Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  With a bloody thud, his head fell to the ground, leaving the whimpers of a pale, blond-haired woman, half stripped and trembling on the ground beneath the headless corpse.

  CHAPTER 48

  Sunlight poured over the earth and stone, contrasting the rising haze of black clouds that loomed over the mountains in the south. Kallan sat, propped against a lone birch tree, staring at the sky and the storm behind them.

  Bound to the earth with the poison in her arm, she had recalled the deluge of images that flooded back of the damp caves and the orange light constantly battling back the darkness and a memory of the bitter tang wafting from a bowl. Through the darkness that enclosed her while the Men pinned her to the ground, she had seen it once again: the golden light of the Seidr that flowed, and she remembered. Wakening her senses, she cleared her mind and concentrated, and finally she found the Seidr beyond her own as Gudrun had tried teaching her ages ago.

  Kallan’s gaze shifted to the headless corpse Rune had kicked to the side moments earlier.

  The blood pooled onto the ground and steam rose to the sky in a disorderly stream of white, which added a blackish-red melancholy to the terrain. Kallan averted her eyes from the corpse to the lake where she could make out the peasant’s golden hair. The distant sound of splashing water assured Kallan that the girl they found beneath the soldier was still bathing in the lake. She had been bathing for nearly half an hour, desperately working to scrub the filth that had penetrated her flesh. Kallan hugged herself against the memory of Nordri’s hands, his mouth, and his ditty sung in the dark.

  Blanketed in an empty shadow Kallan hadn’t been able to place, Rune walked around the grave field, inspecting the stones and runes, leaving Kallan alone to brood. After a while spent exploring, Rune returned and dropped a pile of small salmon to the ground along with an armload of sticks and branches. He busied himself with the fire as Kallan leaned into her tree.

  “What did you do to them?” Rune asked.

  Kallan looked to Rune, who nursed a small stream of smoke from beneath the brushwood. The morning sun dowsed him in various shades of yellow that contrasted the drab gray clouds looming behind them. He kept his attention on the kindling.

  “You were pinned to the ground by four men,” he said. “All four of whom are now dead.” He watched his fire as he spoke. “No burns. No scorch marks. No blood.”

  Rune blew at the base of the smoke as it flowed in a steady stream until the fire erupted from the ball of tinder, slowly at first then faster as it settled onto the branches and twigs. Rune looked up from his work. “What did you do?” he asked again.

  Kallan gazed out at the lake. The waters had settled, unbroken by any disturbance, confirming the girl had finished bathing.

  “I took their Seidr from them,” she answered. “The Seidr is energy produced by all living things. Most can’t sense it and when they do, they often dismiss it.”

  The fire crackled as she let the tension between them brew. She remembered their quarrel, his mouth closed over hers, and the manner in which he had awakened her that morning. His striking her hadn’t hurt with the Seidr from Idunn’s apple still healing her. She suspected he knew this somehow and bit her lip, refusing to allow herself to ask the question.

  “Seidkonas believe we exist because we borrow that energy.” Kallan rested her head back against the trunk of the tree and stared off in the distance as she thought of such things as spells, the Seidr, and an energy that harbors its own life force. “When the body dies, the Seidr passes from it and joins the Seidr around us.”

  “Can you live without your Seidr?” Rune asked.

  “All life comes from the Seidr,” she answered gravely. “What do you think?”

  Rune didn’t answer.

  Kallan pushed her fingers through her hair, desperate to rid herself of the impervious sense that she was sitting there naked and vulnerable. She fought the urge to take up a weapon, but stayed where she sat for fear any movement would further reveal her weakness. Content to be discussing something so natural to her, she continued without provocation.

  “The Seidr within is always there, holding only as much as it can produce. Seidkona learn to recognize the energy. They learn how to use it within others and how to block it. An enemy can tap into a Seidkona caught unaware and draw the Seidr out of her.” Kallan studied the clouds again.

  “Like them.” Rune nodded toward the forest where they had left the bodies behind.

  Kallan nodded. “Like them.”

  Rune propped the skewered fish over the flames.

  “You said all living things produce it,” he said. “Animals? Reindeer? Elk?”

  Kallan smiled.

  “The trees, the water, the salmon we eat,” she said, “everything. The earth provides an endless supply we can tap into.”

  “So why use your own? Why not borrow from the Earth’s Seidr?”

  She could see his hardened eyes taking in every one of her words with careful thought.

  “Unlike the Seidr within, the Earth’s Seidr is not harnessed, and is harder to control.”

  Rune nodded thoughtfully.

  “So you’re weak,” he said and grinned as Kallan battled back the urge to launch into a full-scale demonstration of the Seidr’s power.

  Kallan crunched her nose. “As weak as you trying to divert a river’s flow with your bare hands.”

  “And what of me?” Rune asked and Kallan dropped her shoulders as her anger ebbed.

  “I don’t know what you are,” Kallan said. “Why you…”

  She remembered the Seidr entering his body through his hands, travelling down his Seidr lines to where his core should have been, and vanishing where a great shadow enclosed it instead.

  Exhaling, Kallan looked back to the sky as Rune dropped his attention to the fish.

  Finished with her bath, the peasant girl walked, weak and frightened out of her senses, over the freshly turned earth and entrenched stones. She had tucked her long, plain hair behind her ears, which dripped water down the front of her hangeroc. As she walked, she hugged herself, which did little to cease her violent shaking. High cheekbones protruded sharply, pulling her pallid, grayish skin taut, and emphasizing her lack of nourishment. The gray of her round, sunken eyes matched the mountain’s sky, giving her the appearance of the headless corpse nearby.

  The girl came to stop several feet from the fire, doing her best to not look at the bloody mass behind her as she shifted her gaze uneasily between the Alfar.

  “Thank you.” Her voice lilted with an unexpected brogue that forced Rune to look up from the fire.

  The woman-child appeared dwarfed at two heads shorter than Kallan. Perhaps too long, she admired Kallan’s tapered ears and flawless, luminescent skin glistening in the sunlight.

  “You are of the Elven race from the south beyond Viken.”

  In reply, Kallan fished through the contents of her pouch, withdrew a small stoppered bottle, and extended it to the girl.

  Brewing with inquisitiveness Kallan saw in his eyes, Rune stared at the bottle in Kallan’s hand. With hesitation, the girl reached it and swiftly, Kallan grabbed the girl’s wrist and held her. Before the girl could gasp, golden threads of Seidr flowed from Kallan’s hand and snaked up the girl’s arm to her shoulder.

  Enraptured, Rune watched the workings of Kallan’s Seidr as the girl’s face filled out. Her bruises faded from her pale complexion and her eyes glowed with radiance, replacing the shallow, pallid color that haunted her. The golden sheen of her hair returned as the strands thickened.

  As the last of the Seidr threads ended, Kallan released the girl’s hand, leaving the human free to gape with widened eyes, first at her own hand, which she turned over twice, then at the Seidkona.

  “You’re a witch,” the girl said. “One of the hagtesse.”

  Kallan smiled.

  Her sudden lightheartedness plunged the whole of her disposition in a warm glow that noticeably drew Rune’s attention.

  “Witc
h. Hagtesse,” Kallan said, blushing at the additional attention from Rune. “I haven’t heard those words since I studied abroad in Jorvik. I am Seidkona,” Kallan said, still glowing. “You’re from the lands north of the Humbre River. What do you call yourself?”

  Shame weighed heavily on the girl’s shoulders, bearing down the visible doubt that rested there. Her shyness made her seem shorter than she already appeared. She lowered her eyes, as if inhibited by her error, and softly answered.

  “Emma of Lothen.”

  Emma risked a glance up, alternating from Rune to Kallan, seemingly unsure which of the two she should address. Deciding to stay silent, she forced her eyes back to the ground.

  “Emma of Lothen, join us,” Rune said.

  He nodded to the ground between himself and Kallan, and waited for the girl to take her place beside them.

  Tucking her knees beneath her with an efficiency that confirmed she was used to obeying orders, Emma kneeled where Rune indicated.

  “How did come you come to be here in the North?” he asked.

  Emma shifted her eye to Rune then back again to the fire before answering.

  “Last summer, I and my husband, Ivann of Dofrar, left Engla. Ivann wished to return to Dofrar. He has a farm there…had a farm,” she corrected herself. “I was on my way to Nidaros when…”

  Emma afforded another glance to the headless body and shrunk down closer to the fire.

  “Dofrar is a day’s walk from here.” Rune’s eyes hardened with pensiveness. “How did you come to be this far east of the Dofrarfjell alone?”

  “Ivann and I were working on the farm when Olaf arrived with his troops,” she said, gazing back to Rune. “They killed everyone. I hid among the dead. When I came out, I was alone. Ivann…” Her voice cracked and she lowered her eyes again, unable to continue.

  Saying no more, the girl hugged her legs to her chest and settled her chin in the crook of her knees. She barely moved when Rune handed her a skewered fish from the fire.

  “We are heading to Nidaros ourselves,” Rune said once Emma’s fish was half-gone. “The roads aren’t safe for anyone, and we can ensure your safety along the road there.”

  “Thank you,” Emma mumbled and devoured the last of her meal.

  Rune handed her another skewer off the fire and jabbed at the coals within the flames.

  “Within an hour, Olaf’s troops will swarm these lands,” he said. “We need to put as much distance as possible between us and these corpses before nightfall. After we’ve filled our stomachs, we’ll head out. We’ll have to move fast. Emma.” The girl turned her clear eyes up to Rune. “You can ride Astrid.”

  As Emma devoured the last of the fish, Kallan looked to the south where they had journeyed down from the mountains of Jotunheim. Like a plague that stretched over all of Midgard, black clouds annexed the sky. A chill prickled her back and darkness moved in over the Dofrarfjell carried on the wind as if Olaf himself was leading the storm that was coming for them.

  * * *

  Within the hour, the rains began peppering their small caravan with pellets that left them drenched. Kallan was more than willing to lend Emma the overcoat along with what blankets they had obtained from Ori, sheltering her somewhat from the elements as they moved out of Upplond into Throendalog.

  There, the mountains stretched on with endless greens of pine that complimented the drab blue-gray of the clouds overhead. Their road strayed from the river, abandoning them to the generosity of the land and fortune.

  Kallan stumbled alongside Astrid appearing to be permanently peeved at Rune as she shifted a suspicious eye to every unusual shadow lingering in the trees.

  The constant anxious glance from Kallan did little to ease the Ljosalfr’s mood. Aside from the elation of picking off a pair of rabbits, Rune doled out a good portion of his own foul mood back to Kallan. Oblivious to their threatening charades and grateful for their company, Emma rode along, too weary and miserable to say much of anything.

  The rains persisted into the evening, coming to a slow end an hour after the sun settled beyond the mountains. In the russet and gold of overgrown foliage, long after the deluge ended, they found an abandoned lean-to tucked away.

  Rune pulled Emma’s stiff body from atop the horse. Her frame seemed delicate and too easily broken, like a child’s, in comparison to the Alfar women he had known. Taking care not to drop her, Rune held Emma by the waist as he waited until she found her horse-legs beneath her.

  After regaining her balance, the Englian bounced along the clearing, restoring the blood flow to her legs. Exhausted, hungry, wet, and cold and eager for supper, a pipe, and a mead, Rune turned back for the rabbits and stopped short. Kallan’s menacing gaze met him there as she scrutinized, trialed, assessed, and condemned him all within a glance.

  After a moment, Kallan left him alone to the pair of rabbits as she hugged herself against the chill that wasn’t there. The opportunity was too ripe, and the circumstances, irresistible. With a wide grin, Rune made up his mind to play the game, eager to keep the simmering fire inside Kallan well stoked lest she withdraw to her lies behind her iron wall.

  Although…

  Rune mused as he gutted the rabbit. Appealing greatly to the sadist within, his imagination flourished with the thought of having to provoke her all over again.

  Exchanging sneers, Kallan and Rune sashayed and danced as they settled into their routine around Emma. He collected firewood. She tethered Astrid and removed the saddle and furs. A fire roared and soon the scent of roasted rabbit filled the air.

  Claiming a small area beside the fire, Emma took the liberty of drying herself in its warmth. Still awed over the difference Kallan’s Seidr had made, Rune, not so discreetly, dragged his eyes over the woman from Lothen. The wear and abuse from her life had vanished and she glowed with the radiance of the Vanir.

  A flash of gold caught Rune’s eye as Kallan passed an apple to Astrid. She planted a kiss on his velvet nose and, bored, hungry, and exhausted, Rune remembered their morning. His eyes lingered on the soft lines of Kallan’s neck and soon his eyes wandered with his imagination.

  Mid-fantasy, Kallan spun about and met Rune’s gaze in a way that suggested a sudden urge to ignite the Ljosalfr in flame. Through the Beast, Rune felt a ball of Seidr manifest inside Kallan’s palm. Rune cocked his head and grinned, egging Kallan on. Her Seidr built.

  “I walked these roads with Ivann once.” The sudden lilt of Emma’s voice broke the tension, Rune’s amusement, and Kallan’s focus and her Seidr dissipated.

  “He told me these shelters were built years ago by the Jarls of Lade to encourage merchants and traders over the Dofrarfjell.”

  Making her way to the fire, Kallan settled herself opposite Rune, who rotated the skewers. Emma watched the flames lick the air.

  “I overheard Olaf talking to his captain about building more shelters along the trade routes and mapping the ones that are here,” Emma said.

  Rune and Kallan exchanged glances, their petty issues forgotten for the moment.

  “What else did you hear?” Rune asked, passing Emma a stick of roasted rabbit.

  Emma stifled a yawn as sleep settled in.

  “More than I wanted of the dying,” she said. “Nothing of Olaf.”

  Emma stared into the flames.

  “I remember the cries of children and the growing pile of tiny hands.” A tear rolled down her cheek and, with a trembling hand, she roughly brushed it away. “I wish I could forget,” she said, her eyes deep and sullen as if she hadn’t slept in days.

  Unable to eat, Emma gazed instead at the rabbit then looked again to Rune. The orange firelight danced over her face.

  “I remember seeing Olaf when we passed through Engla last year.”

  Rune froze.

  “Olaf was in Engla?” he asked.

  Emma nodded. “For a little more than four winters. He stayed and terrorized the people after winning the Battle of Maeldun. Everyone feared drawing his interests. He caused
a lot of heartache to Ethelred, from what Ivann said.”

  “Why were you and Ivann looking to leave Lothen at all?” Kallan asked.

  Emma’s cheeks flooded with red.

  “Ethelred wasn’t ready to give up Bebbanburgh to Alba.” Emma lowered her voice. “And King Kenneth was moving in to take it by force. After the wars with Dan’s Reach and the wars with Miercna,” Emma counted, “and the wars with Alba, Northumbria, and the conflict growing in Eire’s Land between the high king and Boru…” Emma shook her head. “Ivann wanted to settle down and return to Dofrar. Take up his father’s farm…try for a family without fear of—”

  Emma dropped her head and swiped at another tear.

  “We only arrived last summer,” she said. “We stopped off in Bjorgvin then made port in Nidaros. Ivann has family there. We had just started to get things going on the farm…” Emma’s voice trailed off. “It feels like Olaf followed us here straight from Dubh Linn.”

  “Do you know why Olaf left Dubh Linn?” Rune asked, eager to keep her talking.

  Emma shook her head. “No one knows, really. Many just talk of mindless speculation. Some say he was growing restless in the shadows of Sigtrygg—”

  “Sigtrygg?” Rune interrupted. “Sigtrygg Silkbeard?”

  Emma nodded.

  “How does Olaf know Silkbeard?” he asked, paying no mind to Emma’s sudden wariness.

  “A few years back, Olaf married Sigtrygg’s sister,” she said.

  Rune sat up, his mouth agape.

  “He married Gyda?”

  “What’s wrong?” Kallan asked as Emma nodded.

  Sighing, Rune rubbed his hand over his face repeatedly before answering.

  “Gyda and Silkbeard are two of Amlaib Cuaran’s children.” Rune dropped his shoulders when Kallan blankly stared at him.

  “Who is Amlaib Cuaran?” she asked.