Abruptly, all movement stopped.
Emma struggled to peel open her eyelids. Her surroundings came into focus—dim, stone walls, plastered with stained cob. None of the refinement gracing Holyfell existed here. Though lavish, the room remained ordinary—carved wood seating, duck down pillows and commonplace paintings. The deft craftsmanship of Holyfell dulled this new chamber in comparison.
“Welcome to Castle Grimnear,” said Lothar.
Exhaustion hit. Emma’s knees gave out.
Lothar caught her as she slumped. The lord picked up her slack form, cradling Emma like a child while Whitefoot clung helplessly to her neck.
“You must sleep, my love. Shadowwalking without being touched by the Shadow is hard on one’s body.”
Chapter 4 3
The howling of wolves woke Emma. She glanced about her new surroundings, the comfort of Whitefoot’s heat around her neck like a fur collar. The polecat let out a sigh, stretched and yawned, detaching himself from her throat as Emma sat upright.
The air chilled her skin and she pulled the goose down blanket around her body as she stood, Whitefoot clambering for a spot on her shoulder. Her wedding gown had been replaced with another dress in the scandalous style of Holyfell fashion, the thinness of the material adding to her inability to find warmth. Gray block walls lent dreariness to the large chamber. A fire raged in the hearth, the air thick and oppressed with the smell of pine and smoke. A large window splayed over the opposite wall, darkened with clouded glass.
The wolves’ cries continued. Emma crossed to the window, rubbing her hand on the pane to remove the soot so she could see through. Her chest clenched as she viewed the remains of burn-bare trees spiking upward from frosted ground, like skeletons in a graveyard, their blanched forms blades against the moon filled night. The nightmare image of the dead forest sloped downward, stretching for as far as she could see. In the animals’ baying she sensed hunger—a desperate craving for nourishment, as if the land had been stripped bare of all living creatures except predators and they turned on one another in order to survive.
Fingers pulled at the back of Emma’s shoulder and her skin pricked. She swiveled around, expecting Lothar. Instead, whiteness filled her vision, like falling snow. The frosty air swirled, taking shape as the young woman from Prophetess Cove—the woman Lothar warned her about.
The woman’s blue-black eyes came into focus as her gaze settled on Emma. Remembering Bera’s warning and Lothar’s lie, Emma shrunk. The rhythm of her heart sped. She worked at her throat to call out for help, but the gentleness in the woman’s eyes held her voice at bay.
Whitefoot watched, but didn’t balk. Emma trusted the polecat’s perception more than her own and allowed herself to calm down, even though she remained on guard.
“What do you want?” Emma demanded.
The woman’s image flickered in and out as if she struggled to remain.
I seek to help you, for Hallad’s sake. Though the young woman spoke, her lips had not moved. Her words bloomed all around Emma.
“Why? What has happened to my brother?”
Emma’s chest clenched as her mind raced with the possibilities. If Bera had been right and this woman was the Shadow . . . Or if Lothar had told the truth and this woman sought to harm Hallad and Erik . . .
Nei, Emma thought. Lothar speaks lies.
Our brother, the young woman corrected.
Emma scrunched her eyebrows downward in confusion. “What do you mean? Our brother.”
Hallad and I are twins. The woman’s usually frozen face brightened, warmth spilling over her. You are my half-sister.
A moment of denial swam through Emma, but then she saw truth in the statement. Though the woman was pale as ice and Hallad gold as summer, their stature, their bone structure and their mannerisms were identical. Another flood of understanding ran through her as she realized she herself had acquired much of her own mother. Her sun-kissed hair spilled with doe-colored undertones was a lighter version of Thyre’s golden brown. Emma’s petite frame came from her mother, along with her bowed lips and full cheeks. Her eyes were a gift from her father, Avarr—wide, pale gray—along with the heart-shape of her face and her pleasant, gentle demeanor. Her father, too, had a gift with animals, though he had warned Emma early on never to speak of her own talent, as the gift warranted suspicions from others. It was the only reason both she and her father could ride Windrunner. Emma was a complete mix of the two. Hallad, however, obtained traits neither Avarr nor Thyre possessed—angular bones, a lean muscular body, a fluid grace and eerie stillness. Both he and the woman shared these characteristics. Hallad bore no resemblance to Thyre at all. Emma dropped her jaw, searching for words, but only amazement filled her head.
Finally, she asked, “So you don’t want to hurt Hallad?”
The woman’s answer came swift. Harming him would be like harming myself. I would rather die.
Emma knew she spoke the truth. The woman’s—her sister’s—motives were easy for her to read, as open as an animal’s—pure and straightforward, with no intention to deceive. Just as she had felt when they had met at Prophetess Cove, however many moons before; her sister would not harm her. Nor would she harm their brother.
Happiness warmed Emma and she reached forward to embrace her sister. Her sister’s image winked and her face blanched. Emma could tell she grappled to remain there, remembering how sick she felt when Lothar brought her through the shadowwalk to Grimnear.
“Does it hurt to be here?” asked Emma, concerned.
It is difficult, admitted her sister. The Shadow hunts in the walk and it takes much effort to fend him off. Plus I must retain my strength for a greater cause, and without Hallad, my power dwindles. We haven’t much time. Again, her image rippled.
“Where is our brother?” asked Emma.
The woman’s face melted at Emma’s shared reference, giving Emma an instant rapport with her newly found sister.
He is with a group of warriors who will protect him, but I must find a way to return you to him.
“Lord Lothar holds me prisoner in a place called Grimnear, though I do not know where that is. It is surrounded by a vast, burned forest.”
I will come for you sister, promised the woman.
Blackness inched in around her sister’s white form. The warrior woman shifted, eyes flickering back and forth, and Emma recalled her actions the night in the forest, at the edge of the cove.
“What is it?” asked Emma, panic rising in her tone.
But the woman blinked in and out, not replying. Her whiteness turned gray, and then washed with streaks of black.
“Is it the Shadow?” Emma’s voice turned shrill as she watched. She grabbed onto her sister’s form, but only caught air.
“Sister!” she screamed.
The blackness whirled, eclipsing the young woman, until nothing remained.
Chapter 4 4
A black web wrapped around Erik. He had fallen asleep with the intention of finding Emma and talking to her. The memory of their last moment together burned into him; he could not believe she meant what she said. She couldn’t have. It was that man. Lothar. He had poisoned her or threatened her. Erik could feel it deep within his bones and he knew if he could speak with her again, without that man there, he could get to the truth.
Erik focused, trying to visualize himself in Emma’s room, but he could not. The night before, he had sensed a shift in her location. A powerful surge had ripped her from one spot, putting her in another faraway place. At first, Erik tried to deny the impression, rationalizing his emotions had gotten away with him and he was confused. But the more he tried to view her, the clearer it became. She had been moved. And now she was shielded from his sight.
So Erik pushed through the dark web, seeking Emma. When he pressed into the mass, his fingers stuck in the inky blackness. If he tried to think his way around the net, his mind met with more darkness. He thought of her—her sun-kissed hair, the sweet scent of linnea flowers, her gen
tle smile, her wide mist-gray eyes, her constant concern for others—and she appeared, winking in and out through a spot in the mesh of black.
Emma’s face spread with urgency. A swirl of shadows blended with the whiteness of Swan. The mass of black mixed with Emma. Terror spread in Emma’s eyes as she viewed Swan, encompassed in shadows and she screamed again, but Erik could not understand her words. The mesh morphed, covering up the scene. Erik jabbed through the tangle, but the web transformed at his stabs, wrapping tightly around his fists.
Swan. He winced. She hunts Emma.
Madness ignited in Erik, wiring his limbs, coursing through his blood. At that moment, it did not matter if Emma had forsaken him or promised herself to another. He would not allow her to be in danger.
Swan’s voice pierced his mind, echoing through him.
Do not come for her!
Stay away from her! screamed Erik.
Swan’s song rang through him again, tainted with urgency, causing her voice to surge.
If you come for her in the shadowwalk, you will die!
Then her voice expired, smothered by the void.
Had the woman threatened to kill him? Or did she warn him of an impending fate? Recalling Emma horror-struck at the sight of Swan, Erik concluded the warrior woman intended to cause Emma harm.
Loki’s voice replaced Swan’s, booming within the abyss.
I can take you to Emma.
How? asked Erik.
You must leave your companions. Only you alone can cross through the shadowwalk.
Erik remained silent as he considered the option. His efforts to find Emma had failed. He feared her danger eminent, her time short.
Come to me. Cross through the orchard. Travel vestr until you reach a wide canyon. I will show you how to cross through the shadowwalk in physical form. You will be with her, where Lothar holds her in Castle Grimnear, within moments of my instruction, but you must come alone.
Erik’s mind sped.
If I agree?
You and I will seal our pact. We will be allies.
*****
Dawn broke over the horizon as Erik opened his eyes. Dim light created silhouettes out of the surrounding trees, a pink-purple hue washing the skyline. Rolf and Seretta sang in the distance, Rolf’s tenor harmonizing with Seretta’s clear soprano. Andvarri snored, wrapped in rabbit furs, his eyelids flinching in a dream filled sleep.
Edging forward, Erik strained to hear his brother and the songvari, their voices blending in a perfect complement to one another. Rolf sang words Erik could not understand, and he wondered how his brother had learned them so quickly. As he crept closer, he could see they worked their hands in unison over a stone, as if dancing together, mirroring one another. The stone yielded at their fluid gestures, molding into the shape of a tree—reaching branches, full with bloom, gnarled roots, thick with age. Erik had never, in his entire life, seen his little brother so proficient, so graceful, and so joyful.
When the two stopped their song, Seretta said, “You have a strong touch, Rolf. You could advance to songvari with practice.”
Color rose in Rolf’s cheeks at her compliment. A grin spread his face, but within a breath, fear replaced his smile.
“What do you think will happen to my brother?”
Seretta reached for him, placing her long fingers over his lanky ones.
“I have done what I can. The Mother’s touch can only do so much with one who has been seduced by the Shadow.”
Rolf stared down at his stone creation, nodding his head.
“The best you can do for him is to stay close. Keep him near. Support him and let him know you love him. The love of a brother can rival even the Shadow.”
Erik drew back at their conversation. His heart thudded at Rolf’s devotion to him. He drew in a breath and held it, telling himself he was doing the right thing—for Emma’s sake, he had to.
Erik snuck back to their campsite and picked up his belongings. He stuffed what he needed in his saddlebag, leaving the rest for Rolf. He tiptoed to his mare. The elder brother brushed Beyla as she nickered at him, flicking her eyes backward at his hasty movements, switching her ears back and forward again. With a pat of her chest he grabbed his saddle, threw it over her back and cinched the strap tight, then attached his bag behind the cantle. Erik mounted and nudged the horse forward with a click of his tongue and tap of his heels.
*****
Beyla's hooves thundered against the ground as Erik raced. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. He swiped at the wetness with the back of his forearm and hammered on, urging his mount faster and faster. Images flashed: Emma, her face struck with terror, the black-white swirl of Swan facing her, Rolf’s defeated posture, his head hanging as he spoke of his brother, Lothar’s vulpine smile as he stood by Emma, holding her hand. The visions rushed at him with crushing force, pounding into his mind as the horse’s hooves beat the ground.
Neighing, Beyla stopped short and pranced in place. She snorted and bucked her head up and down, pulling at the reins. Before them spread a vast canyon as deep as it was wide. Several paces ahead, the land broke into a cliff, spiraling thousands of paces straight down. The craggy edges of rock poked from the gap’s sides. The meadow thinned from grass to rubble, a brief warning of the drop ahead.
Erik slid off Beyla, pacing toward the cliff’s edge. Stones tumbled downward as he neared the rim, taking a silent dive into the chasm below. Peeking over the side, he could make out the outline of a river cutting through rock at the bottom of the gap, so far below the water appeared no larger than a thin blue line.
As Erik backed away from the cliff, he searched for Loki. The rumble of hooves caught his ear and he turned. A white mare carrying two forms rushed down the path behind him. Rolf’s scarlet mantle waved in the air and Seretta’s amber hair flew. The songvari clenched her arms around his little brother’s waist, struggling to stay upright, bobbing around on the mare’s back as if she had never ridden in her entire life. Rolf’s skin flushed, redness blazing his cheeks. They skidded to a stop in front of Erik and Rolf launched off the horse’s back. He thundered to Erik, planting himself in front of his brother.
“You were going to leave me?” he accused. Rolf’s cheeks stretched in an unbelieving grimace.
“I—” Erik started, but Rolf interrupted.
“You were going to leave me in Steadsby. And now you are going to leave me here, in a strange land, where I do not know where to go or what to do. I have followed you from the moment I could walk. I have loved you from the moment I was born. And all you ever want to do is leave me.” Rolf’s eyes flashed with rage, the rims reddening along with his skin.
Erik stared at his little brother unable to form words. His head buzzed.
“And you have nothing to say to me,” prodded Rolf.
Seretta found Rolf’s arm in an attempt to sooth him, but he jerked away, closing the distance between Erik and himself.
Loki’s voice invaded Erik’s head.
You must leave him if you want to be with Emma.
Erik shook his head back and forth, as if to dislodge the Shadow from his mind.
Rolf thought the gesture supplied an answer to his question and he snorted.
“Perfect. Just perfect.” Rolf threw his hands up, huffing air.
Struggling to keep the conversations straight, Erik tried to answer. “Brother, you don’t understand, I—”
“I understand my entire life I have done everything to get your attention. Everything! I follow you around like a puppy and you barely even notice me. But when you do realize I'm around, you never approve of me. I’m some appendage you can cut away and leave behind.”
“Nei, brother,” started Erik, but Loki assaulted again.
If you do not leave him and follow me, Emma will be lost to you forever.
Erik reached up to grab his hair, tugging hard, scrunching his eyelids closed.
“Nei!” he screamed.
His breath came hard and fast. He opened his
eyes to view his little brother.
Rolf stammered, backing away.
“Nei.” Erik’s voice boomed again. “You don’t understand. I have to get to Emma. She is in grave danger. Lothar moved her to a place called Castle Grimnear.”
Seretta’s face paled at the mention of Grimnear.
“If I don’t do this . . . If I don’t leave—”
“You cannot leave me.” Rolf’s tone shrunk, sounding ten seasons old. “I am your brother.” His shoulders shook.
Now, commanded Loki. I will only give you one chance.
“Please,” begged Rolf. The red rims of his eyes welled.
The vulnerability of his little brother wrecked Erik. Rolf’s loyalty over the years proved unmatched.
“I won’t leave you,” said Erik.
Rolf lunged forward, enveloping Erik in a hard embrace, thumping his back with the palm of his hand. Erik stiffened at first, then loosened into Rolf’s grip—then hugged him back fiercely.
“I just want you to be safe,” Erik whispered.
“We are both safer when we are together,” Rolf said, still clinging.
Pulling out of the hug, Erik warned, “But we must find a way to Emma.”
“You do not need the Shadow to get to Grimnear,” Seretta offered.
Erik’s attention shot to the songvari.
“I know how to get to Grimnear.” Seretta cast her gaze downward, unable to look either brother in the face. “I was once Lothar’s wife.”
*****
After the songvari explained their destination and their plan of travel, they collected Andvarri and returned to the canyon Seretta called Ginnungagap. Loki’s voice did not return for the length of the day giving Erik the rarity of peace.
They traveled sudr along the canyon, seeking the narrowest spot. When they arrived at a suitable destination, they stopped.
Rolf and Seretta edged toward the gap, joined hands and sang. Their melody rose skyward, their voices increasing, swelling with the wind. As they sang, the Mother responded, creating a bridge that stretched across the entirety of the gorge and they walked into the Broken Lands of Alvenheim.
Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 22
