Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (31 page)

“I just want you to be
safe,” Erik whispered.

“We are both safer when
we are together,” Rolf said, still clinging.

Pulling out of the hug,
Erik warned, “But we must find a way to Emma.”

“You do not need the
Shadow to get to Grimnear,” Seretta offered.

Erik’s attention shot to
the songvari.

“I know how to get to
Grimnear.” Seretta cast her gaze downward, unable to look either brother in the
face. “I was once Lothar’s wife.”

*****

After the songvari
explained their destination and their plan of travel, they collected Andvarri
and returned to the canyon Seretta called Ginnungagap. Loki’s voice did not
return for the length of the day giving Erik the rarity of peace.

They traveled sudr along
the canyon, seeking the narrowest spot. When they arrived at a suitable
destination, they stopped.

Rolf and Seretta edged
toward the gap, joined hands and sang. Their melody rose skyward, their voices
increasing, swelling with the wind. As they sang, the Mother responded,
creating a bridge that stretched across the entirety of the gorge and they
walked into the Broken Lands of Alvenheim.

“Do not give up.”

Ase’s form blurred before Hallad, green cape blending with
her gray hair, until Hallad only recognized the greenish gray blob of her shape
before him.

Ase’s tone turned into a frantic whisper.

“I call for the Goddess at night and chant for Serpent
Mother as well, but my gift in seidr-craft resides with runes and herbs, not
with the spiritwalk.”

Hallad tried to open his
mouth to speak, but his lips cracked from lack of fluids and he could not find
his tongue. He no longer felt the dry ache of his throat or the hunger in his belly
or the burn of his raw skin against the binds—only numbness, a deadening—as all
his senses closed down in defense of the constant barrage of pain.

The image of Swan
blinked in front of him as his lids threatened to close. He fought to prop them
open, but lost the battle as they drooped shut once again. Swan had been placed
in the center of the chamber, surrounded by alder incense. Maids brought her
daily offerings of goose feathers, birch branches and honeyed milk. Hallad
counted the days by the piles of donations. Seven. Seven days had passed while he
hung from the great ash in the courtyard of the Temple of Upsalla. Counting the
nine days of travel, only two days remained until Swan was lost to this world.

The image of a rune
floated into his mind. Algiz. He tried to form the word on his lips, his tongue
too thick to comply. Was it part of the puzzle of the medallion? Hallad fought
the haze settling inside his brain.

Nei.

Algiz was the first rune
his father had taught him as a boy.
Algiz means protection. A shield. Speak
the rune to ward off evil, to call forth sanctuary,
his father had said so
many moons ago.

Father
, thought Hallad.
I have failed, once again.

“Hallad!”

Ase risked jabbing his
toe with her walking stick, trying to rouse him. The poke seemed no more than a
fly on his deadened foot.

Guards pressed in behind
Ase.

“Not so close. You’re
not allowed to touch the sacrifice,” one warned.

Hallad’s lids lifted
again. He caught a glimpse of the drengmaers watching from their iron cages
before his sight blackened once more.

Algiz
, he tried the word again, failing to produce any
sound.

Suddenly, the downy
green grass of spring spread underneath Hallad’s feet. Iridescent blue wings,
rimmed in charcoal, flitted as a butterfly took flight from the ground. Hallad
followed the creature as it winged into the sky, joining others of its kind,
dotting the air in a brilliant display.

Foothills stretched
before him, gently sloping upward. A pathway led to a rock-rimmed well. Upon
the stone, sat an older woman dressed in white with shiny pine green needles
spiraling in an interlocking design throughout her gown. Her long pepper
colored hair fell about her waist, her brown eyes placidly watching Hallad’s
approach.

Hallad scrunched his
lids shut again expecting to wake to his macabre reality, but when he opened
his eyes the woman remained.

“Am I dead?” Hallad
asked.

The woman smiled.

“Not yet.” She waved him
forward. “But close by the looks of you.”

Hallad glanced down. His
tunic hung in shreds, torn where the binds had cut through to his skin. Purple
blood crusted his wounds and stained his ripped clothing. Dirt and sweat
covered the rest of his flesh.

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?”

Hallad pinched his
brows, concentrating.

“You shadowwalked here,”
said the woman as if the statement would jar his memory. When Hallad could not
supply an answer, she scrutinized him.

The woman turned,
bending into the well to retrieve a rope, hauling forth a bucket. She placed
the container on the edge of the stone next to her and scooped out a tin full
of water, gesturing for Hallad to drink.

Hallad took the cup and
drank. The sensation quickened his blood, spread through his body and roused him.
As feeling returned to his limbs, relief flooded his wounds.

“What is this liquid?”
Hallad gave the cup to the woman as she dipped it in the bucket again and
returned the tin to Hallad for a second serving.

“I am Eir. The waters of
this well are blessed by the Mother. It heals those who require treatment.” Eir
watched Hallad as he chugged the water.

“How does one without
the touch of the Shadow walk through the veil?” she asked.

Hallad struggled to
understand her question but could only shrug in response, not comprehending the
woman. As his senses returned, the heat of the medallion pulsed against his
leg. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled the medal from its place and
contemplated the face, the runes melding one after the other. He held the
medallion out to the woman.

“Could this be the
cause?”

Eir nodded. Her face lit
with recognition.

“I thought these were a
myth.”

“So you know what it
is?”

“Ja.” Eir inspected
Hallad again, as if reading his worth. “A dyrr, crafted from the cooperation of
a powerful songvari and a master shadowwalker. They create doorways from one
place to another.”

“Do you know how it
works?” Hallad tested his limbs, reveling in their flexibility, as if he’d just
woken from a peaceful night’s rest.

“Why?” asked the woman. “What
is your need?”

“My sister has fallen
into the shadowwalk. If I do not deliver her to Glitner, she will die.”

“Glitner.” Eir’s tone
remained level, but her eyes flashed with an unknown thought. “Your sister has
been touched by the Shadow?”

“My twin,” corrected
Hallad.

“And you have nei touch
of either the Mother or the Shadow,” Eir stated Hallad’s lack as a fact.

He hung his head, shame
trudging through him, remembering the displeasure of Serpent Mother when she
had discussed his inability for anything other than the sword.

“There are other worthy
attributes beyond touch.” Eir cocked her head, trying to reach Hallad’s
downward gaze. “Bravery. Steadfastness. Responsibility. Moral compass. Strength.
All gifts the Guardian possesses. And my guess is, these talents will serve you
and save many others in the trials to come. What has Ravenna told you?”

“To save Swan, we must
be bonded.”

“Ja,” agreed Eir.

“To be honest, I am not
even sure what bonding is,” admitted Hallad.

Eir placed her hands on
Hallad’s arms, a cooling sensation charged through his limbs as her tone took
on a sing-song quality. “A circle of nine is formed, the sacred number of the
Mother. It is best for a songvari to preside over the bond, since the songvari
has the deepest connection to the Mother. In your land, your bonds are weaker
because of this lack. The circle sings the sacred words and calls the Mother to
join the two souls. From that point forward, you are one. If you are twins,
your bond is even deeper, connecting your thoughts and actions. But you must
know this: to bond, you must be as close as possible to your sister’s essence
in the shadowwalk or the bond will fail.”

“But how can I get to
her?”

Hallad glanced at the
golden medallion in his palm.

“The dyrr works like a
song, allowing those without the touch of the Shadow to cross the veil. Read
the runes and the gateway will open. You must concentrate on your destination
and the appropriate runes will appear.”

“But there is a rune I
cannot read.”

Eir scanned the dyrr as
runes ran across its surface.

“Hugr,” she said. “It is
not a Scandian word, but the old Alven tongue. It means heart. Courage.”

Hallad tested the word
on his tongue.

"Hugr. Then I must
return.”

“Ja,” agreed Eir. “But
remember, in order to bond you must open yourself up to the Svenna.”

“The Svenna?”

“The ancient word for
Swan. The Savior.” Eir smiled, a hint of hope sparking in her eyes. “I know who
you are, Guardian. Though in hiding from those who seek to abuse the powers of
the remaining songvaris, I too, have awaited your arrival. May the strength of
the Guardian be with you.”

The woman removed her
hands from Hallad’s arms. As if nothing more than a dream, the scene
disappeared and Hallad hung from the tree once again, his strength restored. The
binds cut into him, but his skin did not burn. Ase came into focus before him.

“Thank the Goddess. I
thought you were lost.”

“The medallion,” said
Hallad. “What were the runes?”

Startled at his ability
to speak, the priestess returned his question with a confused stare.

“The runes,” Hallad
demanded. “In order. What were they?”

As Ase rattled off the
names of the runes, a tumult broke out in the chamber. Hallad spotted Olrun’s
warrior dash from the open gate of her cage, Olrun sprinting behind him, sword
in hand. The warrior carried an armful of weapons as he rushed to the opposite
cage, releasing the remaining drengmaers, tossing each their arms. When Olrun
reached him she planted a wet kiss on his lips and squeezed his rump in her
thick palm.

Hallad yelled to them,
“Bring Swan!” but the drengmaers already swarmed his sister.

Rota hoisted Swan’s limp
body over her shoulder while Olrun appeared below Hallad, slicing through the
knot that held the pulley in place. Hallad fell until Olrun caught the rope and
guided him downward. Ase, with Gisla rounding to her back, crowded into Hallad
as Olrun tossed him the swan sword. The boom of booted feet sounded from the
outer hall as the king’s warriors hurried toward the escapees. Iron clanked as
the guards broke through the door and attacked.

Hallad grabbed the dyrr
from his pocket as he read the runes aloud.

“
Isa,
raidho, ansuz, hagalaz, ihwaz, hugr.”

The air buzzed as an icy
wind blew, originating from a circle around Hallad.

“Come to me!” yelled
Hallad, and the drengmaers circled him, staving off their attackers.

Rota drew to his side
with his unconscious sister draped over her shoulder, while Olrun shadowed
Rota, taking up her position at her sal drengmaer’s back. Olrun’s warrior
positioned himself in front of the two drengmaers, waving his sword at the
onslaught of guards.

As the guards thought
their fugitives cornered, Hallad continued chanting the names of the runes. The
iciness increased, crackling the air. A rift split open in front of Hallad,
parting the scene before him, creating a hole into another realm. Hallad peered
inside the mid-air fissure to see striking white gates and a palace in the
distance. With the drengmaers, Swan, Ase, Gisla and their new ally in tow,
Hallad entered into Alvenheim.

Flader bushes, adorned
with clusters of white blossoms, flourished, intertwining with stone. The branches
and stone melded into one another, spiraling upward in expressive patterns of
vines and flowers, forming the gates of Glitner. A sweet floral fragrance
wafted as the rift into Scandia blinked out of existence behind Hallad’s group,
taking the frosty temperature with it. The air stilled, leaving the travelers
standing beneath the soaring gates.

Hallad lifted Swan from
Rota’s shoulders, cradling her like a babe against his broad chest. The
coolness of her skin chilled him. Anxiety over her survival rumbled within him.

“What took you so long,
hero?” Olrun’s face split her freckles, her ready smile mischievous.

Hallad gestured toward Olrun's
warrior friend. “What took you so long?”