Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  Silence filled the room.

  The fire popped as the truth of their demise settled in, weighing them down to despair.

  “What if you had allies?” Kallan’s voice cut through the silence. “Would you stay to fight?”

  Rune looked at her hard through the smoke, knowing the thoughts that brewed in her fickle mind. He had to force his eyes darker to keep from smiling.

  Rune glowered across the room. “If we had allies, Gunir would stay to fight.”

  “And win,” Kallan amended, her golden eyes brimming with determination.

  “You’ve lost your power, Kallan Eyolfdottir,” Rune coldly reminded her through the smoke. “And with it your people.”

  “I can reunite them,” Kallan assured him and narrowed her hardened gaze onto his. “With Aaric out of the way…”

  “She’s right, Rune,” Daggon said, speaking up at last in his queen’s defense.” Her people are still loyal to her. They just can’t remember her.”

  Rune matched Kallan’s scowl as he lowered his pipe.

  “If Aaric should fall, and you lift this spell, can you guarantee your people will know you?”

  “I will make them know me,” Kallan said, refusing to let him doubt her, “I will make them hear me.”

  “And if they know you, what assurance can you give me that you will fight alongside Gunir?”

  “Don’t be foolish to think this only affects you,” Kallan said. “If Forkbeard were to take you, and the walls of Gunir should fall, what assurance can you give me that he won’t look to Lorlenalin next?”

  Rune sighed, milking his role for all he was worth. He stared into the fire for added effect.

  “A gamble on an ancient enemy that rests on a single promise following years of deceit…” Rune raised his eyes to Kallan. “What will you have me do?”

  “Join me.”

  Rune rested the bit of his pipe on his lip as everyone looked to Kallan, waiting with sustained breath for a reply from their king. With a huff, Kallan suddenly stood, head erect and shoulders back as she took a step closer, presenting all she had to Gunir’s king.

  “Son of Tryggve!” Kallan addressed Rune as if she stood before the king in his court for the first time wearing gowns of gold instead of bloodied rags—as if there never had been the Dvergar or Aaric or the centuries of bloodshed.

  “Lord of Gunir! I am Kallan, daughter of Eyolf, Queen of Lorlenalin and Lady of the White Opal! I come before you on behalf of my people. We look to you now for an alliance. I implore you, please…forge this alliance with me. Help me win back my army so that we may stand together against our foes who look to annihilate us.”

  Rune lowered his pipe. Holding Kallan’s gaze, he came to stand at full height before her.

  A suspended pause gripped the air as they waited and Kallan stood her ground, matching the hardened glare in Rune’s eyes as he assessed her.

  Without a word, Rune extended his hand. With regal composure, Kallan took his hand and sealed their alliance.

  “Do it,” Rune decreed. “It’s the only shot we’ve got and I’m not about to squander it on naysaying.”

  He released Kallan’s hand.

  Without a thought, Kallan left for her bower, snatching Gudrun’s bag from Daggon and rolling up her sleeves as she dragged Torunn along beside her.

  “Well…” Geirolf stood from his seat. “I’ll make my rounds. If you need me, Rune, I’ll be with the wounded.”

  Rune nodded as Geirolf departed.

  “Why do we have to put our troops to sleep, Rune?” Bergen asked. “Why can’t we keep them back and wait for the spell to pass?”

  “Because, Bergen,” Rune said, “if something goes wrong with the spell, we’ll have the whole of the Dokkalfar army charging at Kallan and I. As much as I’d love the advantage, the risk is too great. Joren.” Rune looked to the scout.

  “My king.”

  “Ready every man who can raise a sword. Spread the word. Let them know of the plan. We can’t afford to have them caught off guard. That may help to decrease the confusion when they wake.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Joren nodded, accepting his orders, and swept out of the room, leaving Daggon with Bergen and Rune.

  The final click of the door cued Bergen to stand with a groan.

  “I need a drink,” he said and trudged to the tray picked over of meats and mead.

  “Can she do it?” Rune asked Daggon, cutting Bergen’s celebrations short.

  With the flagon in hand, Bergen gazed at Daggon, eager for the answer as much as Rune.

  “Kallan has always been sharper than the blade she wields,” Daggon said with a sigh, settling himself into a chair. He rested his large arms on his knee in thought. “She took her studies as serious as her instructors…when she bothered to show up. But she seemed to harbor a natural gift for the spells.”

  Daggon stared into the flames, lost in thought and unwilling to give voice to the countless memories that gave him hope.

  “Yes.” He nodded with a gentle grin as he meandered through ancient memories. “Kallan can do it.”

  A bit more relaxed than he had been moments before, Bergen picked over the tray of food while Rune relit his pipe. Neither caught the smile on Daggon’s mouth.

  “There are things Kallan can do that not even she knows she can do,” Daggon added.

  Torunn stood over Kallan’s shoulders, entranced by the speed of Kallan’s hands. The fire crackled behind them, mingling its light with the candles she had lit and casting as much light as possible onto Kallan’s makeshift worktable in her sitting room.

  “What is a spell?” Torunn finally asked as Kallan finished crushing the foreign, white root within the grindstone. Fine powder now settled into the base of the stone.

  “A spell is one of the three uses of Seidr that can be mastered,” Kallan said as the water she heated over the single flame beside her began to boil. “A Seidkona can wield the Seidr, using it as it passes through the earth, the air, or the waters. Sight is the gift and art of Vision one can hone with the use of the Seidr. A Voluspa is a Seer’s Vision.”

  “The Seidr doesn’t pass through fire?” Torunn asked in hopes to better understand the concoction Kallan brewed.

  “Fire is energy. Enery is Seidr. A compacted form of Seidr…and is only one of Seidr’s many forms.”

  Kallan didn’t look up as she dropped a handful of leaves into the water to better extract the oils. “Spells are powders, gases, or liquids infused with the Seidr to attain a desired effect. With further study, runes can be used to siphon the Seidr, direct it, or enclose it within an object.” Kallan glanced up from her work for a moment. “That’s how my pouch works.”

  Torunn watched, still engrossed with Kallan’s hands as she began tracing a set of runes into the fine powdered root with her finger.

  “One must be sensitive to the Seidr to pull it from its natural source and wield it at will,” she continued. “More study is required to mold it into a substance, but the Sight…” Kallan shook her head. “That is only passed on through blood. Either you have it or you don’t. And you don’t stand a chance of having it unless you are of the bloodline.”

  “Bloodline?” Torunn asked. “Have you always had it then?”

  “Her mother did,” Daggon said as Bergen and Rune bombarded him with questions. “It was strange that Kallan never developed the Sight.”

  “How will Aaric’s hindrances affect her?” Rune asked, recalling Kallan’s explanation of Aaric siphoning her Seidr to block her memory when she was just a child.

  “It may return over time to its full power,” Daggon said. “On the other hand, she may, forever, be hindered in that sense.” Daggon shook his head. “We won’t know until time has healed her of the damage done. On the other hand, we may never know. I know very little of this matter really. Who we need is Gudrun. She coul—”

  His stomach clamped as Daggon suddenly lost his voice. Clamping his jaw, he looked to the fire, allowing the heat of the flame
s to dry the tears from his eyes.

  “What of Lorlenalin?” Rune asked, changing the subject to ease his grief. “What condition did you find her in?”

  Daggon sighed deeply as dark images rolled through his mind.

  “There was almost no guard,” he said. “If the women and children of Lorlenalin were there, we didn’t see. Aaric used every abled and non-abled body for his army. Stripped the city of its citizens. Cooks. Key holders…” Daggon shook his head. “Everyone was gone. It was upon a happy chance that Joren found me there.”

  Torunn watched the Seidr flow from Kallan’s palm into the runes.

  “I thought Seidkonas always carried a Seidr staff.”

  “You’re confusing me with the Iss Land Seidr Wielders,” Kallan said, too focused to smile at the mistake. “I never had a use for such hindrance.”

  “And the runes?” Torunn asked as she peered down at the white powder.

  The sharp stench of boiled herbs rose from the bowl of water above the flame.

  “The runes only guide the Seidr.” Kallan snapped her wrist, disrupting the Seidr flow, and took up the Seidr-infused powder, pouring it into a bowl. “The words alone do nothing. The runes themselves are just runes. But both can be used together as a tool just like this grindstone. Together, we can reach a desired effect. A Seidr staff is usually etched with runes to allow better control over the Seidr.” Kallan averted her attention to Torunn. “I can use the runes to form a shield of Seidr that prevents the sleeping spell from reaching Rune and Bergen.”

  “Couldn’t you use the runes to shield all of them?” Torunn asked.

  “I could,” Kallan said as she gently punctured a single, small hole into the thick stem of red flower. “But the efforts would require so much of my concentration, I wouldn’t be free to fight. And with a Seidr User on the battlefield, I need to fight.”

  Without further question, Torunn watched as Kallan collected the milky white substance that seeped from the stem. She soon extinguished the flame that heated the water and waited only a few more minutes before dropping a dried mushroom into the brew.

  With practiced craft, Kallan worked through the early morning hours until she emerged from her sitting room clutching a small bag and smelling of herbs that lingered with a stale bite.

  * * *

  Kallan pushed open the door to Rune’s bower. She wasn’t surprised to see him without his tunic, clutching a pipe as he stared out across the river to the empty plains. Still clasping the bag of herbs, she came to stand beside him.

  “You can almost hear it.” Rune spoke over the pipe.

  Kallan looked out into the forests beyond the river where pillars of smoldering bodies lay. In the distance, she could hear it: the sound of the march. The subtle thunder of thousands shook the ground as the Dokkalfar marched to Gunir’s walls.

  “They come,” Rune said.

  “Dump him there,” Fand growled with Aaric’s voice to the guards hauling Aaric behind her at the edge of the Alfheim Wood. Aaric hit the ground a few feet from Fand, giving him sufficient view of the plains ahead as his guard remained vigilant.

  Fand smiled over the painted mimic of Aaric’s shoulder as she gazed at him.

  “No protest? Not even an attempt to escape?” she played.

  Aaric started back at his face worn too well by Fand. “I won’t give you the pleasure.”

  Fand frowned.

  “You will watch, Drui, as I rip the heart from your precious princess,” she spat before turning to the battlefield, eager to begin the end as the Ljosalfar marched to join them.

  Across the river Klarelfr, Bergen’s men marched with rekindled hope to the open plains of Alfheim that wrapped around Gunir’s bailey. The gray and white of the clouds loomed overhead, mingling with the vast blacks of the brewing storm. The ominous veil forced a heaviness in the air that added to the tension and enveloped the whole of the army.

  Armor and sword clanked in time with the monotonous thunder of the warriors’ march across the scorched plains, past the piles of smoldering bodies. Rune waited with his men across the river to the barren fighting grounds north of Gunir. Upon arrival, Bergen broke from his battalion and rode on ahead to the circle of runes and Kallan kneeling on the ground in her red skirts.

  With two fingers poised, she etched the final figure into the soil and completed the circle. She scrutinized each rune then stood, brushing the dirt from her skirts.

  “How exactly does this work?” Bergen asked, expecting a lot more than a few squiggles drawn in the dirt. He studied the runes that formed a circle around a patch of earth. There was just room enough for three men to stand beside each other comfortably without feeling awkward.

  “The runes are infused with Seidr,” Kallan said. “They’ll recognize the spell and guide it around you so it won’t touch you.”

  Bergen raised a doubtful brow, antagonizing Kallan’s mood.

  “Don’t stand within the circle and sleep the battle away, for all I care,” she grumped and spun on her heel before climbing onto Astrid. A moment later, she rode down the line of the archers.

  “I think I liked her better when she feared me,” Bergen muttered as Rune joined Bergen beside the ring. “Too much of that sounded like Gudrun.”

  “What did you do?” Rune asked.

  Dismissing Rune’s questions, Bergen entered the circle and silently debated the merit of Kallan’s Seidr as Rune too stepped into the circle. Bergen looked his brother up then down, assessing the mere inches of space between them.

  “This is uncomfortably close,” Bergen said. “Are you sure two men will be enough?”

  When Rune didn’t answer, he looked to Kallan, who returned from her assessment.

  “Hey!” Bergen called. “Are you sure this is enough?”

  “A small group, or any group, segregated from the army will tip Aaric off. Your instructions are clear,” she said firmly. “If you leave the circle before I finish administering the spell, you will pass into sleep with your men. Stay within the circle and you can fight.”

  She pulled back on the reins, bringing Astrid to a halt as she flicked back a strand of hair over her shoulder. Kallan flashed Bergen a smirk.

  “Of course, if you feel you can’t handle it, by all means, choose a handful of men to stand with you.”

  Bergen and Rune exchanged glances.

  “We can take him,” Bergen said, confidently.

  Within view of the front, Aaric’s battalion lingered over the hillside with what little morning sun could break through the pending storm.

  Outside the circle, at the back of the infantry, Roald threw back his head and downed the last of a mead he had brought with him.

  “You’re a fool for standing here,” Rune said, catching a glimpse of the bandaged stub of his right shoulder.

  Roald fired back a grin.

  “I would shame my fathers if I didn’t fight while I still had a strong arm and two legs. Besides…” Roald widened his grin. “…your Dokkalfr insisted I take her damn apple with me.”

  With vigor, Roald tucked his flagon under his stub, took up Kallan’s apple from a pocket, and bit into the fruit, nearly cleaving it in two.

  “I feel great!” he proclaimed through a wet mouthful of Seidr.

  “Everything is set,” Kallan said, looking down from her seat on Astrid. “We’ll wait for the advance to distract them then I will release the spell.”

  Rune nodded once as the thunder of feet swept the plains from the far edge of the wood. He tightened his grip on his bow and released a short breath.

  “I still say we should have the archers ready,” Bergen grumbled.

  In the distance, the Dokkalfar ranks aligned, following the first of Aaric’s orders. The rows of Dokkalfar raised their bows.

  “If Kallan’s spell goes well, those archers will join us,” Rune said.

  Roald threw a grimace over his armless shoulder.

  “Why am I not in the circle?”

  Engaging his archers, Rune
mirrored the command and cued the Ljosalfar to ready their spears. The air was thick and eerily still.

  “Because,” Bergen said, keeping his eyes on Aaric seated upon his horse, “you’re too weak to keep up!”

  The Ljosalfar’s battle cry filled the plains, drowning out Roald’s vulgarity as the Dokkalfar released their arrows from the forest’s edge, signaling Rune’s army to unleash their volley.

  Raising her arms to the sky, Kallan muttered a charm and raised a canopy of Seidr. A blanket of opaque blue poured from Kallan’s hand as the Dokkalfar arrows plinked off Kallan’s ward that spilled down the whole of Rune’s army.

  Rune waited between volleys and gave the command.

  “Fly!” Rune cried and launched his spearmen out from under the protection of Kallan’s ward.

  Their feet pounded the ground like thunder. With spears raised, they advanced, seeded with bloodlust to avenge their kin.

  “Now!” Fand screamed in Aaric’s voice, sending the Dokkalfar charging into the plains to meet the Ljosalfar.

  The air echoed with cries as Kallan withdrew the ward and took up handfuls of fine powder from her pouch. Bits of Seidr from the shield rained down in a show of gold and light.

  “Now!” Rune shouted to Kallan and, at once, she released the Seidr.

  Below her breath, she muttered, pulling on the threads of Seidr from the winds. Gently, a controlled breeze blew up into the mixture and released the tiny, white specs into the air. Her words carried the wind through the field, taking her spell with it as the clang of spears collided.

  In a gradual wave that moved unnoticed, the warriors bore against their armaments as the weight of their weapons increased. Sluggishly, the Alfar wielded their swords and spears, burdened with an unnatural mass that slowed their movements until, too weak to stand, they began to collapse beneath their armor. A few surrendered their weapons as their bodies fell. Others dropped to a knee. Their eyes, too heavy to keep open, closed.

  From atop Aaric’s horse, Fand stared, crunching Aaric’s brow into a wrinkled mass.