Bonded Read online

  SHADOWLIGHT SAGA

  BOOK ONE: BONDED

  By

  Mande Matthews

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Guardian Tree Press

  Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga

  Copyright 2011 by Mande Matthews

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Visit www.MandeMatthews.com/shadowlight.html

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  *****

  For my mom and dad:

  Because you believed in me beyond all others;

  Because you never called my dream silly or selfish;

  Because you recognized my imagination was something special;

  I love you always and forever.

  *****

  BONDED

  "Between darkness and light, there is truth . . ."

  *****

  The land had known for centuries that she was dying, but tonight she allowed herself to hope. In the far-off lands of Scandia, where her touch barely penetrated, she sensed the two moving toward one another and she sang out in anticipation.

  Chapter 1

  Hallad Avarson tensed, holding his breath as he strained to hear a voice that murmured nearly beyond detection. He swung his head toward the sound, the depth of the Great Wood expanding before him. The remains of the sinking sun caused blackness to lurk in the dense undergrowth of the forest as the melody drifted out of the darkened woods.

  The young man turned to his companions idling on the Green to gauge their reaction to the singing. His little sister, Emma, sat with her linen skirts splayed on the ground around her, glancing up through her thick lashes at her beau, Erik Sigtrigson. Erik stared down at her from where he knelt, his expression fond, fierce and protective all at once. Rolf Sigtrigson, Erik’s brother, younger by a single summer, paced around the two courters, working a carving knife against a stick. The birch took shape beneath his nimble fingers, taking the form of his favorite god, Bragi. None betrayed any sign of hearing the noise.

  "Did you hear that?" Hallad asked.

  "Hear what?" Emma replied.

  Discernible notes strung into a vaguely familiar lullaby.

  The sky is dark and the hills are white

  As the storm-king speeds from the nordr tonight . . .

  "Blood brother," said Erik. "The forest lays still."

  Hallad stretched his neck toward the woods again, listening.

  And this is the song the storm-king sings,

  As over the world his cloak he flings . . .

  "Nei," said Hallad, as a puff of breath escaped his lungs. Though spring, the air still chilled his breath, creating a circle of mist that floated toward the dim woods. "I hear a voice."

  "I don't hear anything," said Emma, keeping her gaze on Erik. She studied the line of her suitor’s jaw; her full lips turned upward in a perpetual smile.

  "Your fancies have gotten away with you," added Erik.

  Hallad sucked in air, as if stifling himself would suffocate the intruding voice.

  "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"

  He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:

  "Sleep, little one, sleep."

  Hallad squared his shoulders, a barricade to the drone behind him, and turned back toward the group on the Green, addressing his little sister.

  "Let us be off before our mother discovers you and Erik have gone missing together."

  "Thyre will not find us, blood brother. Come. Sit with us for once," Erik replied in Emma’s stead.

  "Nei. We need to leave," Hallad insisted, more in response to the confusing desires the lullaby stirred inside than for concern over his mother’s disapproval.

  A purplish haze filled the sky as the sun winked out over the Skagg Mountains, darkness descending over his companions. The air held no comfort as a chill swept the Green, the nordr wind warning of a harsh season ahead. With a couple of long strides, Hallad reached the group and picked up his mantle, bow and quiver. He swung his mantle around him to guard against the biting wind, and held his hand out to his sister.

  Emma ignored his outstretched hand. Her eyes rounded, pupils contracting, misty gray irises engulfing the centers of black. Cascades of sunlight colored hair, held in place by a maiden’s circlet, framed her delicate features. A barn cat nestled within her skirts and lay purring beside her, making no attempt to move.

  "You promised," Emma whispered.

  Hallad allowed his arm to drop back to his side.

  "You need not chaperone us, Hallad Avarson." Erik’s use of his full name, instead of the familiar term blood brother, burned Hallad’s ears. He might as well have called him the godhi’s son. The title reminded Hallad he always stood apart from the others—a thought that agitated a dark place inside him. A place that felt empty and alone.

  "I take full responsibility for our courtship." Erik hovered over Emma, his black hair the color of crow feathers, the stark contrast of the two courters like a storm eclipsing daylight.

  "Mother may not agree to our courtship, but surely you can plead our case with father. He is fair. And he will listen to you, brother," Emma begged.

  Though their mother disapproved of the union, Hallad had agreed to become the couple’s secret chaperone to thwart any tarnish to his family’s reputation. He knew it was wrong. Yet he could not deny his sister. Or his blood sworn.

  But it was not their mother he feared. She was an excuse. What raised his hairs was the strange voice inside his head. It called to him from the depths of the Great Wood, filling the void of loneliness he’d harbored for as long as he could remember. The raw desire to seek its source awakened every muscle in his body. Hallad quivered inside his skin.

  His father’s words rushed over him, Rule with your head, even though your heart calls. Hallad repeatedly flexed his free hand as he tried to contain the irrational urge and shook his head at his own stupidity, but the song continued to wash through him.

  On yonder mountainside a vine

  Clings at the foot of a mother pine;

  The tree bends over the trembling thing,

  And only the vine can hear her sing . . .

  "You should worry." Rolf’s voice split through the tune in Hallad’s head.

  Though Rolf was Erik’s brother, they bore little resemblance to one another. Rolf—tall and lanky, with ember colored hair—swirled his embroidered mantle depicting Bragi about him. He resembled a prince from a scald’s tale, with his crimson cape and expertly turned cowhide boots, yet he was merely the son of a cobbler.

  "But not of Thyre. She’s too busy admiring her latest trinkets, purchased from the tinker with her husband’s fine bull, to notice her daughter has been stolen away by the lowly son of Sigtrig."

  Erik’s eyes sparked at the insult to Thyre, while Emma feigned disagreement.

  Rolf continued, "It is the swan maiden. The valkryrie. The messenger of the Goddess wit
hin the Great Wood you should fear."

  Hallad’s attention snapped to Rolf again. Did he hear the voice too?

  Rolf swept back his mantle in a gesture grand enough for a king’s hall, announcing the arrival of a story. Hallad realized the younger brother only sought an opening to tell his tale. Erik settled from his knees to a sitting position, ready for the performance. Emma cuddled the cat within her pale blue skirts, straightening the maiden’s circlet that had fallen askance on her head, as eager as Erik for the story to begin. All had ignored Hallad’s command to leave.

  The violet sky darkened. Hallad stood torn between his duty to watch over his little sister and his desire to discover the mystery calling to him from within the Great Wood. His momentary lapse gave Rolf his in.

  The wishful scald inhaled, filling his lungs, and spread his arms out as if greeting a crowd.

  "There was a time long ago, a time you and I both know."

  Erik burst into laughter.

  Emma’s gray eyes twinkled. She covered her smiling lips with her fingers.

  "What?" asked Rolf, raising his brows as if he didn’t know what the commotion was about.

  "Nei rhyming," chided Erik.

  "What’s wrong with rhyming?" demanded Rolf, indignantly swirling his mantle around him.

  "Have you ever heard of a rhyming scald?" asked Erik.

  Rolf smiled a sincere, white-toothed grin.

  "I will be the first! The rhyming scald extraordinaire!" He bowed deeply at his own introduction.

  Emma giggled and Erik howled, slapping his knees and ruffling his sleek hair with uncontrolled tremors. Hallad only stiffened, the mysterious voice caressing his mind, fingering through his memories to pry at the emptiness within him.

  "Come brother," said Erik. He straightened his face with effort. "Tell it right."

  Rolf softened as he stared at his elder brother smiling up at him.

  "Ja. I will tell it right," Rolf conceded and once more swept his red cape back, the woven picture of the god dancing as if commanded.

  Many moons ago, the land vast and untamed,

  The Gods laid their prophecies down for mortals’ ears.

  Neither you, nor I, a gleam in our fathers’ eyes,

  While the Norns drew our destinies upon the rune stones . . .

  Emma beamed at the storyteller, her eyes wide, as Erik snuggled closer to her. Instead of Rolf’s fine tenor, only the voice from the forest sounded in Hallad’s head. The song had taken on a peculiar timbre as it grew louder. It was full, rich, and female, but too beautiful, too unearthly. Hallad stopped himself in mid-thought.

  I act a fool. I hear nothing.

  Regardless, Hallad took a heavy-footed step backward, toward the voice. His breath escaped in a sigh, as if moving toward the melody’s source relieved the pressure building within him. He paused, contemplating his friends on the Green. They looked content. At ease. Jovial. Hallad never felt such liberties. He longed to lounge on the lawn with them and forget, for once, that he was the godhi’s son. But with that title, the constant itch to be on guard, to be responsible, and to be apart was ever present.

  Hallad attempted to focus on Rolf’s tale; he closed his eyes and strained to listen to the younger brother over the song that vibrated inside his head. The Prophecy of the Goddess had been told for so many moons that Hallad had still been swathed in toddlers’ skirts when the last of the travelers seeking the truth of the legend had stopped coming to Steadsby. The forest changed then. Shadow things and lurk-abouts replaced the older tale of the white swan goddess, and the forest became something to scare your children into proper action, lest they be carried off by shadow-spawn.

  "In a flurry of fluttering white wings," Rolf said, while flapping his arms in a poor imitation to punctuate his prose. He slipped from his stanzas, adlibbing as he often did. Erik repressed a laugh as his little brother continued, "A creature appeared—so beautiful, so magnificent, even a fool would recognize her as a goddess. One moment a swan, the next a valkyrie."

  Erik looked toward Emma, his black lashes shading the feline green of his eyes while he gently brushed her generous sun-colored hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks flushed at his touch. For a moment, Erik's gaze lingered on the golden key affixed to a chain on Emma’s dress. The rising moon caught his features, brightening the depth of angles in his face.

  Rolf’s tenor voice turned falsetto as he mimicked the goddess in the tale, slipping back into traditional verse.

  Hear me; I have come to tell of greatness and disaster.

  Here shall mark the beginning or the end.

  Two of the same, but as opposite as Muspell is to Nilfheim,

  Shall come together again and reunite our lands.

  As one shall rise, so shall the other.

  As one shall die, so shall the other.

  As the children of both darkness and light,

  So shall the land become darkness and light.

  Mark this land beneath me.

  Alight here, making your home.

  Tell all who venture from the nordr, sudr, vestr, and austr,

  For the land beneath me shall forever bond heroes.

  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.

  Chapter 2

  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 n
ot 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.