The Light Keepers Read online

  Her voice quivered. The place she feared inside herself opened like a swelling blackness.

  "I am the same as you, love."

  I am nothing like you!

  His insinuation caused her blood to rush, fearing he spoke the truth. In response, she swiped her blade, striking the man clean through his middle. His figure disappeared upon contact, melding within the haze.

  Astrid flicked her gaze side to side, searching for the man. The landscaped rolled around her, changing as it did, causing her head to spin.

  "You are exactly like me," soothed the man's voice from behind her.

  She swirled around to meet him. He stood opposite to her—unscathed, fully formed, the grin still charming his face. Panic bubbled in her chest.

  "I am part of you." Though his tone remained steady, his features softened again, brimming with understanding.

  Astrid struggled against the desire to believe him. She heaved her sword once more and jabbed at the man. He disappeared then re-appeared a few steps away. She lunged, stabbed, and thrust with her blade, but each time he evaded her blow. The muscles in her arms finally failed; she lowered her sword, gulping air.

  "You cannot fight me."

  The man disappeared and materialized behind her, slipping his hand over her sword arm to quell her blade. His breath warmed her neck. His hair brushed her cheek. The nearness of him flooded her insides with heat.

  "For your entire life, not a soul has understood what you are."

  Astrid pinched her eyes closed against his words. He pressed his body into hers.

  "Even you don't understand your capabilities."

  The tone of his voice rolled over her like a sweet caress. A tremor ran the full length of her spine. His arms engulfed her, wrapping around her middle, pulling her close. The hotness of him burned like fire on her skin.

  "But I do, and I can show you how to unleash your power…if you let me."

  For a moment, she surrendered to the connection. She craved contact, speech, and intimacy with another and this man provided what she sought.

  "Your mother failed to show you because she is not like you and me."

  His words pricked her senses. Astrid realized she was not the beacon of light her mother proclaimed; she possessed both dark and light powers within her. And in the shadowwalk, she could speak. And if she could speak…

  You are right. I am not like my mother.

  The muscles in her throat loosened. The beat of her heart blossomed, spreading throughout her limbs, filling her ears. In the distance, the thrum of the moose's life force resonated with her own, until her body flooded with rhythm. The Mother's song surged through her. A beam of light rushed forward from inside her. Astrid allowed the light to flow from her chest to her limbs. The brightness swelled, running the length of her arms, like a dam releasing. She reached up, drawing the ward with her finger. The light complied, weaving through the distance, forming the symbol that hung in midair as she sang.

  Algiz!

  The word sounded, its melody lilting, pulsing, and chiming. Lightness filled her being; the threat of darkness receded. She felt as if she could take flight.

  Astrid squirmed out of the grip of the Shadow and faced him.

  But I am not like you, either.

  His smile sunk as a bubble of brightness sprung up around her. The gray landscape fluctuated as the man's body wore thin. With the grin erased from his face, his features looked harsh. His ever-changing emotions became unreadable once more.

  "When everyone else has failed you…when you are alone…and you will be, because they cannot understand what you possess inside you…When they have all abandoned you, and they will… I will be here waiting, because I understand your power. I understand what you need. This is not done, love. Your darkness will always be a part of you, and you will always belong to me."

  Then the Shadow winked out of existence.

  ***

  Beams of light fought through the thick branches of spruce and pine, casting rays of warmth on Astrid's tent. The young woman's eyes blinked open. Her body thrummed with vibrations. Trees hummed, the earth whirred, the wind buzzed—and through it all, the subtle melody of the Mother weaved around her.

  I hear your song.

  A pang of sadness sunk into her when she realized her voice remained locked within her throat.

  And yet I still cannot speak out loud.

  Astrid crawled from her shelter, and stretched, refreshed from a full night's sleep. She allowed her new perception to move outward. She reveled in the songs of the Wettersea beyond the woodlands, and the tune of the vast mountain range of the Skaggs to the nordr.

  Leagues in the distance, she sensed the presence of a young man, of Hallad. The awareness of him startled her. Unlike viewing him through the shadowwalk, his existence reached out to her, entwining with her own, like the other half of a missing piece. His emotions besieged her: loneliness, responsibility, and longing. His heartbeat thudded with Astrid's, creating a counterpoint rhythm. And she knew the time had come to seek the young man who held her destiny.

  ***

  The Shadow Lord waited in the confines of the shifting landscape until a fair haired man appeared from the haze. After many years of mastering the skill, the walk always gifted its user with a subtle grace that manifested as a pliability of the person's physical stature. Lothar was a perfect example; he looked as if he could bend in all directions. His frost white hair betrayed the hallmark of those born of noble heritage in Alvenheim. His paleness further marked him as alven, but the blackness of his eyes marred the ivory of his skin. He glided toward the Shadow, and bent to one knee. His indigo sleeves billowed as he swept his arms back in reverence.

  "We waited years for her to expose her whereabouts, and your assassins failed to kill the girl's guardians."

  "I apologize, My Liege. We underestimated her skill. We could not have predicted two would outmatch six of my best."

  "I hope you have not lost track of her."

  "My wolves stalk her as we speak. Even if they were to lose her scent, I have spies all over Scandia. We will know the instant she reaches the Guardian and exposes his identity. I have an army ready to go through the shadowwalk and take on an entire city in his defeat if need be."

  "The girl cannot be harmed. I need her to come to our side."

  "Ja, My Liege. The boy will be slain before they are able to complete their bond, but the girl will be left to you."

  "He must be killed before they are bonded, or his death may harm the girl as well."

  "It will be as you say." Lothar swept to his knee again.

  The Shadow smiled down upon him.

  "Your skill in the shadowwalk increases. I believe you are my most gifted disciple."

  "My Liege flatters me."

  "Nei, I speak truly. You will be well rewarded when the time comes."

  "Anything you bestow upon me will be more than I can ever desire."

  "Take your leave, then. Notify me after the deed has been done."

  Lothar bowed his head and dissipated, leaving the Shadow alone in the shifting landscape.

  "And in case you should fail again, you over confident gelding, I have spies of my own."

  ***

  IF YOU ENJOYED THIS SHADOWLIGHT SAGA PREQUEL,

  PLEASE READ ON FOR A BONUS EXCERPT OF

  BONDED, BOOK ONE OF THE SHADOWLIGHT SAGA:

  ***

  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.

  Bonded 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 within 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.