Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 8

  To get help for our friends.

  ***

  After finding Astrid’s chamber empty, Emma headed in the direction of voices. She entered the Gathering Hall. The Lion Clan, Ase, and Gisla faced Hallad, who stood with Andvarri behind him at the edge of the assembly, and whatever her brother had been saying drew angry glares from the entire clan.

  "We will not be put off." Olrun folded her arms over her leather breastplate. The fur pelt draped over her shoulders increased her already massive size. Rota mimicked her sal drengmaer’s movement like a smaller but no less muscular shadow. Jorn stood between the two women, though his dividing presence won him occasional sideways scowls from the shorter of the two warriors.

  "We have given our pledge to you and the Savior. We do not make such promises lightly," Olrun added.

  "I appreciate your allegiance, but your presence here causes too many questions. I need to quiet the discontent of these people, and being surrounded by a retinue of iron-wielding warriors isn’t helping."

  "We’ve other skills besides the sword, Guardian. We’re not a bunch of mutton brained barbarians."

  Emma scanned the periphery of the crowd. Even though the discussion disturbed her, she wasn’t about to be sidetracked from her mission. Then she spotted her sister. Astrid stood apart from even Hallad. She seemed like a stone column in the corner, surveying everyone with a slight flick of her blue-black eyes. Otherwise, she didn’t budge. Her ice-white hair blanketed over her lamellar sleeves and leather breastplate. Emma still fancied her as a Valkyrie from one of Rolf’s tales, even though after arriving in the "land of the gods" she realized their legends had been skewed through both her people’s imaginations and retellings.

  The girl sauntered around the crowd and squeezed in beside her sister. She rested her head against Astrid’s biceps. The dense armor magnified the hardness of Astrid’s muscles beneath her cheek.

  "I missed you the other day, Swan," said Emma. She rolled her head around, glancing up at her sister. "I can call you that, right? I mean, you just seem so much more like a Swan than an Astrid." She shrugged her shoulders. "To me, anyway."

  Astrid kept her gaze ahead but reached around and squeezed Emma’s shoulder. Then she snatched her hand back into her frozen position just as speedily.

  "I wish we could talk. I’ve never had a sister before, yet alone a backside-kicking warrior sister. Although I suppose I have enough jabber to do all the talking for the both of us anyway."

  A crick on either side of Astrid’s mouth broke her stone-faced illusion.

  "Besides, I have need of your service." Hallad’s announcement interrupted Emma’s conversation and drew her attention back to him, though the girl shifted her weight impatiently, wishing to get back to her purpose. "Andvarri here, wishes to return to his home."

  "I am not a nursemaid," said Rota.

  "Neither am I," added Olrun.

  The two drengmaers glanced at one another, tightening their arms over their armor in unison.

  "Women," said Jorn. "Can’t tell them what to do—"

  "Can’t come between them," finished Olrun, glaring at her lover. Rota turned her scowl on the man as well and regardless of his imposing size, scarred flesh and intimidating sword, the man cowed between the two, slinking backwards. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly at Hallad.

  The dwarf stepped out of Hallad’s shadow, moving forward.

  "It’s true that I require an escort. Emma and Erik have been reunited and my journey—though I will cherish the adventure, and retell it for many moons to come—is at an end. My heart aches for my wife and children, but there’s more to it than just me."

  "We’ve reason to believe Scandia is in trouble," added Hallad. "The land does not thaw."

  A wave of silence rushed the hall. Emma gasped out loud.

  "Our people will starve," said Olrun.

  "That’s why I need you to return to Scandia. Take the dwarf back and see what use you can be there. People will begin to panic."

  Astrid’s muscles beneath Emma’s cheek ratcheted up a notch but not at Hallad’s statement. The warrior woman’s gaze flicked across the hall, pinning on the archway. A breath later, Ravenna strode through.

  How’d she know Ravenna was there? asked Emma.

  She’s a sly one, replied Whitefoot. Always on alert.

  The Lion Clan parted as Ravenna glided through.

  That’s why we’re asking her to take us to Grimnear.

  You’re asking her for help?

  She’s my sister; she's the finest warrior around and she shadowwalks. She’s our best chance, Whitefoot.

  She won’t comply.

  How do you know that?

  She smells of worry. Sweat seeps on her flesh. Her back ridges like a wolf ready for the hunt. Her eyes survey the crowd like she watches a battlefield, and her gaze flicks from your brother to the First. Whenever she casts her eyes upon either of them, she stiffens even more. She already carries too much burden on her shoulders. For a caller, you don’t read people very well.

  Emma considered Whitefoot’s wisdom. It was true. Her knack was with animals, not people, though Whitefoot had taught her well over the last few moons. The polecat’s ability to read people had never led her astray, and it was Whitefoot she had to thank for keeping her aware during her captivity to Lothar. But what other choices did she have?

  Ravenna reached Hallad, extending her hand out for him to take.

  Her brother obliged, running Ravenna’s fingers through his arm. Emma squinted as Hallad seemed to melt into the First’s touch. Astrid’s already tight muscles bunched into another knot, and Emma straightened her neck, allowing her sister the freedom from her weight.

  Gisla’s eyes widened as Hallad smiled down at Ravenna. Aside from the raven emblazoned on her cheek, the First was flawless. A pang of sympathy for Gisla sprang in Emma's heart.

  And here I thought my brother had eyes for his duty alone.

  "I take it all has been worked out?" asked Ravenna, yet the tone of her voice sounded more like a command than a question.

  Hallad nodded, pulling the dyrr from his tunic.

  Emma switched her gaze from her brother and the First to the medallion. Her mind clicked again. She suppressed a smile.

  You’re right, Whitefoot. We don’t need Swan. We don’t need anyone.

  You need me.

  The girl’s grin broke free, relieved that at least one creature believed in her.

  Of course, and your sneaky skills are just the ones I require.

  What’s the plan?

  It will be dangerous. Deceitful even. If we’re caught, Hallad will be angry. And I can’t even imagine what Erik will do.

  Emma shifted. A quiver washed over her chin. She pressed her teeth together to stop the tremor and hoped—if they were caught—Erik would find it in his heart to forgive her.

  Chapter 14

  "In the beginning, the Guardian spoke the word, and the Mother sang the heavens and earth, Alvenheim and Scandia, into existence."

  Gisla gazed at Ravenna as if seeing her for the first time, scrutinizing every bit of the woman head to toe. Yet when Ravenna returned the inspection, Gisla swept her lids downward, her eyes hidden beneath her thick lashes, as if embarrassed to be caught staring.

  "The Guardian and Mother populated the two worlds with alves and humans," continued Ravenna, shifting from Gisla to Astrid. "The alves were gifted with the ability to hear the Mother’s song, while humans were given strength, morality, and faith. Then a dark alf sprang from the breast of the Mother, born deaf to her songs. He was named Loki. This was the Aldr Songr, the Age of Song. Jealous and angry of his fair brothers and sisters born with song on their lips, Loki sought out the Mother’s wellspring of power beneath the roots of the Guardian and used the magic to create unsavory creatures—wolves, ravens, beetles, snakes, and all slithering, crawling, poisonous, and ravenous beasts known to the worlds. Horrified, the Guardian spoke the word and created the in-between world—a world betw
een fire and ice—a world of shadows where Loki could never touch the magic of the Mother again, and they locked their dark son away. They also created the seas, leaving the Guardian Tree and the well of power on an island so that none could ever seek out the power in this way again. This was the Aldr Skilja, the Age of Separation. The three worlds—Alvenheim, Scandia, and the Shadow realm—exist in the same physical space, but on different planes where they cannot touch one another. Think of them as layers that overlay one another, except within Muspell, the Shadow realm, time and space functions differently."

  "But that’s not how we learned it," protested Gisla. The girl placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head. She stood facing Ravenna. Both women were approximately the same height, though Ravenna seemed as smooth as smoke while Gisla possessed a solidness about her, as if her feet rooted themselves firmly in the ground. "The gods—"

  "In your version, we are your gods."

  Gisla wedged her fingers into her smock. "But—"

  "The further away you are from the source, the more twisted your tales become."

  And I can imagine, thought Astrid, that even Alvenheim’s tales twist to their own version of truth.

  "In any case, Loki had been forgotten in his far away prison, until Aldr Draumr, the Age of Dreams, when the first walkers appeared."

  Images flickered. Astrid spotted Hallad through the shadowwalk, entering Scandia. Even the drengmaers shivered as they ventured through the doorway of the dyrr and into the land, their footsteps crackling over the frozen ground.

  "It’s worse than I expected," said Olrun.

  Hallad nodded as he surveyed the landscape. Andvarri rubbed his arms, and hopped up and down, but his body shook despite his efforts.

  "Our people will be starving." The dwarf’s eyes watered as he swiveled.

  "Take Andvarri home—"

  "Take care of your sister," interrupted Rota as she folded her arms over her breastplate.

  Astrid blinked. Her vision split. She squeezed her eyes shut, commanding herself to what?

  I don’t even know what to tell myself to do. How to make my vision stop?

  She wished for the simplicity of her sword—to heft, jab, and slice—those were actions she understood, but this?

  Snap! Snap! Snap!

  Astrid popped her eyes open to Ravenna’s fingers snapping in front of her face. The woman’s eyes narrowed, studying Astrid before continuing.

  "As I was saying, not a soul knew where their power came from, but both Alvens and Scandians were born with the ability to dream, see, and even walk between worlds. In the Aldr Mannfall, the Age of Slaughter, when walkers entered the in-between world where Loki was imprisoned, the Dark One poisoned their minds with trickery and deceit, using them to do his evil bidding, and he became known as the Shadow." Ravenna shifted. A breeze caught the tail of her robes, setting the whiteness aflutter. "As you know, the Shadow uses both humans and alves alike, manipulating them into acts of evil—raping, pillaging, defiling both man and land, and each time he succeeds in these acts, the Mother is weakened. Soon she will be so weak that the division between the worlds will break, and the Shadow will run free among us once more."

  Gisla shuddered. "How does he use people? Don’t they know to stay clear of him?"

  "The Shadow can touch you through the walk. Once he has you, he can target your mind. He knows your deepest desires and weaknesses and then tricks you by being whatever you want him to be. He’s changeable, like mist, and can come as a voice, a vision, or whatever he thinks might seduce you."

  "Why? What does he want?"

  Ravenna waved behind her, toward the spring. "This spring connects with the Well of Urd, which is under the Guardian Tree in Valhalla."

  "So there is a stronghold of the gods?"

  "Not in the way you assume. The isle hosts the Guardian and the spring; it’s located at the very heart of the land."

  "What does that have to do with the Shadow?" Gisla pressed.

  "We can fathom that the Shadow wants the power at the roots of the tree—like he had sought so many ages ago. If he gains the power of the well, he can create whatever evil he desires."

  "So it’s like our legend of Ragnarok in a way. Loki has divided and tricked the gods to battle one another—except the people of Alvenheim are the gods."

  The old priestess’ wisdom must have rubbed off on the girl. Astrid agreed with her comparison, even though Ravenna shook her head, amending, "The Conspirators are not gods. They are like the Dark One, born deaf to the Mother and need to be brought to justice for their crimes."

  The crackle in Ravenna’s tone brought goose pimples to Astrid’s flesh.

  Ravenna turned, pinning her gaze on Astrid. A smile slicked over her face. "And now we’ll begin your first lesson in song."

  If her lesson is anything like her testing, I’d rather wrestle a bear for her cub.

  Chapter 15

  Ravenna directed the young women to proceed to the well. Both Astrid and Gisla complied and all stood, surrounding the bubbling waters.

  Astrid kept her eyes peeled open, afraid that even blinking would propel her into the walk. She concentrated on the water as the well gurgled, and along with it, the Mother’s song rang throughout the hall.

  The First slid to the ground and slipped her hands into the water. She glanced up at the young women as if directing them to follow suit.

  Gisla pushed back her emerald sleeves—she had taken to wearing attire Astrid had seen on others in Glitner—knelt, and reached her hands into the spring, mimicking Ravenna. The girl kept an uncomfortable eye on the First; Astrid ascertained that more lingered between the two women than even Ravenna was privy to.

  "We are as close as we can get to her source here, and the Mother’s song should soar in your heart."

  Gisla shivered as her forearms sank into the water. Goose pimples broke across her skin. "She’s so beautiful."

  Astrid folded her arms over her breastplate, standing over the two kneeling at the edge of the spring. Their shoulders unwound, smiles swept their faces, and their lids drifted downward as they listened, relaxing into the sweet sound.

  The Mother’s song should have soothed Astrid too, but instead it fired her muscles. Her spine straightened under the weight of her lamellar tunic. The black spot slithering inside her spread.

  How can I touch something so pure when blackness still crawls on my insides?

  Ravenna raised her dark brow at Astrid, flashing her a commanding glance as if to say, "Get your behind down here and comply like the rest of us."

  Astrid reluctantly dropped to her knees, the downy grass a pillow beneath her. She reached for the water.

  It takes all my strength just to keep from sliding into the shadowwalk.

  She dipped her forefinger into the spring.

  What if they’ve all made a mistake? What if what comes out of me isn’t what they expect? What if it’s dark and ugly and evil?

  Coolness enveloped her skin. A tingling sensation ran the length of her arm; the white-blonde hairs on its surface stood erect. She swallowed.

  The song bloomed inside her, rambling up her arms, through her chest, spreading as if racing through her veins. An overwhelming desire to sing rose. Yet nothing sprang from her lips as if a clog remained stuck in her throat.

  If they knew what lurked in me, they would know I don’t deserve to be called Savior. The thoughts came from deep down and barraged her mind; all her fears simmered right beneath the surface.

  The pressure throbbed behind the blockage, begging for release; her neck constricted, and she jerked her finger from the spring as if bitten.

  "Leave your hand in the water," commanded Ravenna, "and try to sing. Or hum. Just any little noise coming forth will do. When I was young, it was hard for me, too. But if you persist, the song will flow through you."

  Astrid stared back at the water before her. It discharged a clean scent that permeated the air. The song intensified, spiraling throughout her body. She wan
ted to scream. Or turn and run. All the while, she forced her eyelids towards her brows to keep the shadowwalk at bay, though tiny fragments—glints of Hallad—leaked into her consciousness: a flicker of his strong jaw, the drengmaers pounding their fists over their chests to salute him, the dwarf reaching up to grip Hallad’s arm, saying farewell.

  Gisla started to hum—a tentative sound, deep in the back of her throat. Her smile spread as she continued and a melody burst from her lips. Between the blades of grass surrounding the spring, buds shot forth. The tops unfolded and white petals sprang apart, revealing butter-colored centers.

  "Good! Now, Astrid! You try!"

  Astrid shook her head.

  "It’s easy," said Gisla, rounding her big eyes on Astrid. "Just feel the song and let it flow out from you. You don’t even have to do anything. The song takes over and comes through you like a breeze over a meadow. It finds what’s inside of you and magnifies the desire." The girl beamed, humming again as more flowers popped up all around her.

  It finds what’s inside?

  The clog in Astrid’s throat doubled in size. The song didn’t bellow forth; it lodged behind the blockage, choking her.

  Ravenna’s placid features broke into a scowl. "Try!"

  Gisla’s song faltered. She glanced sideways at the First, her smile descending into a frown. She lifted her hands from the water, turned, and placed her fists on her hips.

  "Yelling at her won’t help."

  Ravenna’s brow rose, questioning the girl’s audacity to speak to her in such a fashion. The First continued more harshly, as if to prove her point. "By the heart of the Mother, woman, I’m tired of coddling you like a child. Do I have to bend you over my knee and beat you into trying?"

  Ravenna’s hands balled beneath the shiny surface of the spring. The water beneath them trembled, reacting to Ravenna’s words.

  Astrid shot upright, glaring.