Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  Bergen gave a guttural groan, pulling Kallan’s wide-eyed worries back from the window to the berserker, who was mid-stretch. Kallan felt the moisture pooling in her hands and she did her best to concern herself with the décor instead of the man in front of her. The same lavish furs and richly carved woods found in Rune’s chambers decorated Bergen’s. Aside from the collection of empty flagons dumped in a corner, and the generous number of swords and daggeres strewn about, their bowers were nearly identical.

  Across the fur-laden stone floor, a sliver of firelight slipped out from beneath a second door. From behind, she watched Bergen strip off his tunic and drop it to the floor as his hair fell down his bare back seconds before Kallan caught the faintest of scarring in a slit of moonlight. He paused long enough to kick off his boots and dump them to the side as he sauntered, too lax, to the bedroom. He stretched his neck and pulled on a shoulder, purposefully flexing his back with each move.

  Kallan wrung her hands as Bergen neared the closed door.

  “B-Bergen.”

  Half-stripped, Bergen dropped his hand to the door’s handle and paused long enough to flash a smile, obtusely aware of where her eyes lingered. He casually hooked his thumb on his pants, purposefully drawing her eyes.

  “It shouldn’t take long,” Bergen said and watched the formidable force of the Seidkona, crumble.

  Obediently, Kallan followed.

  Bergen candidly lowered his eyes down her front with a delighted smile filled with wonder. “You object and yet you follow.”

  His grin widened, adding another shade of red to Kallan’s complexion. The door creaked as Bergen pushed against the oak. Light from the bedchamber poured into the sitting room. She debated returning to her room or running straight to the stables for Astrid, riding out, and putting as much distance as she could between her and Rune’s brother.

  Stepping aside, Bergen extended an arm and invited her inside. The light spilled over the tips of her boots, beckoning her. With a furrowed brow, she peered in, catching the moving shadows. She took a step and found Geirolf’s face first. He grinned happily, multiplying her confusion as she stepped into Bergen’s bedchamber. The round room of the west tower glowed with the warmth of the hearth fire.

  With her heart pounding, Kallan shifted a suspicious brow and rounded the corner of the door. In that instant, she gasped.

  “Gudrun?”

  The old woman smiled, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Forgetting to breathe, Kallan sprinted across Bergen’s bower to his bed, where she fell into Gudrun’s arms. She shook as she sobbed, clutching so desperately to her mother’s mother, who returned her embrace.

  Daggon’s giant hand cradled Kallan’s face like an affectionate father suddenly holding a daughter he once believed dead, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

  With shaking hands, Gudrun lifted Kallan from her lap and cupped her slender face, lifting her eyes to her own. Tears streamed down the old woman’s pale cheeks and she grinned widely at the girl.

  Daggon slid his palm down from the top of Kallan’s head to her cheek, coaxing her eyes to him.

  “My lady,” he breathed. Kallan fell into him and he held his king’s daughter. “My dearest lady,” he muttered and kissed the top of her head again.

  Looking at Daggon, Kallan choked on a gasp at the collection of gashes that gouged the right side of his face. Raising her hand to his face, Kallan gently traced the largest of his scars from his temple to the prominence of his jaw. His warm, amber eyes glowed with the smile buried within the tumult of his beard and he pressed her hand to his scarred face.

  “I dreamed…” Kallan tried to explain the barrage of dreams that had filled her sleep for nearly two moons. “What happened?” Kallan asked in a breath.

  “I’m fine,” Daggon said. “Everyone is just fine.”

  His words were all she needed.

  Overcome with relief, Kallan fell into his arms and sobbed, shaking as she clung to his neck, unconvinced he was real enough to be there should she wake.

  Gudrun’s gaze shifted to Bergen through the flood of tears as she softly rubbed Kallan’s back.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Bergen returned a single nod from the threshold, where he leaned with his arms crossed, unable to take his eyes from Kallan. She held onto Gudrun until her tears subsided and she was composed enough to lift herself from his embrace.

  Brushing away the tears, Kallan immediately faced Bergen, each hand still clutching Gudrun and Daggon.

  “Why?” Kallan asked.

  “Torunn’s idea,” Bergen said, pointing to the castle’s keeper beside Geirolf. Both stood, hidden in the shadows against the wall.

  Kallan turned to Torunn, dressed in her nightgown and dressing gown with her hair tied back in a tight braid down her back. She sported a grin to match Bergen’s. The dried salt lines that trailed each cheek matched her reddened eyes.

  “You mean to ask why,” Torunn said and Kallan nodded.

  The key keeper sighed.

  “Rune has a stubbornness that was only outmatched by his father. When he thinks he is right, there is no changing his mind. I watched you long enough to know he was wrong about this.”

  Kallan looked from the key keeper to the old man and the berserker. The berserker. The legendary Dark One who wore the scar she had given him like a badge. She needed to talk to Rune. She needed to sort this out no matter who this Borg was.

  “Help me again,” Kallan pleaded, her eyes suddenly infused with a strength the Ljosalfar hadn’t seen before. The corner of Torunn’s mouth tightened with a suppressed smile and she matched Kallan’s determination.

  “What do you need?” Torunn’s eyes gleamed with mischief, sending chills down Geirolf and Bergen’s backs. Both released a breath of relief once they realized it was meant for Rune.

  With a calculated precision, Kallan grinned, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

  “Rune refuses to speak to me. He insists on waiting for a traitor to show himself in a week’s time.”

  “Traitor?” Daggon said, suddenly alert.

  “Later,” Kallan said as Torunn interjected her piece. “But there’s no guarantee—”

  “With me here, he may not show at all,” Kallan said. “We can’t wait.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Bergen asked.

  “Tell Rune I’ve ordered you to release Gudrun and Daggon.”

  Torunn gasped as Geirolf guffawed at the proposal. Daggon sat, delightfully amused at Kallan’s ambitions while Gudrun proudly beamed.

  “You want us to do what?” Torunn asked.

  “They are here now,” Kallan said, cool headed. “House them wherever you need, if you must, so long as Rune believes I’ve released them.”

  “Now, one moment, lass,” Geirolf said. “It’s us who takes the heat if this goes awry.”

  “Tell him I overpowered you.”

  “Bergen…” Geirolf studied the lax form still leaning in the doorway. “What do you think of this?”

  The fire crackled patiently as Bergen kept his thoughts his own for a while longer, pondering the proposal thoroughly while everyone awaited his word.

  “Rune is convinced the answer to his problem is to ignore Kallan.” Bergen shifted his gaze from Geirolf to Kallan, awaiting a protest that didn’t come. “He intends on sending her back to Lorlenalin when the city is safe for its queen’s return.”

  The color drained from Kallan’s cheeks.

  “He plans to commence diplomacy through a series of letter heads and ambassadors,” Bergen continued. “The problem is, once he thinks he’s right, there’s no bending him. But I’ve watched him.” Bergen shifted his attention to Geirolf. “I’ve watched them.” Bergen nodded, indicating Kallan and Rune. “There’s a reason why he refuses to see her. She gets to him. She can break him. If he wants peace so badly, he’s going to have to do this with her, or not at all.”

  “Surely he doesn’t believe settling this matter can be
done without a meeting of those involved,” Daggon interjected, while Geirolf mulled over Bergen’s proposal.

  “He does,” Bergen said, still holding his arms across his bare chest, “and he’s convinced he can do it by shoving Kallan out of the way.”

  Daggon barked an open laugh, shaking his head in hopelessness.

  “Good luck with that,” Gudrun bid.

  Kallan flashed a scowl to Gudrun.

  “I say we do it,” Bergen declared, studying each face, giving each a chance to voice their objections. “We’ve all talked to him,” he said. “None of us have the weight to go against him with the same level of effectiveness as Kallan. I say we use that to our advantage.”

  “And if he doesn’t budge,” Geirolf asked, peering from his corner at Bergen. “What then?”

  Bergen grinned widely, hoping the opportunity would present itself.

  “We try harder.”

  Rune stared at the ceiling for as long as he could postpone the day. The first of morning's light flooded his room. Sighing, he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow along with his discouragements.

  “Rune?”

  The click of his sitting room door accompanied Geirolf’s voice. Rune gave a grunt that confirmed he heard.

  “Rune,” Geirolf called from the doorway.

  “What did she do now, Geirolf?” Rune spoke into his pillow, muffling the words.

  The question stopped Geirolf in his place, leaving him stunned at the random question.

  “I just thought you’d like to know,” Geirolf said upon entering the room, “she’s released the prisoners.”

  Rune turned his body around, throwing the pillow to the floor as he sat up, his mouth agape.

  “She what?”

  “She gave the order first thing this morning,” Geirolf said. “Bergen complied and granted her request after she made mention of frying his balls off with that lightning of hers.”

  “Son of a—”

  Rune threw the furs off his bed and scoured the floor for his trousers all the while unleashing a slew of curses.

  “She’s in her sitting room enjoying her breakfast if you’re looking to have a word,” Geirolf offered as he watched Rune force a boot on the wrong foot followed by the other, not bothering with the laces.

  “She?” Rune seethed as his second boot forced him to take a seat. “Oh no,” he said. “I’ll not play steward to that…that… Where’s Bergen?”

  Geirolf repressed a smile, but held a gleam in his eye.

  “With the lady.”

  Rune’s foot hit the floor with a thud and Rune sat, staring at Geirolf.

  “Should I have Torunn make up a place setting for you?” Geirolf asked, mustering his most innocent sounding tone. “They’re dining in Kallan’s solar.”

  Rune sat for a long moment, contemplating his next move. After that moment, he laced his boots.

  “Take word to Bergen. Have him meet me in the war room immediately.”

  * * *

  On the landing between his bower and the war room, Bergen forced the grin from his face. He didn’t doubt that Geirolf had not failed to mention Kallan’s additional company at breakfast and wallowed gleefully at the range of assumptions Rune would have made in the last hour. Preparing for an ambush, Bergen blew a sigh and pushed the door of the war room open.

  With a strut that defied Rune’s station, Bergen sauntered across the stone floor to the center tables were Rune poured at maps and letters. Bergen hated this room. The high ceilings entombed the room in a ceremonial glow that permanently harbored the oppressive arrogance of the elite authority belonging to the crown and his brother. Thank Freyr for that, Bergen thought. The hearth crackled behind the table, adding to the room's stuffiness.

  “Where are they?”

  The room carried Rune’s voice with a cold that made Bergen ache for the warmth of his bed and the nearest wench.

  “Who?” Bergen asked naivly, putting as much discomfort on Rune as the room bestowed onto him.

  Rune peered up from the table with the same fitful eyes from their childhood, rather than the pompous glare of a king.

  “Don’t play this game with me, Bergen. I know too well you had something to do with this. The whole thing reeks of conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy?”

  Rune straightened his back, preparing for battle.

  “Perhaps you’ve made more enemies than you’ve realized,” Bergen suggested.

  “Bergen—”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” he asked, his irritation diminishing his better intentions. Rune slammed his fist to the table.

  “Damn it, Bergen! Why couldn’t you leave this alone?”

  Sincerity blanketed Bergen’s face, forcing the cold of his black eyes still as they burrowed into Rune.

  “You didn’t have to see her writhing with agony when I told her she wasn’t allowed to speak to her kin…or you.”

  Rune huffed.

  “Clearly you have no idea what horrors that girl harbors,” Bergen said, forcing back a smirk.

  “I don’t—”

  Bergen watched the fire burn in Rune’s eyes as he scrambled to keep his composure.

  “I watched it burrow its ugly head into her for nearly an entire moon!” Rune said.

  “Clearly, the message was lost on you.”

  A cool annoyance settled over Rune as he glared at Bergen from across the room.

  “Since when do you care for the Seidkona who bestowed that mark upon your brow?”

  “Since you forced her under my guard, where I’ve watched the Seidkona break from the torment of her own benevolence!” Bergen said, eternally amused by the rage he evoked in Rune.

  They both huffed and spent their best glowers for the occasion.

  “And what of you?” Bergen asked, easing back on his own temper. “When did you come to care for the queen who slaughtered our people?”

  Refusing to answer the question posed, Rune stomped to one of the windows. The sky stretched beyond the forests in the north. He listened to Bergen’s footfall as he came to stand at his side, where he always seemed to be.

  “I understand why you refused her council,” Bergen said. “But to ban her from seeing her own kin… That extends to a branch of cruelty—”

  “Until I can determine which of her kin has lent aid to Borg’s cause, I suspect all of them,” Rune said, refusing to let Bergen finish that accusation.

  “And now?”

  Rune met Bergen’s eye.

  “The old woman is innocent,” Rune grumbled, displeased.

  “Gudrun?” Bergen asked.

  “We call her by name now?”

  With a furrowed brow and their game forgotten, Bergen and Rune exchanged frowns and returned to the view.

  “Gudrun is a seer,” Rune said suddenly. Bergen snapped his gaze from the window.

  “Did—”

  “I already asked,” Rune answered before Bergen could get the question out.

  Sadly, Rune shook his head and gazed at Bergen.

  “She couldn’t See,” he said.

  Bergen furrowed his brow and returned his attention to the view.

  The sky was clear and free of both fog and cloud that morning.

  “What would cause a seer to not See?” Bergen thought aloud.

  * * *

  Kallan moved her arms with the trained efficiency of a swordsman as she wielded her Seidr in and up and around, surrounding herself in strings of gold while taking great care to thread the strands of Seidr in between the fronds and plants in the solar. While Daggon studied the progress of Kallan’s position and her improved form, Gudrun scrutinized the blue flames Kallan coddled in her palms that fed the golden threads.

  As Kallan finished gliding through the kata, she extinguished her flame, released her Seidr, which settled around her, and straightened her posture beside the table laden with breakfast trays.

  “And you say the Naejttie had found it?” Gudrun asked gravely.
<
br />   Kallan was quick to nod.

  “Halda said they found the Seidi years ago.”

  “And when she spoke,” Gudrun asked, “whatever she said doubled the Seidr in size?”

  Kallan nodded.

  “Never mind the Seidr,” Daggon interjected. “You said the animals were twice their usual size?”

  “Thrice,” Kallan corrected.

  Daggon blew a breath of incredulity.

  “Could you make out what she said?” Gudrun asked. Kallan shook her head and Gudrun gave a displeased hum, pulling her thoughts inward.

  As they ate their breakfast around the table, Geirolf and Torunn listened quietly to Kallan’s tale of the Seidi filled with giant plants and animals. Kalla recalled how she and Rune had met a Naejttie who led them to a Seidi, and how her words procured a fountain of Seidr and bilrost formed.

  “What is it, Gudrun?” Daggon asked, eager to hear the silent dealings Gudrun amassed in her head.

  After a while, she sighed.

  “A Seidi is an area of sacred ground,” Gudrun explained. “To find one is…” She ran through a collection of choice words and debated saying ‘impossible.’ “…rare,” she finished.

  Slowly, Gudrun began as if systematically selecting each word.

  “Centuries ago, there were more Seidi before the Vanir went through and destroyed them all. Fearing the Aesir would gain further access to the Seidr, they buried them. I haven’t seen one myself in nearly a thousand years.”

  “Where do they come from?” Torunn asked.

  Gudrun sighed again, her mind still preoccupied with something she didn’t dare give voice to.

  “Kallan was right to call it a spring,” Gudrun said. “Like new mead bursting old water skins, the Seidr builds until it bursts from the thread lines beneath.”

  Daggon thought for a long moment, watching carefully as Gudrun pursed her dry lips. She was holding back and skirting around too much to be honest. There was something she was intentionally not saying.

  Gudrun tried a different approach when four blank stares looked back at her.

  “When the snows thaw and the ground can’t hold the excess supply, springs emerge, seeping from the main water source. Travelling clans in the Southern Deserts dig wells down to that water supply. The Seidr is the same.”