The godhi bent, whispering to a servant next to the dais. The thrall nodded, pushed through the crowd and disappeared out the door.
I will not survive if you let them do this.
The words struck Hallad with the same timbre as the song in the forest. He swiveled to the stranger, only to find her face motionless. He combed the crowd, but none revealed they had either spoken or heard the young woman.
"And what of Hallad’s crime?" Thyre demanded.
"What do you say wife?" The godhi replied, his countenance darkening.
"It was Hallad who shot the shadow-spawn, or swan maiden, either way, he brought the wrath of the gods, and as a result my Emma is gone. By the testimony of his own friends, he moved to protect this creature and not his own sister. If we do not punish him for this crime, because he is your son, the gods will take their revenge on our entire village." Her mouth twitched as if she tried to restrain a smirk.
Hallad had always known his mother was a ruthless woman, but to turn on her own son? He’d known the Hall would demand recompense for the night’s events, though he never dreamed his own mother would suggest it.
"My son," said the godhi. "Do you know what the punishment for treason against your kin, attempting to slay those who control your own fate and endangering your village is?"
"Ja, father, I do." Hallad lowered his eyes, unable to look into his father’s face.
"What say you to these crimes?"
The muscles in Hallad’s jaw tightened. His teeth ground together. He could not deny the accusations, for in part they rang true. He thought of Emma. From a young age, Hallad’s duty forced him to learn to read runes, master sword skill, study politics and war craft. His time spent with tutors left him friendless. In rare moments, free of his responsibilities, Hallad had often found himself alone. Except for Emma. She would appear with her face bright as sunlight to ease his solitude. The only other friend he had accused him of this crime. And now, because of his inaction, Emma was gone.
"Guilty," said Hallad.
"Guilty," repeated Thyre.
"Guilty," echoed the crowd, until the longhouse swelled with the word.
Avarr bowed his head. Erik’s face paled with shock. The young woman pressed silently at Hallad’s side, her presence sparking a smidgen of comfort as his emotions whirled. He caught her eyes as she stared at him, her compassion apparent. In that moment he realized her eyes were not black, but the deepest of blue.
Slowly, the godhi lifted his head, probing his son with anxious eyes.
"The Hall pronounces you guilty of treason against your kin, attempted slaying of a deity and endangerment to this village. Your sentence is death by the gallows."
Chapter 5
Tied to the central pole of the livestock barn, Hallad struggled against the ropes binding his wrists. They had taken the young woman to another annex of the barn and the separation caused a pang in his chest. He called out to her, but only the knock of hammers against wood replied as the villagers prepared for the inquest in the village square.
And the gallows, Hallad thought.
Hallad worked at his bindings, remembering the young woman’s sword tucked in his belt, hidden safely within the folds of his mantle.
I didn’t even have a chance to ask father about his signet.
Momentary grief overtook him, but he shook loose of its grip. He had to break free, get to the woman and keep her safe. If he managed to release one hand, he could reach the hilt.
A crack sounded at the door, followed by footsteps.
Unable to look backward to see who had entered, Hallad called, "Who’s there?"
The footfalls continued, coming faster.
"Who enters?" He asked more forcefully.
"Shush."
From behind a hand covered his mouth and a knife sliced through his bonds. Hallad spun around. His father stood before him. A dark cape concealed his clothing, disguising his station. His grimness commanded silence as he drew his hand away.
"Your mother warned me of this day." The old godhi contemplated his only son with sorrow.
"My mother—"
"Nei, son. Not Thyre. Your mother, Isla. You never knew of her. I should have told you sooner, but," the old man paused, his face sagging, "but I am an old fool."
Avarr's shoulders shrunk with defeat.
Hallad prickled at the unfamiliar sight. His father had always been no less than a god to him, but tonight a sad, mortal man, conquered by the weight he bore, stood before him.
The old man breathed deeply. His shoulders rose with effort and, for a moment, the spark of the godhi returned. Hallad realized his father put up the front on his behalf.
"There isn’t time. You must go now, for the time of your birth mother’s prophecies have borne fruit. You must be quick and obedient." The old godhi’s sunken demeanor turned urgent as he shuffled his son toward the door. "Take the girl away from here to a place nordr of Birka, to the Temple to Freyja. There you will find a woman named Ase Jorrun, Second Priestess, Daughter of the Temple. She will guide you."
Avarr placed his hands on his son’s shoulders and for the first time Hallad realized that they were the same height.
"Hear me well son, for your mother gave her life for this cause and if it comes to that, so must you. Keep the girl safe at all costs. Protect her with your life and honor."
"But . . . " Hallad hung onto the word in his throat; he knew not to question his father, but so many questions formulated in his mind: his mother, Thyre, the young woman, and Emma. He wanted answers, but the insistence in the old man’s eyes silenced him.
"In time you will understand." The godhi’s face, though tight with anxiety, softened as he beheld his son.
Hallad withdrew the young woman’s sword from its hiding place and held the weapon out. Avarr’s signet glinted on the weapon's hilt in the dim light.
"I know," said Avarr, but no other justification came. The unanswered questions continued to linger between them until his father added, "Son, you must watch your backside. Death follows in this girl’s wake." The gravity of his tone drove his point.
"Father, what of Emma? How am I to protect the creature that caused this tragedy?"
A wise smile crossed the godhi’s lips, lifting his sagging features.
"Do you believe she caused this?"
"Nei," Hallad said before could think.
"You must trust that." The old man placed his hand on Hallad’s thick chest, over his heart. Silence loomed between them. Then he reached around and held his son in his arms, patting him roughly on the back.
"And you must trust this. She can lead you to Emma." The godhi pulled back, studying Hallad as if he was trying to etch his features deep within his memory.
"Then why the death sentence?" Hallad drew away from him.
"There are too many old pains between Thyre and me to explain." The old man released his son, but held him with his eyes. "One day you will lead and you will understand, but now you must go. We have spent too much time."
The godhi turned, leading Hallad from the barn. No one stood guard and the only sound was the knocking in the distance, more than a hundred paces away. Hallad’s father led him around the barn where the young woman waited for him, seated on his father’s favorite steed, Windrunner. The dappled gray gelding matched the spirit of the iron-edged woman, prancing beneath her command. The woman’s control over the gray surprised Hallad, as only his father and Emma had ever been able to tame the beast. His own horse, Thor, snorted impatiently, his saddle packed with nap sacks and a bedroll. At his father’s insistence, Hallad began to mount, but at the last moment Avarr reached out and grabbed him, hugging him fiercely.
Awkwardly, Hallad pulled from his father’s grip and mounted.
"Now go my son, and keep my honor alive, for my time has come." Grabbing his son’s hand, Avarr pressed an object into Hallad’s palm.
"Father, if there is danger—"
"Only death waits here my son, you must go now and never
return." He held his son with his eyes, the object digging into Hallad's hand. "Do you understand?"
Hallad glanced down as he father drew his hand away. His father’s signet, formed into a mantle clasp, lay in his palm. Hallad nodded, realizing the importance of the gift.
"Now go. It is time for me to meet my fate and you to meet yours."
The old godhi slapped Thor’s chestnut haunches, coaxing the horse onward. Windrunner pranced anxiously in Thor’s wake. Hallad glanced back at his father.
"May the Norns shine upon you, my boy."
His father’s blessing was no more than a whisper disappearing into the black night, but he would never forget the words.
Hallad turned and rode. The young woman, atop the grey, kept pace alongside him without a word, their silence a comfort. It felt right—her next to him. He thought she felt it too, though he couldn’t say how he knew. As they trotted into the shadows, Hallad didn’t look back again; but he knew, with unquestionable certainty, that his father watched him fade into the distant night.
Chapter 6
They only traveled a few hundred paces before the pounding of hoof beats followed in their wake. Hallad reined in Thor and he skittered to a halt, spraying dust up behind him. The young woman, quicker than Hallad, had already checked the gray. They both spun to meet the oncoming rider.
The beating intensified, like drums in a sacrificial ceremony, until Hallad caught sight of their pursuer. A silhouette spouting dust barreled down upon them, sword drawn in the moonlight. The glint of metal and labored breaths of rider and horse unnerved Hallad. As the follower reached them, Hallad recognized his blood sworn.
"Have you nei honor? You, who would not avenge your own sister’s death? Now you help her slayer to escape?"
Erik, eyes wild and reddened, swung his broad sword around and jabbed the sharp edge toward Hallad.
The young woman protectively circled to his side, as Hallad raised his hands in the air.
"Nei Erik, it is not like that. Let me explain."
"Explain Emma’s death? Explain your treason?"
Erik nudged the point of his blade into the Hallad’s thick neck. The young woman pressed her gray between them, forcing Erik’s weapon back. Erik pierced her with a hateful glare, shifting the sword from Hallad to the woman. She tipped her chin up to oblige the tip.
"Stop this!" Hallad demanded. "You must listen to me Erik."
"Why should I listen to a traitor?"
"For Emma’s sake, then, listen."
At the mention of Emma, the veins in Erik’s temples bulged.
"She can find Emma. It wasn’t her fault. She meant to protect her."
"Lies!" Erik screamed. He trembled with anger.
"Nei, Erik. It’s true. By my father’s own words it is true."
"Your own father sentenced you to death!"
"He released me and told me to protect this woman with my life, told me she can lead me to Emma. How else would I be here and not tied up waiting for my execution?"
Erik’s face burned with fury. Then the sizzle died as his eyes glazed with thought.
"I know I owe you my life Erik. You are my blood sworn because of that fact. I would not betray you."
Erik bowed his head momentarily. When he returned Hallad’s stare, both hope and hatred mingled in his facade.
"I will go with you, if only to find Emma, and because until this night I have never known you to speak anything but the truth."
Erik raised his sword, forcing the young woman to lift her chin another notch. She acquiesced with ease as if stretching her neck on her own accord.
"But if at any time I find out this creature killed my Emma, I will take her head from her neck with my own hands." He jerked the metal away from the young woman, waving it toward Hallad. "And sworn blood brother or not, if you try to stop me it will be your head on a spit next to hers."
"And I by your side, brother," a voice said in the distance as a red-caped figure trotted toward them.
"Go home Rolf!" Erik yelled back.
"I will not," replied the younger brother as he joined the circle. Rolf sat atop a white mare he called Idunn in tribute to his favorite god's consort. The beast's mane and tail were plaited with ribbons. Hallad wondered if the younger brother groomed the animal in such a ridiculous way every morning.
"I mean it Rolf, go home to mother!"
"You cannot treat me like a child."
"Then do not act like one."
Erik turned his mount, ignoring his younger brother. Hallad and the young woman nudged their horses into a trot, leaving Rolf behind. Moments later a fourth set of hoof beats joined theirs and a tight smile flashed over Erik’s face.
"Then hurry up about it," Erik called back, "We won’t wait all night for you."
They traveled onward. The moon shone down like a beacon, lighting their way, and Hallad thanked the gods for the full moon. Cold gusted through the area as they cantered. The young woman’s behavior switched from calm to upset. She shifted back and forth, head swinging side to side like she had done in the Great Wood earlier that night.
Hallad perceived her discomfort almost as if it were his own. Rolf and Erik eyed the woman suspiciously. The chill deepened, sending a rush of frigid air through to their bones until they all shivered. The blast came from behind them—from the village of Steadsby.
"By the halls of Valhalla," said Rolf. "Has the Shadow returned?"
They shot apprehensive glances at one another.
"We should go back," Rolf said tentatively.
Avarr’s words stung Hallad’s head. Only death waits here. He could not disobey his father. He thought of the other warnings—about death following in this girl’s wake and his mission to protect her.
"Nei," Hallad stated firmly. "We go on. Quickly."
He kicked Thor into a gallop.
"Is the son of the godhi such a coward?" Rolf called at his back.
Hallad stiffened, reining his horse. The young woman pressed into his side, her gray crowding Thor’s haunches, urging him to go onward. Go now and never return. The words resounded again and again, an endless echo in his mind, the pleading of his father’s face fixed in his memory.
"We need to move quickly." Even to his own ears, Hallad sounded cruel.
"I do not take orders from the godhi’s son!" Rolf replied.
Erik’s head swiveled between his little brother and Hallad, considering between the two of them.
"I go with Hallad," Erik said to Rolf. "For Emma."
Rolf’s shoulders hunched downward at Erik’s choice, but he bowed his head and moved to his brother's side.
The chill grew unbearable, the ground hardening beneath the horses’ hooves. Hallad, once again, kicked Thor into a run. The hoof beats of the others sounded as they followed him. He sensed the woman next to him, like an extension of himself.
Rolf kicked his mare to catch up with Hallad, bending in close.
"You are a cold man, Hallad Avarson."
Then he checked Idunn until he was back in sync with his brother, leaving Hallad and the woman in the lead.
As they sped out into the harvest fields leading to the road to Birka, Hallad thought of his father once again. Avarr had known he would meet his fate. Hallad cursed himself silently. He had chosen obligation over his own father’s life. He prayed Avarr would have a good seat at Odin’s table in Valhalla. He thought of Thyre, but was strangely unmoved. Guilt tightened around his throat as he thought of the others—they did not know his father had warned him of a grim fate. Their own loved ones may suffer the consequences and Hallad had not told them, making the decision to go onward out of his own duty.
Duty? he wondered. What exactly did that mean?
He thought of the woman entrusted to his protection and the other two backsides he was now responsible for.
The young woman yanked at him from some unknown string and he glanced at her. She spun her head around in the same moment to meet his eyes, but he hastily looked ahead. His ey
es burned from the wind and dirt as they galloped. Thor snorted beneath him. Hallad’s jaw tightened with the effort to fight back the flood of emotions threatening to break free. Rule with your head even though your heart calls. His father's words drifted through his memory. The woman’s presence tugged at him again, like a landslide, sucking him under.
Chapter 7
Emma awoke. Sleep still blurred her vision. Trying to sit upright caused the contents of the strange room to spin. Her stomach lurched and she sunk back down into the comfort beneath her.
Where am I?
Fragments popped in and out of her memory. The forest. Erik. A strange woman. A cold blackness. Strong arms grabbing her, squeezing her until she hurt. As she strained to remember, her thoughts dissipated like smoke in the evening air. Emma struggled to grasp at them. They eluded her, shrouded in a wall of haze.
The girl rubbed her sore eyes with the backs of her hands, clearing her sight. A velvety material tickled her skin. A brief inspection of her body revealed an unfamiliar gown tightened around her waist; its plunging neckline exposed her modest cleavage.
Scandalous! If my mother sees me in this, she’ll flay my hide and hang me out like an old rug.
Emma tugged the silken covers over her, trying to hide her shame. The fibers of the blanket caught her eye. Like the dress, the material revealed no seams as if woven from a single piece of cloth.
Emma sat upright. Confusion fogged her head as she examined her surroundings. White stone composed the entire room, like a sculpted marble cavern. Scenery was etched into the walls, portraying fields of flowers, ash and oak trees, and buoyant cloud-dense skies. Chairs, settees and tables seemed to grow from the floor in one fluid connection. Scrollwork graced the furniture, blending back into the landscapes on the walls. The bed’s carved arch stretched over the top of the mattress, like a fine lace veil. Emma couldn’t imagine such finery in the King of Birka’s hall. It belonged in a scald’s tale, as the description of Valhalla.
It’s a dream. That’s all. A dream.
Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 3
