Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  Tales of the Drui

  Dolor and Shadow

  Angela B. Chrysler

  Published by Angela B. Chrysler

  Copyright © 2015 by Angela B. Chrysler

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover by Indigo Forest Designs

  Edited by Mia Darien

  Maps & Illustrations by Isaac Gooshaw

  ISBN: 9781310877803

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DEDICATION

  To my dearest love: my friend, my muse, my Isaac, my mate. You, who carried me from the darkest caves, and you, who believed in me when no one else would, even after reading the first draft…and for that, I am sorry.

  To my sweet Tribble, who gave me so much for seventeen years and who passed away just before the publication of this work.

  To the people of Norway whose country and culture I fell in love with so deeply, it inspired me to recreate their heritage and, who I hope will forgive me if I got it wrong.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Here I stand at the end of seven years. A part of me aches to reach out to the organizations and people who made my journey a memorable one. To you I wish to extend my hand, to raise my voice and say thank you.

  Greatest of thanks to the staff at Google, who gave me Steve: the little, yellow guy on Google Maps. When you spend that much time with something, no matter how inanimate, you name it. Dropping Steve onto a map and entering worlds at a blink of an eye made so much of my imagery possible. Because of your work you allowed me to walk the streets of Trondheim, to follow the river Glomma, and gaze upon the fjords all without ever stepping foot into Norway. Thank you.

  And also to the precious staff at Wikipedia; for the accumulated history, the lists of recommended reading you supplied, and for paving the road of sourced hyperlinks that allowed me to journey back a thousand years. Because of you, I was able to find John Lindow and Snorri Sturluson. Because of you, I was able to enter the world I so desperately needed to create. Thank you for being the scriveners of our time.

  My sincerest thanks to the people of Norway, whose passion to capture their love for the outdoors showed me their home through YouTube, Flickr, and Google. To each of you, thank you, for bringing Norway to me.

  Eternal thanks to my science consultant and cartographer, Isaac Gooshaw. Without your countless casual crash courses in cell division, hydrogeology, Volcanism, metallurgy, martial arts, and, in general, all things that go boom, a significant sense of realism would have been missing from Kallan’s world.

  Deepest gratitude goes to my editor, Mia Darien, who polished my manuscript until it glistened. You did such a beautiful job! Warm thanks to Indigo Forest Designs for the beautiful cover. I still love it!

  Sincerest thanks to my beta readers for your invaluable input and to all of you on board the HMS Slush Brain. The beautiful C.L. Schneider and Stanislava D. Kohut deserve mention. This is your captain speaking. Both of you did so much for me on my lowest days. I forever look forward to our crazy adventures. Thank you.

  Thank you to all of you at Scribophile. So many of you took time out of your day to read and contribute to the shaping of Dolor and Shadow. There really are too many to name you all, but I must recognize Benjamin Scheinfieldo, Jennifer “Sugie” Peltier, Jaselyn B. Taubel, Elizabeth Schyling, and Michael Wisehart. It can not be said enough how much you did for me. Thank you.

  Thank you, Angi Dukes, my dear friend, for fullers you deemed “decorative pieces.” And my beloved sister, Alicia, who loved Bergen first. Thank you. I love you, Pea-Brain.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BANE: PREVIEW CHAPTER

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Dolor

  and

  Shadow

  Sink into my books with me,

  I will show you what I see.

  PROLOGUE

  “How fare the gods? | How fare the elves?

  All Jotunheim groans, | the gods are at council;

  Loud roar the dwarfs | by the doors of stone,

  The masters of the rocks: | would you know yet more?”

  - The Poetic Edda 48th stanza

  “Think back to the oldest era your mind can fathom, back beyond everything we can remember, when gods were still men who had not yet lived the deeds that would deify them.” Gudrun’s aged gold eyes peered from behind her curtain of long, silver hair. “Think back before the time when the Aesir and the Vanir were still men who had settled here on ancient Earth, ages before their war.”

  “Back when the Earth was new?” Kallan asked, looking up from the vellum scroll before her on the table. The tips of her tapered ears poked through the brown hair she had tied back to avoid the candle’s flames.

  “Was it?” Shadows flickered over Gudrun’s face and shelves full of jarred things. All sorts of unusual jars of powders and exotic roots had been crammed into every available corner. Dried herbs hung from the crossbeams. The light from the candle and small hearth fire mingled and added a heavy thickness to the room that smelled of boiled heather and sage. “The Earth was still very old by the time the gods found it,” Gudrun said. “By then it was already
ancient soil, which stirred beneath their feet. Can you see it, Kallan?”

  The girl closed her eyes, an iridescent blue like the lapis stone, and thought back to the earliest memory she could recall, back before the Great Migration, when the gods lived in the Southern Deserts and the Land of Rivers. Back before the Great War between the Aesir and the Vanir.

  “I can,” Kallan said.

  The old woman kept the dry sternness in her voice. “These are the antiquated stories that predate the empires of men. We have studied the Vanir and their ways, their medicines and herbs. Now think of the gods of our gods, the gods so old that we have forgotten. The gods our gods once taught to their young. And think of their ancient stories and their myths, the legends they once revered before they themselves became myth. And think of everything now lost to time.”

  Kallan nodded. “I see it.”

  “The Seidr is older still,” Gudrun said. “Like veins, it flowed from the Great Gap, spreading through all elements of the Earth, stretching out, threading itself into the waters, the air, and earth.”

  Kallan opened her eyes as she drew the connection to the tri-corner knot enclosed in a circle hanging from the chain on her neck. Gudrun smiled, confirming that Kallan’s conclusion was correct.

  “Your mother’s pendant,” she said. “Na Tríonóide: the three united. The Seidr fused itself to the elements, until it lost itself inside the Earth, becoming a part of it, flowing with the waters, churning with the soils, and riding on the wind through the air. The Seidr is still there sleeping, waiting for us to remember.”

  Kallan shifted forward in her seat.

  “When the Vanir found the Seidr, they recognized it. In secret, they honed it and mastered it. They hoarded it, keeping it concealed from the Aesir.” Sadness hovered in Gudrun’s tone. “Afraid the Aesir would learn of their treasure and exceed them in power, the Vanir refused to divulge their secret.”

  “What happened to the Vanir?” Kallan asked.

  Gudrun visibly fought back the bitter sting of tears. “They died.” Her voice was low. “Doomed to be forgotten, and living only within the ancient stories now nearly extinct.”

  Kallan bit the corner of her lip as if biting back a question.

  “Deep within the earth, beyond the sea to the west, they met their end,” the old woman continued. “Some say they perished far beyond the western-most reaches of the world where the beginning formed. There where the Seidr emerged from the life source and fused to the elements and life itself. The Seidr now resides dormant in all of us. However, for most of us, it sleeps, available for the host to use, but never awakened, its keeper unaware of its presence.

  “But don’t think its power is lost,” Gudrun said. “Even dormant Seidr, ripped from its host, will destroy the life line that has formed around it. It lies sleeping within every man born to Midgard. Just as the races of Men have it, we elves have it—”

  “Elves?” Kallan repeated.

  “Alfar,” Gudrun clarified, forgetting the word was foreign beyond the Ocean Isle where she had lived for the past three hundred years. “The Dvergar, the Svartálfar. Even the Ljosalfar—”

  “They have it?” Kallan interrupted. “King Tryggve?”

  Gudrun nodded. “King Tryggve and King Eyolf—”

  The name of her father sharpened Kallan’s attention. “Father has it?”

  Gudrun continued, not daring to encourage the princess’s interruptions.

  “As do the reindeer that migrate across the valleys of King Raum in the north and the elk birds that fly across the southern realms of King Gardr Agdi. The sea worms that swim, and the pines that grow tall in these lands. However, among us all, Men and the three races of the Alfar, only a rare handful are still aware of its existence. Of those precious few, only some can waken it. Fewer still can wield it.”

  After concluding her lecture, Gudrun spoke faster, more sternly, leaving behind the mysticism of the storyteller.

  “To wield the Seidr is to pull on the lifeline that has formed within the confines of your center. To master the Seidr is to pull on the threads that have woven themselves within the elements. Find it!”

  As if suddenly aware of the stuffy room, Kallan narrowed her eyes to better see the Seidr that was somehow there suspended in the air. This time, Gudrun’s smile stretched across her wrinkled face.

  “Start small,” she said. “The Seidr around us has not conformed to the order of a path and goes where the elements take it. Try to find the Seidr within you, at your center. That is where it sleeps. That Seidr will know you and be the first to obey you.”

  Slouching, Kallan nodded and closed her eyes, then changed her attention to the center of her body.

  “Once you master your own Seidr, you can reach out to the Seidr in others. It won’t be as willing to obey as your own, but it too has adapted to the confines of a living being.”

  Kallan opened her eyes, eager to collect the knowledge that always seemed to pour out of Gudrun. “Is it within the fire you summon?”

  The old Seidkona shook her head.

  “Fire is not an element, but a reaction, like when the cook blends stews or when I mix spells.”

  “Like bubbling water or brewed tea?”

  “Exactly,” Gudrun said. “Fire is only present when other actions bring it out, whereas soil, wind, and water are always there, maintaining a permanent state that defines the Seidr.” As she listed each element, Gudrun pointed to each point of the pendant hanging from Kallan’s neck. As she finished, she traced her finger around the circle enveloping the knot. “The elements don’t require fuel. However, Seidr is living. It is a life form made of pure energy. Compress enough Seidr, and it will release heat. Compress it more, and it will become hot enough to produce flame.”

  “And hotter still produces your lightning.” Kallan grinned.

  “Exactly.”

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  Lorlenalin

  Aaric, the king’s high marshal, towered over the refugees in Lorlenalin’s keep as he made his way through the moonlit halls. Sleeping families had done their best to nestle up for the night on the stone floor. Every passage and stairwell overflowed with Alfar. No one had room to stretch out. His men performed well considering the circumstances, but still.

  Ninety thousand.

  He glanced into one of the countless rooms filled with more than two dozen people. Only this morning he had used most of the rooms for storage. Now, children slept sitting upright against their mothers.

  Ninety thousand.

  He couldn’t believe the report when he heard it two weeks ago. He and his men did well to prepare, but seeing this many refugees arriving at the steps of his keep without home or food had been enough to shock him into the reality of the numbers. His keep simply could not house them all. Outside, his men erected tents, thousands of tents, along the outer battlement. Alongside the river and even the waterfall, they had pitched rows upon rows of tents that would serve as permanent housing for the Svartálfar until his men could build proper establishments.

  He still wasn’t sure where he was going to put them all until then. The spring nights could get cold.

  Aaric stopped at a closed door in the hall where orange light seeped through the crack at the floor and spilled onto the stone. The quiet whimper on the other side pulled at his broad chest. He uneasily shifted the sword on his hip and pushed the door open.

  The room was laden with simple fixings fine enough to belong to a field marshal: a desk, a table, no ornamentation. On the wall beside a door that led to a balcony hung a tapestry embroidered with the Svartálfar seal: a hammer intertwined with a tri-corner knot. The same seal the smiths had engraved into the armbands worn by all of the king’s men. On the bed, Kallan sat sobbing softly on King Eyolf’s lap. From the red of his dry eyes, Eyolf had found more tears to shed for his wife.

  Kallan stared wide-eyed, her lapis eyes swollen and red like her father’s. The child lay with her fist pressed into her mout
h, uninterested with anything he had to say.

  “Daggon’s ready,” Aaric said.

  Eyolf dug at his eyes and nodded. Despite having reached his elding ages ago, gray now streaked the black of his shoulder length hair and his full beard. The eternal youth of the king had waned since last they met. Exhaustion pulled on his face and made him appear much more like a middle-aged human instead of an Alfar king blessed with the eternal life of his people.

  Eyolf returned his hand to his daughter’s back. “How is everyone?” he asked. “Have the Dokkalfar settled?”

  Aaric furrowed his brow. “Dokkalfar?”

  “That’s what the Svartálfar who followed started calling themselves,” Eyolf said. “I’m not sure when, really. Along the way, they started, I think. The name just stayed with them.”

  “We found everyone a bed. My men are still working on the latrines. I have another group working on food supply.”

  Eyolf nodded wearily.

  “What of the others?” Aaric asked. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No. The Svartálfar who stayed behind were not happy with my decision.” Aaric watched Eyolf tighten his mouth. His lip had started to shake. “I urged them to come with us, but they wouldn’t abandon the fight.”

  “How many?” Aaric asked.

  Eyolf rubbed his face. “More than half. One hundred and twenty maybe.”

  Nausea flipped Aaric’s stomach. “One hundred and twenty thousand left in Svartálfaheim?” He tried to imagine the number of Alfar who had chosen to stay behind as the city went up in Seidr flame. He and Gudrun alone knew it was Seidr flame. He was certain to keep it that way. Aaric shook his head. “They won’t make it.”

  “They wouldn’t listen.” Aaric heard the grief swell in Eyolf’s voice. “And if I stayed to fight that battle…”