Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  Her shock waned almost instantly and Kallan inhaled, crinkling her face in disgust.

  “Take me to Rune,” she commanded Bergen.

  “Very well,” Bergen said with a nod.

  “No can do, Bergen.”

  Bergen looked to Ragnar, who stood on the highest step of the stairs.

  “What?” Bergen asked.

  “Rune refuses to see her,” Ragnar said.

  “He—” Bergen gulped down a selection of curses he would later share with his brother. “What?”

  “I have a right to see my people,” Kallan shrieked.

  “She has a right to see her people, Ragnar,” Bergen echoed, pointing a finger at Kallan.

  “I have a right to see my warden!” Kallan said.

  “Yes!” Bergen said. “Let her see her warden!”

  Kallan looked imploringly to Geirolf, who stood silently beside Bergen.

  “Please.” Kallan glanced at the cell where she could feel Gudrun’s Seidr. “Let me see them.”

  The fight was gone from her voice, leaving behind the barren worries of a child longing to see her kin. The repressed tremble in her voice caught Torunn’s ear, forcing the old woman’s jaw taut as she clenched her teeth and pursed her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Geirolf said, slowly shaking his head.

  Kallan tried to make an angry scowl, but her quivering lip and slightly raised brow only emphasized a frown. Her chin puckered and the tip of her nose burned. Kallan looked to Bergen, to Geirolf, to Torunn, desperate for a single hand to help her. A knot formed in her throat and, alone, Kallan shoved her way through the Ljosalfar and back down the steps to the second floor.

  Gulping down a ball of shame, Torunn watched the fury of red as Kallan’s skirts billowed behind her, filling the descending stairs with fading footsteps.

  * * *

  The great doors of Kallan’s sitting room struck the wall as Kallan gasped with anger. With all her might, she slammed the doors, holding herself so tight she bruised her arms. She paced for a moment, bewildered and angry, then stopped. The window drew her eye.

  Slowly, Kallan made her way across the sitting room into the bedroom. Leaning into the sill, she gazed through the window. White clouds pushed through the bright, blue sky. Below, the barracks buzzed with life while a blacksmith plinked his hammer somewhere, unseen, in the courtyard.

  Kallan couldn’t breathe from behind the walls where Rune imprisoned her. She needed to run. She needed to leave. She needed to ride.

  At once, her breath slowed and, with a quiet resolve that answered all questions, Kallan slid a shaking hand into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a plain white packet. Staring down at the spell enclosed in leather, she found her breath and her pulse slowed.

  Taking in a deep, slow sigh, Kallan returned her attention to the courtyard where she studied the stone steps to the battlement, and the street to the village of Gunir, to the river that curved around the city, and beyond to the forest and Swann Dalr.

  “Bergen!”

  The shriek shook the calm of the courtyard as Torunn threw back the door to the barracks.

  “Bergen!” she said, gasping as she held herself up over the threshold. Among the armaments that dripped from every wall, splayed with the collection of round, wooden shields and arrows that littered the floor, Bergen stood, weighing the balance of a sword among the soldiers.

  “She’s gone!” Torunn said.

  “Who’s gone?” Bergen asked, looking up from the sword in his hand.

  “Kallan!”

  Bergen lowered the sword to his side.

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  “I went to her room and she’s gone,” Torunn said, rushing into the barracks. She spoke faster than her heart pulsed. “I searched the castle. I asked the servants. I searched the grounds. No one has seen her.”

  “Did you check the stables?” he asked.

  “I did,” she said. “Her horse is also gone!”

  That confirmation jumped Bergen into action. As he belted his orders over his shoulder, Bergen moved to the door with Torunn, who matched his pace.

  “Ottar, check the city stables. Ragnar, run the streets. Joren.”

  The scout added a skip to his step.

  “Sir.”

  “Take to the docks.”

  Each man split off to see to their orders.

  “Torunn…” Bergen kept his eyes on the keep as he hastened across the courtyard. “When was she last seen?”

  “This morning, in the tower with you.”

  Up the stairs, Bergen ran, sprinting across the Great Hall, past the kitchens, and up the steps to his bower, taking the steps three at a time. As he reached the main landing, he turned to the right, away from his chambers, and threw open the door of the war room.

  Peering over a map at a long table, Rune and Geirolf stood upright at the sound of the door banging. The fire behind them roared, adding to the light that poured in from the high rows of windows that stretched the length of the hall.

  “Rune!” Bergen bellowed, taking long strides to meet his brother. “She’s gone.”

  Torunn slipped inside behind him.

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Rune asked. “And Astrid?”

  “Gone.”

  Without a word, Rune abandoned the table and sprinted across the room to the door at the end opposite of where Bergen and Torunn had entered.

  “Send out riders to the south,” Rune said, picking up Geirolf, Bergen, and Torunn along the way. “I want a boat loaded and ready to go up the water ways.”

  Throwing open the door, Rune crossed a landing and a stairwell that descended to the Great Hall, flinging open the door to his bedchamber. He ignored the lingering scent of pipe, the roaring fire, and the fresh supply of mead. Cutting through his sitting room, he punched open the double doors that led into the corridor.

  “She’ll most likely head for the bridge,” Rune said. “Make your way to Swann Dalr. She knows her way home from there.”

  Rune strode down the hall, affording a glance to the double doors of Kallan’s bower.

  “Find out from Gunnar when he last saw Astrid,” he continued. “It will give us an idea how much of a start she has on us. And have Joren ride out to Lorlenalin,” he called over his shoulder. “Have him keep post there for any sign of her return! Go!”

  Without objections, Geirolf, Bergen, and Torunn abandoned Rune at the great steps and bounded down to the Great Hall as Rune threw open the lone oak door. There he climbed the stairs to the tower.

  The main room at the top was empty save for a lone soldier seated on watch at the ready. At the site of his king, he jumped to his feet and nodded respectfully.

  “Your Majesty.”

  In reply, Rune motioned with two fingers to follow around the small passage, past the cell where Kallan had stayed, to a third door on the right.

  “Has Kallan been up here, Torger?”

  “Not since this morning,” Torger said.

  “When was the last time you looked in on the prisoners?” he asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

  “A couple hours,” Torger said, adding a shuffle to his step to keep up.

  “Check now,” Rune said, coming to stand before the door he wanted open.

  The guard scrambled, locating the key without a fumble, and unlocked the door. Backing away, Torger gave Rune allowance to enter.

  The door creaked open as Rune pushed the wood, squinting at the cool, blue light that blazed from the center of the room. There, as before, Gudrun sat on a pile of straw, waiting. The silver of her hair flowed down her back as she shifted her gold eyes up from the ball of light that wafted in mid-air before her.

  “She’s run off again, hasn’t she?” Gudrun asked, peering over the orb of light with a calm look in her eye.

  “Leave us,” Rune whispered to Torger, who had leaned over Rune’s shoulder to get a look at where the light was coming from. A moment later, the door clicked beh
ind him.

  Rune studied the Seidkona, his guard raised with his suspicions.

  “Again?” he asked, keeping his place at the door.

  Gudrun smiled.

  “I’ve seen that face too many times to not recognize it for what it is,” she said. “I’ve had that look myself too often to not know what it means.”

  “You,” Rune began. “You asked Bergen to capture you.”

  Gudrun nodded.

  “I did.”

  “And Kallan…and Daggon.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Why indeed,” Gudrun said with a smile.

  “Where is she?” Rune asked, frowning with bewilderment at the hag.

  “She hasn’t gone far,” Gudrun said, looking back to the orb before her.

  “I know you know the dangers of her actions as well as I,” Rune said. “She’ll try to get to Lorlenalin.”

  “Will she?”

  “Won’t she?”

  Gudrun grinned. “I’m happy to see you’re up to playing the game with me. Kallan has been running from her station since she could walk,” Gudrun said. “She’ll be back when she’s ready.”

  Rune furrowed his brow.

  “She loves Lorlenalin. Why would she run?”

  “She loves her people,” Gudrun corrected. “She loves the children. She hates the regulations that come with her station. She hates the restrictions that tie her down. Kallan hates being tied down, just like her mother.”

  Rune lowered his eyes as he mulled the information around for a bit. He was suddenly reminded of Bergen.

  With a sigh, Gudrun waved her hand and split the ball of Seidr into a division of smaller lights that flew to the walls. In that instant, the Beast within Rune roared and lunged at the hovering orbs of Seidr. Its strength brought Rune to his knees. By the time he subdued the Beast, Gudrun’s Seidr had changed from a cool blue light to a happy orange that cheerily warmed the room. Only then could Rune see that the barren cell room had since been lavished in every simple accommodation a Seidkona could ask for.

  But all this paled in comparison to the fear resonating in Gudrun’s golden eyes as Rune watched the color drain from the old Seidkona.

  “Where did you get that?” she whispered.

  “It was given to me,” Rune said quickly, steadying his breath. “I was hoping you could tell me what it is.”

  “Who gave it to you?”

  “A Dokkalfr,” Rune said. “The traiter who offered to grant my freedom in exchange for Kallan’s death.”

  “A Dokkalfr, you say?”

  Rune nodded.

  “But that isn’t possible,” Gudrun said. “How long ago? When? Where?” Gudrun snapped the questions, one after the other, leaving Rune unsure where to begin.

  “Nearly two moons ago, the night Kallan and I left Lorlenalin. A Dokkalfar by name of Borg, and since…” Rune shook his head. “It wants to kill Kallan.”

  Too quickly, Gudrun recovered herself and waved a thin, aged hand as if wishing away a spent breakfast tray.

  “Of course it does,” Gudrun said as if this was common knowledge. “It’s a Fendinn.”

  “A Fendinn?” Rune mulled its name over as if knowing what it was could somehow remove it. “Well… Can you take it out?”

  “Good gracious, child. What do you think I am?” Gudrun asked. “It shouldn’t be too much of a threat. The Ljosalfar hardly have Seidr Users about.”

  “But Kallan—”

  “Is gone, you said, and she isn’t anywhere near as strong enough as to attract the attention of a Fendinn. Now then…”

  Gudrun shifted her legs out from under her and just like that the conversation was over, leaving Rune reeling with more questions that he could count. “Why are you really here?” Gudrun asked.

  “Kallan said you’re a Volva.”

  “So I am,” Gudrun said as she set to work brewing herself a cup of tea at the fire pit and cauldron in the room.

  “How much can you really see?” Rune asked. “How much do you know?”

  Gudrun released a long sigh with a bit of a smile that never waned. She slowly sipped her brew as if savoring the position she held over Rune.

  “Only one other has ever asked me that,” she said and mused. “Everything that was. Everything that is. Everything that has not yet been.”

  Rune clung to her every word, examining the wisdom that flowed from the depths of her eyes, her bright golden eyes, just like Freyr’s.

  Gudrun paused for a moment in idle thought then went on.

  “I can see as far ahead as I see back…to the beginning, to the end, from Ginnungagap to Ragnarok.”

  Rune took a step.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. “Show me.”

  Gudrun peered up at the king. Despite her hunched posture, Rune had the distinct feeling she was looking down at him.

  “If my daughter’s daughter has told you what I am,” Gudrun said, “certainly she’s told you my price.”

  “Ask it,” Rune bade.

  “Oh, I assure you I will…” Gudrun smiled as a slyness that was not there a moment ago gleamed from her eye. “But first, ask your questions.”

  “And if I your prices exceed my silver?” Rune asked.

  “Oh, it isn’t silver I’ll ask of you,” Gudrun said with a grin, “And this…this will be something you can afford.”

  Rune studied her, weighing in all his options.

  “Shall we begin?” she asked, slightly more mischievous than Rune would have liked.

  “Where is Kallan?”

  Gudrun’s stature went rigid. Her eyes became fixed as if she was reading runes through the Seidr several spans away.

  “She’s in Gunir…under spell.

  In the warrens…ever watchful,

  Of the children…once forgotten,

  Sick and ailing…dead or dying,

  Would you know more?”

  “What is wrong with that woman?” Rune blurted before he had given much thought to the question.

  Gudrun’s face split into a delighted grin. “Is that your question?”

  “No,” Rune grumbled, taking back the question asked.

  Does she like… Does she want… Foolish. I can’t squander these questions!

  “Who is Aaric?” he asked, deciding.

  As before when he had asked about the Fendinn, the humor fell from Gudrun’s face, leaving behind a darkness Rune couldn’t place. Her words were slow as she measured each word before muttering.

  “Aaric is the high marshal…and enigmatic friend,

  My daughter’s bane…My ordained kin,

  Bound…by ancient birth.”

  Coldly, Gudrun peered up at Rune.

  “But this is not what you would know.”

  “Where did he come from?” Rune asked, assessing the shadows that had befallen the room. As if her sight was failing, Gudrun narrowed her eyes and whispered:

  “Across the silver sea and void…where the Aesir sing,

  The emerald ground…The golden crown,

  Lays there…the lost king—”

  Coldness blanketed the gleam in Gudrun’s eyes. When she continued, her voice had changed—slower, sterner, darker. She shifted her gaze to Rune and spoke as if reading from an ancient severed thread of Seidr.

  “Your questions build a road…One I’ve buried, blocked, and burned.”

  Rune pushed a knot down his dry throat.

  “If you persist…if you pursue …”

  The air was thick.

  “I will kill you…and your kin.”

  There was a long moment before Rune found his voice again.

  “Who is Borg?”

  Gudrun furrowed her brow, perplexed as she searched her sight.

  “Borg,” she whispered. After some time, she shook her head.

  “My eyes are blind,” she breathed. “My mind falls black,

  That name, no face…nothing, but fear—”

  Gudrun shook her head as if trying to clear
the air.

  “My Seidr is fading. I can not see.”

  Gudrun bit her bottom lip and tried again.

  “Darkness falls on shadowed dreams…like dewdrops shades are shunned from thee,

  Where the water falls like rain…when the— Oh.”

  As if in pain, Gudrun clutched her head.

  “I would know more,” said Rune, dropping down beside the Volva. “Who killed Kallan’s father? Who killed Eyolf?”

  Gudrun abandoned the blur of faded images and studied Rune’s hardened face.

  “I see beyond this world, like dreams,

  Where once I looked upon the sea,

  There, the dark invades my sight.”

  She gasped and spoke faster as if trying to race the shadows.

  “Cold dreams…cloud sight.

  The void, it…devours night.”

  Gudrun shoved her brittle fingers through her silver hair, desperate for the answers that wouldn’t obey her summons.

  “I can not see,” she said.

  “What should I do?” Rune asked, plowing ahead while there was still time.

  Gudrun shook her head with an air of sadness.

  Rune jumped to the next question, sweat beading upon his brow. “Will Kallan join us?”

  The light returned and Gudrun could read the runes again suspended in the distance, hanging on the threads of Seidr.

  “Kallan bends with the boughs of the Ash,

  The babbling brook that bows the land,

  Kira breathes through Kallan’s whim,

  Riding, whispering, on the wind.

  I hear my voice on Kallan’s breath,

  Vivid and fervent…boisterous.”

  Gudrun studied the silver of Rune’s blue eyes and suppressed a smile.

  “Kallan goes where Kallan wills,

  Wherever you lead…” She nodded. “Kallan will.”

  Rune’s lips cracked against the dryness. Sweat pooled in his cold hands and he forced the words from his throat.

  “Who was the Dokkalfr who killed my sister—?” He lost his voice and gulped. “Who killed Swann?”