Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga

by Mande Matthews

"What do you have to show me?" Hallad’s tone remained low and commanding.

  Ravenna continued without pause, "Lay back and hold the dyrr in your hands, over your chest."

  Hallad’s muscles bunched. "On the bed?"

  Ravenna nodded.

  A flush of embarrassment heated Hallad’s cheeks. "We’ll sit," he insisted.

  "It is best to enter the shadowwalk laying down, Guardian. I will not molest you while you lounge if that is your fear," the First assured him, the lyrical tone sneaking back into her voice. A coy smile spread her lips.

  A rush of fire blazed in Hallad.

  Astrid wished for a rag to stuff in the woman’s mouth.

  The placidness of Ravenna’s skin smoothed any age lines she possessed; she looked no older than Hallad, though Astrid was sure she was at least ten summers their elder.

  The First eased downward seating herself next to Hallad. She scooted back on the bed coverings straightening her robes as she moved, then patted her hand on the covers next to her inviting Hallad to join her.

  Hallad’s skin jumped. He sucked in a steadying breath.

  A slap on her rump with the broad side of my sword would knock the boldness out of her, thought Astrid, careful to guard her thoughts from her brother. She didn’t want to alert Hallad to her presence, though she had no idea how long she could contain her whereabouts, and returning to her chamber through the walk seemed out of her control at present.

  Hallad forced himself to unravel his muscles and crawl backwards until his head met headboard. He stretched himself flat. Too long for the bed, his feet dangled over the edge of the mattress as if they were roots seeking ground.

  Ravenna brushed her arm up against him, as if an accident of their nearness.

  Hallad’s heartbeat quickened for a moment, but the further she pressed into him, the deeper his breath. At the same time, a melodic moan resided in the back of her throat, and Hallad’s lids slipped downward as he relaxed.

  The First studied the area around Hallad’s head and shoulders, never looking directly in his eyes. "We always sing the ward to guard against the Shadow when we walk," she said. "There are many different wards and ways to use song, but this particular rune, Algiz, keeps us separated from the Shadow. The rune weaved into the headboard binds the magic inside and helps anyone touched by the Mother perform the task, even if they are too weak in the touch to call the Mother on their own."

  Ravenna moved her arm, separating them; she swept her hand upwards toward the headboard, singing, "Algiz" as she passed her hand over the rune.

  The carving sparked with light, tracing the shape of the rune. The room exploded in brightness, circling the two on the bed and for a moment, Astrid’s sight fluctuated—patterns of swirling blackness blocked her vision.

  Algiz, sang Astrid, instinctively.

  Her own version of the rune symbol drew itself in the darkness at her command—a white blaze firing through the air. Another burst of light enveloped her and within a breath, her sanctuary joined Hallad’s and Ravenna’s, her vision restored.

  Sister? Hallad’s voice invaded her skull, and she realized what she had just done. What are you doing? I heard you sing the ward.

  Not wanting to admit her actions were involuntary, Astrid replied, Sorry, Brother. I wanted to know what Ravenna would show you. The matter concerns me, too.

  I thought we decided you would stay behind.

  Don’t tell her I am here. I’ll retreat to my chambers, she assured him, though she wasn’t certain she could.

  I will return shortly and share all I have learned. But he paused, reaching out to examine her with his mind. Are you sure you’re all right?

  Fine.

  Truth?

  Just nervous for what is to come.

  As am I.

  "Are you ready?" asked Ravenna.

  The dyrr Hallad held to his chest beamed through the space between his fingers.

  "I’m ready. Proceed."

  Ravenna unfolded Hallad’s hand—the one holding the dyrr—and his skin buzzed with her touch, whether from the woman’s intimacy or from the power of the dyrr, Astrid couldn’t tell. Runes blazed across the medallion’s face, morphing from one symbol to the next.

  "As a Scandian, you only know a small portion of the runes. Most are in the old tongue, and Scandians have never possessed the ability to hear the Mother—at least, not until now—so they never learned the first language of song. It is one reason why Scandia is without song. Another is that Alvenheim is closer to the heart of the Mother. In Scandia, the magic is called Galdr, but the separation from the Mother's heart reduces the power to a wish, a chant, or a prayer that comes true, but to a lesser degree. As Guardian, you must learn what you have not as a Scandian."

  Ravenna tilted his hand so she could spot the runes as they appeared.

  "Raidho, you know. It’s in the old tongue but also used in Scandia—"

  "And means journey," Hallad finished for her.

  She nodded, approving. "The second and third runes signify the place we will travel to. Iss means ice and vaettfang means battlefield."

  Ravenna slid down next to Hallad, turned on her side and faced him. She wrapped her hand over Hallad’s, interlocked their fingers, and sheltered the dyrr beneath them.

  The vibration in Hallad’s fingers spread to his hands, then arms.

  "Now repeat the runes as I speak them, and we will shadowwalk."

  Hallad spoke them; the words sounded assured as if the old language had always lived within him.

  Astrid imagined her chambers—the fluffed up mattress, the satiny bed clothes, and the alabaster walls weaved with wood—yet she couldn’t return. Instead, she remained, watching her brother and the First Walker of the Norns as they disappeared into the shadowwalk.

  Chapter 11

  "The riot in Glitner was a mere ripple from what you see below. The Conspirators gather to rise, not just against the Palace, but to destroy the Mother in the process." Ravenna’s voice rang out as Astrid squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to conjure her chambers.

  Astrid willed her mind to visualize her sword laying on the bedclothes, reasoning, If I can lock onto my blade, I can return to my room and break free of the walk. She imagined her sword in detail—the edge sharpened to a murderous sliver, the finely wrought hilt twisting into the roots of a mighty tree and the cool, slickness of the iron as it slid against her fingers.

  But Hallad’s emotions changed from a buzzing to pure outrage. They tumbled through her, and she pressed her hands against the back of her lids to keep from opening her eyes.

  Astrid held the image of her sword in her mind’s eye, trying to block her brother’s pulsating anger. He asked me to stay put, she assured herself. He’ll call me if he needs me. Her lids flitted as she attempted to keep them closed.

  "If the Mother dies," Ravenna continued, "the binds that hold the Shadow dissolve, and he will be free to wander among us."

  Astrid started at the mention of the Shadow. Her mother raised her on tales of the Dark One and taught her to fear him. Her own battle with him and his desire for her continued to baffle her, but she pushed those memories deep down, dreading what the answers might bring, favoring the comfort her brother brought her in the last few moons. Hallad will inform me what’s happening upon his return, she tried to reassure herself, but Ravenna’s voice kept coming.

  "If Alvenheim dies, Scandia will follow. Soon, even Scandians will not have wheat to sheaf; the Shadow will reign, and war and strife will break both our worlds."

  Hallad’s nerves continued to flare. Astrid knew the feeling—the desire to grab steel and slice through the offending party, to liberate the oppressed with a final blow.

  Her need for answers and concern for her brother won the battle over her promise to remain in Glitner. She snatched her hands away from her face, and popped open her eyes. Instead of her chambers, a haggard land spread from horizon to horizon as far as she could see. Both Ravenna and Hallad hovered high above the lan
d, their bodies like wisps of smoke shimmering in the shadowwalk.

  Astrid recognized the place beneath them immediately—the Broken Lands—though she had no idea they stretched so far, seeming to have spread since exiting them a few days ago.

  Ice covered the ground. Frost heaves mounded, pushing dead trees out of the land, their roots severed from the force. The giants toppled over, their burned and bared flesh exposed to the freezing wind. In the center of whiteness, fires blazed. Billows of smoke rose to meet the sky, smudging the gray into black.

  A chill seized Astrid’s body, reflecting the conditions of the land. Even though numbness flooded her, a burning sensation wore at her skin. She reached up to fold her arms over her chest, but found she possessed no limbs—her body remained back on the bed in the Palace of Glitner.

  Astrid?

  Ja, Brother.

  Are you all right? You seem both near and far.

  I know, she admitted. Our bonding has broken any division between us.

  He glanced side to side, searching for her but could not see her. Neither could Ravenna, though she was no more than a couple paces from their position.

  What aren’t you telling me?

  But Astrid fell silent, overcome as she spied an army of men, women, and children sprawled over the landscape—tents, bedrolls, and wagons all littered the area. The force of the wind damaged the fine songvari-woven materials, and the occupants had reinforced their meager shelters with wolves' hides. In the center of the encampment, the largest of the fires burned. A crowd of men in tattered clothing hovered over a figure.

  The figure squatted on the ground, and where it sat, green sprouts sprang from the frozen land.

  "Sing!" commanded one of the roughs with a knotted beard—a wiry man with bright-red cheeks, nose and forehead as if the wind and cold constantly chaffed his skin. Wolf hide hung over his shoulders as a make-shift mantle.

  The broken figure lifted her face upwards—a woman, though it was difficult to tell from her shorn hair and man’s tunic and trousers. Tears stained the woman’s face.

  At the sight of her, Astrid’s insides rattled, much like her skin had buzzed when the man was struck on the streets of Glitner, adding to the pain that oozed from the land.

  "I cannot, Mundi, please," the woman cried. "The Mother speaks to me nei more."

  "Sing or suffer my sword!" yelled the man again.

  The woman crumpled to the ground, whispering, "Oh, Mother, hear me, please…" her words broke off into a whimper. Saliva dribbled from her mouth. She hummed a soft, sad melody.

  The sprouts quivered at her song. The songvari continued, her tune strengthening within her throat. The stalks responded, shooting upwards, but she couldn’t sustain the song. Whimpers joined the woman’s melody, and she started to shake. Her tune grated, and the green tips of the sprouts abruptly wilted.

  The rough grabbed her by the neck of her tunic and dragged her backwards. "Enough!"

  The songvari lay where he flung her, pressing her cheek against the ground. Her lips stretched into a grotesque grimace as she brushed them over the ice, pleading to the ground beneath her, "Forgive me, Mother. Oh, please, I beg your forgiveness."

  "Shut it!" yelled the rough; he kicked her.

  She howled, and he assaulted her again and again until she lay silent.

  All the while, woman’s assault pricked on Astrid's on her own skin.

  The onlookers dove towards the meager greenery that fought for existence. They pounced on the seedlings and ripped them from the earth. With each pluck, Astrid felt the sensation of a blade slicing her own skin. She bit down on her lip to keep her wits about her. Though her connection to the Mother was stronger here than in Scandia, the intense pain reminded her of her recent shadowwalk to her old home. It was as if her physical body opened, not solely to the land but to the people as well. Any attack of either replicated itself within her.

  "We will stop this now!" Hallad yelled.

  The scene below had captured her brother’s attention as well.

  "We must leave," said Ravenna.

  The First’s skin blanched. The blackness of her hair and the raven on her jaw seemed darker against her paling face.

  "I will not allow this woman’s defilement."

  "Not just the woman," said Ravenna. "But the Mother’s."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You cannot feel her at all?"

  Hallad’s insides muddied. I feel my sister, Astrid heard him think. And she seems out of sorts. Astrid? He called out.

  "You do not feel the Mother or hear her, like a song on the breeze or a whisper in your ear, or now, like a cry in your heart and a slice to your skin?"

  He pinched his features and shook his head, finding nothing but the desire for an answer from his sister.

  "I don’t know what the Mother and Guardian have planned for us, choosing a protector without the touch, but Hallad, you must understand this: with every assault, the land dies a little more. She will not survive what is to come."

  Then Ravenna collapsed.

  Her body tumbled into the air that held them as spectators above the Conspirators. Hallad grabbed her, catching her. He wrapped one broad arm around her shoulders, flung her up like a babe and secured her underneath her legs with his other arm, all while holding tight to the dyrr.

  She stared up at him, and though she whispered, her voice retained a melodic timbre, "I cannot bear the pain of the Mother." Ravenna wrapped her arms around Hallad’s neck.

  At her embrace, Hallad’s shoulders rose. His chest puffed, and a flood of confidence fired in every limb of his body.

  "I am a walker," her words sounded weak, yet pleasantly sing-song-like, "but I possess the touch of the Mother as well. We all feel what she feels."

  But you don’t feel what other people feel? Astrid thought. And yet, I feel it all.

  Ravenna continued, staring up at Hallad, "You, for whatever reason, were chosen as Guardian, and it’s up to you to protect us all."

  "I will get us back," Hallad said, steadily, as if his emotions had never been turbulent moments before. "I will not allow harm to come to you."

  Hallad’s calmness flooded through Astrid as well. She focused on her brother, ignoring the building nausea from the pain she registered from the land, the woman, and even Ravenna.

  With direction from Ravenna, Hallad spoke the runes. His deep tone washed over Astrid.

  The young woman blinked, and her chamber expanded before her. Morning’s light seared her eyes. She squinted against the brightness and ran to fetch a pail. She dropped to her knees over the bucket and wretched.

  Sister?

  Astrid wiped the remains from her mouth and straightened.

  Sister, what is it?

  She inhaled before replying. Nothing.

  Truth, Sister. I can feel your discomfort.

  I can’t keep anything from you, can I?

  You could try, he goaded, but you’re not very good at controlling your emotions.

  She smiled, despite the sickness in her gut. Oh, and you think you’re so clever at disguising yours?

  Nei, but I am the Guardian. I was born to protect you.

  True, she teased. But I am much tougher than you.

  I won’t argue that point.

  Astrid sensed Hallad smile, but his emotions leveled back with concern.

  Have you returned? She didn’t need to ask the last question; she knew he was near. She also realized that her return to Glitner was an involuntary reaction to Hallad's return—not because she consciously willed it. Astrid lifted herself up, gathering her strength.

  I will come for you, Brother. We have much to discuss.

  Chapter 12

  As Astrid headed off to rendezvous with her brother, she couldn’t shake the trailing Norn and guards following her any more than she could control the images flashing before her: Hallad lying Ravenna upon her bed, Ravenna grabbing his wrist pulling him down to sit next to her, and her brother acquiescing at the wom
an’s touch.

  The split vision—between her own whereabouts and her brother’s—slowed her pace, but kept her on target to his location. She considered attempting to shadowwalk to Hallad but reasoned her brother would be unhappy with her using the dark power, so she continued along the never-ending corridors of the Palace, using her sense of him to lead her the correct way.

  Even though Astrid felt as though she trudged along, the Norn scampered behind her, the old woman doubling her steps to keep up. The guards flanked her, as if Astrid would bolt, and they’d need to run after to subdue her.

  "The testing proved interesting." Ravenna’s voice rifled through Astrid’s head. "Emma shows more ability as a caller than we’ve seen in ages, and I’m assigning Daidu, Clan Leader of our Palace Callers, to take charge of her training. She could be of assistance to our cause, and Daidu has ascertained that she requires guidance with her power. Since her recent imprisonment to Lothar, she’s dealing with some rather delicate emotional issues."

  Though Astrid tried to ignore Ravenna's and Hallad’s conversation out of respect for their privacy, she couldn’t, and they played along inside her mind, along with the flashes of them.

  "Aside from Erik, whom I will address myself, only one other in your troupe has shown ability."

  "Who?" asked Hallad.

  "The priestess’ apprentice, Gisla."

  Hallad nodded, considering. "She did seem to have something special about her."

  The First studied Hallad as he spoke, taking in every nuance. She drew his attention back to her by brushing her hand against his, and whatever thought Hallad had over Gisla disappeared as his attention reverted to the First.

  "Now as for your twin..."

  Astrid veered around another corner and through an archway. The Norn pushed in front of her, running to get around the young woman and stop her, but Astrid didn’t stop, forcing the Norn to scramble backwards.

  "The Hall of Wyrd cannot be entered unless you have been invited, and especially not during boen dagr," pleaded the Norn.

  Astrid ignored the woman, hurrying forward until the guards rushed ahead of her, blocking Astrid with their arms. She stopped and glared at the two men.