Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  Kallan smiled.

  “Yeah, let’s say Astrid’s three,” Brand agreed.

  With every stroke, the gold cords laced at Kallan’s side caught the light, and he followed the lacing in and out through Kallan’s gown.

  “How is it you know of Palfrey and Courser when the draw horse is all that’s found north of the empire?” Brand asked pulling his eyes from the gold.

  Kallan cocked a single brow as she pushed the brush through Astrid’s coat then abandoned it to a barrel.

  “Should I not?”

  Brand eyed the hem of her dress. His attention lingered on her feet wrapped in leather then dragged his eyes up.

  “Most in the area have never seen anything beyond the creams of the fjord horse,” he said. “Let alone own one that looks so much like the horses found along the desert markets south of Volga.”

  He watched as Kallan opened her palm for Astrid to snuffle with his wet nose as if sniffing for a treat. After a gentle stroke to his face, Kallan planted a kiss. A lump caught in Brand’s throat as he studied the fine lines of her jaw down to her neck.

  “You should come with me,” he whispered.

  Kallan looked up, hooking him on the lapis blue rings of her eyes.

  “With you?” She kindly grinned.

  “When next we go out,” he clarified. He gulped. His hands were cold and damp.

  “We?” She snickered. “And when would that be?” Her voice lilted with an eagerness that encouraged more from him.

  “Leif has another expedition planned next summer,” Brand rambled on, uncertain why he couldn’t shut up. “He looks to go west.”

  “To the islands of Englia?” she asked, pulling herself from Astrid’s face. A single ringlet fell to her eyes.

  “Further.” He lowered his voice.

  Aching to pull back the ringlet, he dared a step closer, carefully, as if she was a fledgling that would take flight.

  “To Groen Land?” Kallan widened her grin. She was shaking her head before Brand could stop her. “False promises of a land rolling with green.” She repeated the stories aloud. “And farmland enough to feed an entire country. Hopeful settlers have returned, laden with stories of fields of ice and barren rock.”

  Brand shrugged.

  “Well, how else would Leif and Erik draw settlers if not by calling it Groen Land?”

  Kallan laughed and his chest tightened.

  “It’s an ice block,” she managed to say between chuckles. “Even the Northern Passage is warmer.”

  Brand shrugged with a smile.

  “Either way.” He shook his head, letting his face fall to severity. “No.”

  Kallan stopped laughing as the joviality fell from Brand’s face, leaving behind her grin.

  “No?” she asked.

  Brand shook his head. “Not Groen Land,” Brand whispered. “Beyond.”

  “Beyond.”

  The light of his lantern caught her eye.

  “There is nothing beyond,” she whispered. “But Ginnungagap and the tips of the ash branches that stretch into the endless sea made black by the sea worms that fill those waters.”

  “There is more,” Brand insisted. “I’ve been there.”

  Her eyes widened with clear fascination. Now that he held her captivated, he kept her and wouldn’t let go.

  “Fields of green and pastures lined with berries in so much abundance that wine flows right out of the ground,” he said.

  Kallan shook her head, her grin recovering.

  “More false promises of sheets of ice?”

  “No.” He lowered his voice, forcing her closer to hear. She smelled of roses and lavender. “This is real.”

  “Green ice,” she whispered.

  He exploded into a laugh, encouraging her smile that launched him into his travels.

  “The Empire is building a cathedral in Mainz,” he said. “Books containing the newest innovations are flowing from Râ-Kedet.”

  “Books,” she said with intrigue.

  “Books bound and made with silks and mesh fibers they call paper. The Arabi have been doing this for two centuries.” His eyes brightened with excitement. “Ideas are written and sold right there in the markets. Innovations and knowledge brimming with possibilities that are moving along the Volga trade roads in exchange for spices. Explorers bring gods from the lands beyond. They say the scholars have found maps in the stars.”

  “Maps in the stars,” she said.

  “Too easily you could forget home,” he said. “We can travel farther than anyone before us. There’s a world, twenty years ago, we didn’t even know was there. And there’s something there, beyond that one.”

  “And how far will you go?” Kallan whispered. “Until the branches of Yggdrasill reach beyond the stars?”

  Brand paused, coming down from his maps in the stars to meet Kallan’s mystical eyes beaming with the worlds he spoke.

  “Come with me,” Brand bade just above a whisper.

  “To the stars?” Her eyes glistened with excitement.

  His words brushed her lips.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  “Unfortunately…” Rune’s voice cut through the stables like an ugly horn sounding from the North. “…Her Highness has other commitments requiring her immediate attention in Gunir.”

  Kallan snarled at Rune as Brand straightened his back. Hate filled Kallan’s head at the sight of Rune, pushing aside thoughts of stars, books, and worlds carved with green ice. On the other side of the lantern, Rune rested a large arm on the stall. His hair tied back made him appear older, wiser, and angrier than usual.

  “Olga has asked me to fetch you.” Rune’s voice rolled through the stall like venom.

  “Olga has,” Brand answered, not sounding entirely convinced the Ljosalfr told the truth.

  “Yes,” Rune insisted. “She’s in the Mead Hall, saying something about Halvard needing something…with…something…”

  Rune handed the words to Brand, not bothering to make his improvisation sound convincing.

  Brand exchanged Kallan’s apologetic glance for a remorseful one and, with gross hesitation, walked to the end of the stall. Pulling the lantern from its hook, Brand stopped long enough to gaze at Rune.

  With chests puffed out, they sized each other and, after an eternal second, Brand moved on his way.

  “What is wrong with you?” Kallan hissed once Brand’s footfalls faded.

  “Wrong? Wrong?” Rune said, feigning innocence. “I was delivering a message.”

  “There is no message,” she said.

  “There could be.”

  Kallan gave a girlish growl. “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked.

  “Rescuing him,” Rune said.

  “Rescuing.”

  “From you,” he clarified before he could catch the huff from her lips. In silence, Rune strolled from the stables with Kallan cursing beneath her breath behind him.

  The night had settled, mingling with the orange lights that poured from the Mead Hall. In the distance, muffled laughter of the Throendir carried on the wind as Rune plodded down to the beach with Kallan in tow.

  “We were enjoying a pleasant conversation,” she said just as Rune stopped short.

  Slamming her shoulder into his, Kallan stomped on ahead, taking the lead. Her skirts rustled as she pushed her way onto the beach.

  “You were enjoying a pleasant conversation,” he corrected. “That boy was hopping on the verge of madness.”

  The weight of his eyes bore into her back and she whipped about on her heel. His arms hung at his side.

  “I was,” she said.

  “You had him strung along tighter than a mast line,” Rune said.

  “I did?”

  Rune shrugged. “You’re cruel.”

  Kallan whipped back around.

  “I am not cruel,” she said.

  “Were you going to sleep with him?” Rune asked. A bite in his tone replaced his impassiveness. Kallan flushed whit
e then red as she clutched her fists with the want to summon her Seidr. “Because he thought you were,” he said, not bothering to wait for an answer. “And you let him.”

  He gave her the moment to flash her finest glare.

  “See.” Rune shrugged. “Cruel.”

  He sauntered down to the water’s surface, ensuring he slammed his shoulder into her along the way.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  Rune held his gaze on the black sea. Another huff escaped her lips before he bothered to answer.

  “Why do they want your pouch, Kallan?”

  Kallan threw back her head.

  “Not in all my days,” she said, “for as long as I reign, will I ever concede to your twisted…”

  Rune gazed into the cold hate that met his eyes.

  “I am not your ally!” she shouted.

  Holding up his arm in answer, Rune let slide a single, black tri-corner knot that stopped short at the end of a chain.

  Kallan gasped, turning as pale as the moonlight that glistened off the silver-black sheen of the elding steel.

  “Where did you…?” she breathed.

  With trembling hands, Kallan reached for the pendant.

  “It was all I could find,” Rune said as Kallan took the tri-knot.

  Too stunned to speak, Kallan cradled the charm until she collected the strength to tear her eyes away from the boon.

  “My mother…” Kallan tried to speak, but caught her words on a breath as she caressed the lines of elding with her finger. “This is all I have left.”

  Dark days flooded back of the bitter tang buried beneath Dvergar caves, and the hopelessness she had found there as the sea air rushed in and over her, clearing her thoughts and allowing questions that hadn’t surfaced before. With a gulp, Kallan found her voice.

  “In the caves…how did you know where to find me?”

  Rune looked to the clear sky. The moon was almost gone now.

  Rune breathed in the sea air.

  “My brother spent some time in Nidavellir,” Rune said with a subtle grin. “He managed to bring some knowledge back with him.”

  “Your brother,” Kallan whispered, holding her eyes on the pendant again.

  The moonlight glistened off the elding as she turned the metal over. Distant laughter rolled through the silence of the evening’s festivities and the impenetrable walls of Kallan’s grief began to weaken.

  “You often speak of your brother,” she said, running her finger along the lines of elding. “Earth. Air. Wind,” she muttered and looked to Rune. He stood gazing at the black sea.

  The black sea.

  Kallan watched each wave twist, roll, and contort itself like the black, sleek bodies of the sea worms. Any moment now, a flat, snake-like head with metallic, beady eyes would rise up and peer out from the ocean waters.

  Kallan watched and waited, but the sea worms no longer swam to the shores of Men. All at once, she took a long, deep breath as if surrendering her defiance.

  “The Dvergar seek the pouch I carry,” Kallan said. “They made no mention of its contents.”

  Rune turned around. His eyes were wide from the thoughts that had drifted as Kallan examined the charm in silence. His carefree nature was gone, replaced with the composure of the cold, methodical king he was. Free of her inhibitions, the information Rune desired now poured from Kallan.

  “Why would they want a Seidkona’s pouch?” he asked.

  “I would imagine…” Kallan sighed, staring out to sea still looking, still hoping for the sea worms to come. “…because it was Odinn’s.”

  Rune blinked stupidly.

  “Odinn,” he said, with a drawl of doubt.

  But she didn’t smile. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move.

  “The Odinn,” he said.

  “Yes,” Kallan said, tearing her eyes from the sea. “That Odinn.”

  Rune battled incredulity as Kallan went on, not bothering to wait for his senses to catch up with what she was about to say.

  “The pouch was crafted by Freyja as a gift to Odinn while he journeyed Yggdrasill for the wisdom he sought.” She paused, giving Rune a chance to speak. When he said nothing, she continued. “Freyja infused the pouch with an enchantment, making it forever replenish the single apple Idunn bestowed as a gift, and Odinn was free to wander Yggdrasill with an eternal supply of Idunn’s apples.”

  Rune lost his breath, unable to think while he tried to sort out five single words.

  “Eternal supply of Idunn’s apples.” He spoke the words slowly.

  Kallan nodded and waited.

  “Those apples then,” Rune said, remembering every time she ate one, each time she passed one to Astrid, the glow of her skin and how quickly she had healed.

  “Are Idunn’s apples,” Rune finished.

  “They are,” she said.

  “The apples of Asgard that give eternal youth to any who eat of them.” Rune’s voice was straining with tension.

  Kallan nodded.

  “And your pouch provides an eternal supply of them?”

  “It does,” Kallan said.

  Desperate to understand, Rune shook his head.

  “But Idunn’s apples provide youth to the gods,” he said, “and I’ve seen you heal with them.”

  Kallan sighed.

  “Gudrun isn’t just a Seidkona. She’s a healer and studied extensively on this matter, leading her to discover the healing properties of the body. When a person is born, the body restores itself. As a person gets older, the body’s ability to heal and restore itself slows down until it stops, as if the body is too tired to heal or just…forgets.”

  “Old age,” Rune said of Olga and Halvard in the Mead Hall, laughing, living, and dying. In the longhouse, with Ori’s overcoat, Kallan possessed the ability to save them.

  Kallan nodded.

  “Exactly. It’s why children heal so much faster than an elder and why some elders never heal at all. It’s why an elder can die from a break or a fall.”

  “Because their bodies have stopped,” Rune thought aloud.

  “With an adjustment to an enhanced healing spell, Gudrun was able to use the apples to rejuvenate the healing process. She uses the body’s memory.” Rune nodded, saying nothing as she spoke. “She’s reminding the body of what it once knew as a child then re-teaching or reminding it to heal itself. She refined it so well that Gudrun can renew life in the dead.” Kallan amended, “To an extent.”

  “The youth it gives to the gods…” Rune assessed.

  “—and the healing properties it gives the Alfar—”

  “…would make men immortal.”

  Kallan nodded.

  “For as long as they eat of the fruit.”

  Awe blanketed Rune’s face as his head raced for something to grasp that he could understand. After a moment, Kallan returned to the sea and her silent ponderings.

  “And what of…this?”

  Kallan looked back at him and studied the subtle shifts in his composure and unnatural stillness. She admired the cool control in his words. “This thing inside of me,” Rune said. “How does that fit into your Seidr?”

  Kallan shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “How…” he asked. “How did you get Odinn’s pouch?”

  The moonlight formed a clear, perfect crescent on the water’s surface.

  “It was a gift from Gudrun,” she said.

  Rune shook his head.

  “But where did she get it?”

  Kallan flushed red, knowing she had said too much. Regardless, she spouted forth the answers.

  “Odinn gave it to her in exchange for a favor,” she answered.

  Rune crinkled his brow. “What could Gudrun possibly have that Odinn would want from an old hag?”

  Gudrun would kill her. Kallan decided this. She had said too much, but somehow, she trusted him and she was no fool. After all they had been through, after all he had done for her, she owed him these an
swers.

  “A prophecy,” Kallan said and watched Rune’s eyes widened and she knew: he understood. Kallan gazed up at the moon.

  “She—she—” he stuttered. “She—”

  “Yes. Gudrun is a Seer,” Kallan said. “You’ve heard of the Volva’s Prophecy.”

  Rune’s eyes widened further, his mouth fell open and Kallan turned her gaze to the sea.

  She continued without his answer.

  “After he placed his eye into Mimir’s Well and drank of the water, Odinn learned he needed to speak to a Volva. The Volva Odinn sought for eternal wisdom—”

  “Was Gudrun,” Rune finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  With mouth agape, he waved a finger at Kallan.

  “You know what she said,” he breathed.

  Kallan shook her head with an admirable grin. “Not a chance. I’ve spent years trying to extract that knowledge from Gudrun.”

  Rune looked to the sea, watching the waves rush to the shore.

  “Olaf seeks Idunn’s apples to regenerate the strength and power of his troops,” Rune said.

  “I assume so.”

  “Halvard said Olaf had spoken to a Seidkona,” he mused. “Could she have known about the apples?”

  Kallan dropped her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “And the Dvergar for that matter,” Rune asked, but Kallan shook her head.

  “I still don’t know.”

  Rune sighed and pushed his hand through his hair as Kallan bit the corner of her bottom lip. Almost immediately, his eyes widened and he straightened his back.

  “Someone was helping them,” he said.

  Kallan pulled back her shoulders as if ready to attack.

  “A human king is looking for you, killing every Seidkona along the way,” Rune said. “The Dvergar traveled as far south as Alfheim after pinning the pouch’s location to you. Without help, they never would have been able to track the pouch to you.”

  Rune paused as if gathering his thoughts as Kallan stared wide-eyed at him.

  “Who else knows about the pouch?” Rune asked. “Really knows?”

  “Gudrun, my father, Eilif, Daggon, and Aaric.”

  “Any others?” he asked. “Any at all?”

  Kallan shook her head as she reviewed the list again. “No. It’s just a pouch. All Seidkona have them.”

  “No. Not all Seidkona have a pouch that produces Idunn’s apples. Gudrun,” Rune said. “She’s the Seer.”