron sconces, smoke escaping through metal
vents in the walls.

“Not quite right, lad.” Elder’s
wrinkles weighed down his smile.

“But the lays say—”

Others nodded in
agreement, but the old man cut him off, shaking a bony finger.

“Truth for one man is
lies for another. You’re brother knows this, but he also needs to learn to see
past his anger so the truth may be revealed.”

The villagers hushed,
some nodding, others staring in confusion. Rolf’s face twisted, his brows creasing
over his amber eyes. He glanced at Erik.

One man’s truth! Who
is he to tell me what I must learn?
Erik’s heart thumped. He tightened his fist around Emma’s key.

“Then what is Alvenheim?
Aren’t there elves?” Rolf’s passion for a new story never let his curiosity
rest.

“We exist,” the Elder
said. “But we are not the dwarves you speak of in your lays, or tales or
fireside stories.”

Rolf nodded, the mass of
his auburn hair catching the light of the fire. “So the elves exist, but not
like we think?”

“I believe you will
discover your answer soon. Then you may carry back your own stories and we will
know for sure.” The old man spread his arms wide. “But for tonight, our problem
is getting there. This place exists, but not as we believe. The council and I have
decided the best we can do is to offer these young men a guide.” Elder Eitri
bowed to his left and right, including the dwarves seated at the high table. “Someone
to help them travel to Alvenheim.”

The crowd mumbled and
nodded again.

“We do not require a
guide!” interrupted Erik. “You don’t even know how to get there!”

“Erik, please.” Rolf’s
torn look struck Erik. Swan’s warning
you must find another way
surfaced, but he shoved it away.

“Brother, we’ve wandered
for days.”

“We haven’t wandered.” Erik’s
hands shook. “I know where we are going.”

“Ja,” said the Elder,
“But do you know how to get there?”

Erik gazed at the Elder.
He knew much, this gnarled old goat.

“What could it hurt,
brother?” Rolf coaxed.

Erik’s breath
constricted within his throat.
Learn to see past the anger.
That’s what
the old goat said. Anger. How long had it fueled him? Long before Emma, even
though he told himself this was about her.

“It will not hurt. But I
won't tolerate anyone who slows my pace or gets in my way. Is that understood?”
Erik didn’t know who he asked, yet the question weighed the entire room. Rolf’s
relief spread a smile over his face.

“Good.” The Elder’s
voice steadied the onlookers. “So, the one who guides the journey will require
two things.” He paused, waiting for the crowd, but they fell silent like
frightened cattle—Erik the wolf in the bush. Elder Eitri waited even longer.

Finally, a rough-faced
dwarf stood. “Gaut should go, he is the strongest. It will take great strength
for such a journey.”

Some nodded at this
suggestion, yet another stood. “Ostman is the best tracker and huntsman. They
will need such a man.”

Yet another dwarf called
from the back of the cavern, “Intelligence. That is what they need. Ingvar’s
mind is quicker than a rabbit.”

“Lut reads the stars. He
can guide them by night skies. Plus he has the courage of a mountain cat.”

Elder Eitri’s hand rose
and the suggestions halted.

“The first thing the man
chosen for the journey must have is knowledge of magic.”

“Ah.” The crowd paused,
reflecting.

A woman spoke. “Elder
Eitri should go. He is the Sage of our village. He says he has been to this
place once before. He knows the way.”

The villagers agreed,
but Elder Eitri cut in.

“I am afraid my old
bones have seen better days. Nei, this quest is meant for a younger man.
Andvarri will go.”

Erik’s gut tightened. Andvarri
would not have been his first choice or second—or any choice for that matter. Yet
he’d already agreed and could not back down on his word.

If I am worth
anything
,
I am worth my word.

The villagers squeezed
out a wave of disbelief. Andvarri wasn’t their first choice either.

“But Andvarri isn’t wise
or courageous or strong.” A man from the crowd pointed out.

Andvarri rose from his
chair. His wife gazed upon him with admiring eyes, as if he stood four oaks
tall. He cleared his throat.

“May I say something?”

Elder Eitri nodded.

Andvarri continued, “Perhaps
I am not the best choice. Gaut is stronger, Ingvar's smarter, and Lut is more
courageous.”

The Elder nodded again.

Andvarri sighed, sitting
back down.

“But this journey
requires more than strength and courage. You are the only one with the two
requirements.”

“I know what you have
taught me about the magic of galdr and seidr though I possess little skill in
either, and I know some herb craft, but—”

“There is one more
requirement. You are the one who possesses this requirement most.”

The assemblage hinged on
the Elder’s words.

“More than courage, more
than strength, more than wisdom, the man who journeys must have . . . ” The
Elder put his hand over his chest, patting it. “Heart.”

A flush ran to
Andvarri’s face. Ysja beamed at her husband. The quiet hung for several candle
flicks until the villagers roared their approval, some patting Andvarri’s back
and shoulders.

Erik tilted his head to
the cavern’s ceiling, meeting the accusing stalactites.

What in Valhalla or
Alvenheim or wherever the gods may be have I gotten into, traveling with a
rhyming scald craftsman extraordinaire and a bumbling half-wit sage?

A steady drizzle settled
over the foothills of the Skaggs as the group departed from the Village of
Gnarn. Elder Eitri tried to persuade them to stay until the rain lifted but
Erik insisted, his skin itching to be on the way toward Emma once more.