So this is the game we’re going to play?
Then she noticed the scene behind them. Between Astrid and a dais encircled with columns and flader bushes—where her senses told her Hallad and Ravenna were—spread an expansive field graced with a bubbling spring in the center. White-robed women knelt all around the spring, their palms pressed into the water. A chorus rose from their combined voices—a stunning, breathtaking harmony.
"Boen dagr, or daylight prayers in the modern tongue," said the Norn. "You cannot pass to the First’s chamber without interrupting their prayer. The song keeps the Mother hardy and in this age, she needs all the strength we can provide."
The tone captured Astrid; its beauty resonated inside her being, speaking to an essence deep within her—like her soul blossomed and sprang upward from her depths. In that moment, the darkness inside her subsided and all she could feel was the expansive lightness of song. Her heart stirred. Her limbs vibrated. An overwhelming sense of joy enraptured her.
She wanted to do nothing more than stand there for an eternity.
Until Ravenna’s voice rattled in the back of her brain, breaking her concentration. "Your sister is strong, but she’s run by her emotions."
Then Astrid heard it. Somewhere, down deep within the bowels of the earth, the sickness she’d sensed in the Broken Lands and Scandia spread. Despite the purity of the Norn’s song, the Mother wilted under her crust of greening grass and berry-filled trees. Astrid knew the feeling—not unlike herself attempting to stay light, yet knowing all along that darkness silently ate away her insides.
Ravenna’s voice continued, "Astrid’s ability in the walk is more powerful than I’ve ever encountered, yet she can’t control it."
"Isn’t that dangerous?" asked Hallad.
"More so than you realize, Guardian."
A flash in Astrid’s mind showed the two in the same position on the mattress, except Ravenna sat upright, her head inches from her brother’s.
"If Astrid doesn’t learn to sing out loud, she will destroy herself—succumb to the Shadow—and lose any hope we have of saving the Mother, our lands and people in the process."
"How is she supposed to save the lands? By singing?"
"Not just her. The both of you."
"Is that why we were bonded?"
"You were bonded because you need one another’s strengths to fulfill the prophecy. The first to hear the proclamations of the Mother spoke about two heroes born of both lands, and their success relies upon one another. Your father was Scandian, and your mother was Alven."
Hallad shook his head in confusion. "My mother was Alven?"
"Ja," Ravenna confirmed. "She left our lands long before becoming pregnant with the two of you. Then she lived in hiding, keeping Astrid safe from the Shadow, though her choice was foolish. If the two of you had been brought to Glitner as children, we could have recognized who you were early on, guided you both, and reined your sister’s wildness in. But now—"
"I still don’t understand what we’re to do."
"Prophecies are spoken in lyrics. Lyrics are like poems. The meaning can be hard to grasp."
"And that means?"
"That we only know the concert of the two of you together renews the land."
"A concert? As in performance?"
"Nei, Guardian. The meaning is not to be read straight on. It can be interpreted in many ways. Which way can only be answered by the two of you."
Hallad hung his head, thinking.
The First reached out, placing her fingers under his chin, drawing his face up to meet her own, and once again, the lilt snuck back into her tone. "From your inability to hear the Mother, I doubt your way is song. However, your skill in the old tongue excels, and I will teach you the runes, for as Guardian you must know them because your sister must learn them as well."
A smile stretched over her lips as she continued, "You will be the hero of the lands. It’s your destiny, Guardian. And I promise you, I am here to guide you in any way I can—we can share the burden of the discontent among the people. But for Astrid? You must take all the responsibilities from her mind—shield her from all the political strife and maneuvering—so she can concentrate on the one thing she must learn. The best you can do is convince your sister to let me train her. She must sing, or our worlds will be lost."
Ravenna held Hallad’s gaze. Like a lodestone seeking its match, he drew in toward the First.
Astrid sensed a tingling in her brother’s body—an unfamiliar emotion from him. Then she realized: the sentiment was not unlike the one she had felt for the Shadow. The recognition startled her. He’s falling for Ravenna?
And before she knew it—without her volition—she’d propelled herself into the First’s chambers and stood before the two.
***
Hallad looked up, a glaze over his eyes. As he adjusted his sights on his sister, recognition returned to his features, and he sidled across the mattress, making ample room between himself and Ravenna.
The First’s brows rose, either questioning or disapproving—Astrid couldn’t decide which.
"Sister?" Hallad stammered. "We were just…" What did you hear? He continued in her head.
That I must sing, or destroy the worlds. But I already knew that. I had just hoped our bond would change that proclamation.
The gravity of her statement hit them both like a landslide. His eyes met hers. His emotions—anxiety over their future, the heaviness of their responsibilities, but most of all an immeasurable, deep and powerful love for her—encompassed her. They stayed, locked in that moment, neither flinching nor looking away.
Ravenna cleared her throat, stood and glided toward a set of columns. She waved her hand and hummed, opening a doorway.
"I’ll give you two time alone." She raised her brows at Hallad as if giving him a directive, then exited.
I cannot control the walk, Astrid said.
"I know."
I know you know, but I needed to admit it to you. I also feel everyone and everything as if it were my own pain. And worse, I sense a wrongness inside the land, as if something eats at the heart of her.
"The burden is not yours, alone, Sister."
What are you going to do? Sing with me?
"I could." He cleared his throat and tested his voice with a low, "Lah!" He stood, sweeping his arm backwards as if flinging a cape—his best imitation of Rolf—and sang:
"The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the nordr tonight…"
His low tone croaked like a toad.
Astrid’s lips cracked a grin. Now I know why I’ve never heard you sing before.
"You think my voice a jest?"
I think I’ll never be able to look at you in the same way again.
He laughed, bursting into another off-key round.
Astrid’s smile spread; her insides jiggled.
Hallad waved his arms out as if a scald performing for a king or like a jester pretending to be a scald. Squeaking accompanied his low rendition as he tried for high notes.
Stop! Please, stop! Astrid’s stomach ached. She grabbed her side and fell to the ground in a puddle of silent laughs. Her continued merriment repressed her desire to cry—and action that was too unfamiliar for her to comprehend.
Hallad slumped down on the floor next to his sister, suddenly serious. His tone lowered. "You are going to sing."
How do you know that?
Because you are the strongest woman, nei, the strongest person I’ve ever met. I believe you will.
With you by my side, eh, Brother?
They shared a tentative smile. Silence squashed into the space between them. The quiet wrapped her brother in thought.
Tell me of our mother.
Astrid considered how to explain Mamma to the son who had never known her. She closed her eyes, allowing memories to bloom: the multitude of hovels they'd shared over the years, running from remote place to place and the sight of her, withered and frail,
the night Astrid left their mother for good and headed for the Wettersea to learn the ward and seek her brother.
Our mother was the strongest person I’ve ever known.
A press of Hallad’s lips contracted his jaw, as he sat, pondering.
She gave up everything to see us safe, Hallad. She separated herself from Alvenheim at great cost to her own life in order to keep our identities hidden. I don’t think she’d trust Ravenna, either.
Ravenna? You still don’t like her, do you?
But you do.
Why do you say that?
She shrugged.
Recognition played over his features. A flush crept up his neck. How much did you see?
She smirked, but Hallad’s expression darkened.
"Sister, eavesdropping is wrong, whether you’re using the shadowwalk, our bond, or listening at the door like a common spy. You’ve got to learn to control yourself."
She stared back at him; her blood raced at the accusation—as if she’d seen them on purpose.
"Concentrate on learning to sing, and I’ll handle the rest—"
Rest of what?
"Never mind. I’ll handle it."
I thought we were supposed to work together.
"We are," he said. "But there are things you don’t need to worry over so you can focus on singing."
Like what? she pressed.
He shook his head and laughed ruefully. "I can’t keep anything from you, can I?"
So why try? She smiled triumphantly.
Hallad drew in a breath and let it out with a prolonged sigh, giving in. "I’ll learn the runes in order to aid you as I can, and handle the unrest in Glitner. I need to win the people’s confidence. And the Broken Lands… Sister, if you could have seen the atrocities."
I know.
"What do you mean, you know?"
I saw them.
He raised a questioning brow.
I was there.
He sighed again, his muscled shoulders heaving. Sister, above all, you must promise me one thing.
What? She didn’t need to ask. She knew what he would impose.
That you will never, ever shadowwalk again. It’s dark. And dangerous. And deadly to us all. You’ve got to learn to control it. And let Ravenna teach you to sing out loud. Our futures depend upon it. Swear to me, Sister. Swear that you’ll never shadowwalk again.
She stared at her brother—his bright blue eyes emphatic, his thick jaw fluttering with the grind of his teeth; every muscle in his body knotted tight. For the first time since their bond, a wedge slid between them.
Astrid nodded agreement, but feared, of all the promises he could have asked for, these two—no matter how hard she tried—she would never be able to keep.
Chapter 13
"Look, Emma!"
Gisla sauntered across the crowded room. She hooked her own arm through Emma’s and dragged her back through the mire of drengmaers milling in their shared chamber. She settled onto the bed, pulling Emma along with her. Whitefoot shimmied down Emma’s side. He stood at the edge of the mattress, smelling the air in Rota’s direction.
The drengmaer turned, spotting the polecat. "What are you sniffing at, weasel?"
Whitefoot danced, making a boink boink sound as he hopped. She smells of lion carcass.
I wouldn’t tell her that, replied Emma.
Rota snorted, turned away and ignored the polecat, mumbling "varmint" under her breath. After hopping up and down to protest the drengmaer’s name-calling, Whitefoot stretched, found a spot and curled into a circle in the center of the plumpest pillow he could find.
Scrolls littered the covers where they sat, spread all around them in a semicircle. Gisla’s black lashes swept back and forth as she surveyed them. Her barley-brown hair tumbled down to the bed linens as she bent over for a closer inspection.
After Emma’s argument with Erik, an ache had started in the pit of her belly; she wrapped her arms around her middle. She tried to pay attention to Gisla, but a bog of emotion muddled her ability to focus.
Gisla chose one of the rolled parchments and spread the paper open. Runes swirled on one side followed by letters on the other. Emma barely recognized a handful of runes from Hallad’s early training—the skill was reserved for noble men—or at least that’s what Emma had thought before coming to Alvenheim.
"What are they?" Emma asked half-heartedly.
Rota snorted. "That’s right, girl. Don’t be too excited. Power can complicate a young girl’s life faster than a man can."
Olrun glared at her sal drengmaer from the opposite side of the room. "Talkative, lately, aren’t you, Sister?"
Rota scowled back before returning her attention to polishing her boots, though the leather already boasted a bright shine.
Ase waddled to Gisla’s side, thumping her cane as she walked. "You must always remember that power is a gift and not a given."
Gisla nodded her head.
"That goes for you, too, Emma."
But the girl barely heard her, her thoughts preoccupied with Erik and the wolves.
When she didn’t reply, Ase poked the girl with the end of her stick.
Emma jerked. She scrambled back, tightening her grip on her stomach, overreacting as if attacked by a thug. She hastily recomposed herself, but the old priestess squinted, studying Emma’s reaction.
"And power can be a burden, too, if you let it." The glimmer in Ase’s eyes settled into a serious look.
Emma cast her gaze downward, digging her fingers into her sides. The wolves are not a burden. They are my friends.
"Can I show her?" asked Gisla.
Ase must have nodded her agreement because Gisla sprang up and marched to the doorway. She took in a breath, composing herself. Her hands sought a rune weaved into the wall beside the opening.
"Nalaegr," she said. Her tone held a slight melodious quality, and though not beautiful, the sound was not unpleasant either.
Moments passed. Nothing happened.
Gisla pinched her lips tight, waving her hand over the rune once more. "Nalaegr." Her voice took on an emphatic quality this time, and instantly flader vines entwined, pushing outward from the walls, sealing the opening shut.
Emma gasped, shaken out of her preoccupation. Her power seems far more useful than my own. If I possessed a more active power like Erik or…
"Well done, child," said Ase. Pride tinged the old priestess’ smile.
"Have you learned all the runes?" Emma asked.
"Nei! I just started, but I am the only one in our group that showed ability—well, besides you, Astrid, and Erik of course."
Astrid! Of course!
Gisla practically hopped back to Emma and flopped down next to her. "I’m to be a Giver."
"We haven’t discussed that yet, child," Ase interrupted.
"Please." Gisla turned her doe eyes on Ase like a child begging for a new toy. "What harm could come from learning?"
"The danger isn’t in acquiring the skill, but in those who might seek to exploit your talents."
"What’s a Giver?" asked Emma, though her mind clicked with a new idea.
"Like an apprentice songvari." Gisla shuffled through the parchments and dug an emerald smock from beneath the piles, holding the garment beneath her neck. Emma recognized the uniform from a smattering of citizens throughout the Palace. "We tend to the Palace, the grounds, and people’s needs. It depends upon which element you prove your ability in, but all the while a mentor teaches you in song until you have excelled to your limit. If I show enough ability in more elements than one, I could even be a songvari one day! If not, I'll remain simply touched by the Mother, which for a Scandian would prove to be something special. Or if I excel in one element only, I'd be considered a weaver. I’ll start my first lesson tomorrow."
"If I agree," interrupted Ase.
"And you always agree!" Gisla batted her lashes at the older woman.
"That might work with a mutton-headed farm boy but not with a grizzled old woman l
ike me."
But the two shared a smile, regardless.
"And maybe," Gisla turned back to Emma, "if I prove to possess enough of the Mother’s touch, I could even be of use to your brother."
Emma’s forehead crinkled. "Hallad?"
Gisla’s gaze sought the parchments. She nodded her head sheepishly.
"You’ve eyes for Hallad?"
"Eyes, nose, hands, feet, and breeding hips," added Ase. The old woman’s gaze sparkled with mischief.
Redness flushed Gisla’s cheeks. She stared down at the scroll, though her eyes failed to switch side to side.
Emma’s heart surged for the girl. She reached out to cover Gisla’s hand with her own. The girl tentatively glanced up at her.
"Don’t get your heart broken by my brother," Emma warned. "As long as I can remember, Hallad has had eyes for his duty alone. I doubt he even realizes women exist." But even as she spoke, Emma’s thoughts wandered back to Astrid.
***
The next morning, Emma pretended to sleep. Erik clutched her around the middle, his arm heavy as an anvil. She had searched for Astrid the night before, but her sister was always occupied with either her brother or the First. When Emma had retired to Erik’s chamber, he ran to meet her at the doorway, swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down as tenderly as a sick child.
"I was worried about you," Erik had whispered, snuggling into the crook of her neck.
"I’m fine," she had lied, stiffening, pushing back the guilt over the plan that had been formulating in her head.
She’d figured exhaustion took Erik soon after. She knew he hadn’t slept in the days since they’d left Grimnear. And she figured she wouldn’t sleep until she managed to find a way to return to the wolves either.
So she waited for morning as images of Svol’s flayed flesh replayed over and over inside her head. When dawn finally broke, she hoped she wouldn't be too late to save him.
She wriggled from Erik’s grasp, careful not to wake him.
Whitefoot unfolded himself, yawning.
Where are we going?
He tottered to the edge of the mattress and sleepily tumbled down into the folds of Emma’s gown. The girl reached for the polecat, picked him up and cradled him in her arms as she exited.
Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 7
