EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (95 page)

“I’m awake, Bera.”
 

Emma sat upright as Whitefoot stretched in her arms, opening one eye to peer at them.

“Let’s be off to the baths, child.”
 

Bera crossed the room. Her eyes dropped as she helped Emma out of bed. The old woman’s shoulders slumped, her mouth in a frown.

“Is everything alright? You seem—“

“Fine, child. Don’t you worry for this old woman.” She paused, lifting her eyes to meet Emma’s. “I heard of your mother. I am sorry.”

Emma grimaced. “Thank you Bera.”

“She is returned to the Mother’s breast now. Let that rest your mind.”

Emma nodded.

“Let us be off to the baths. I would have come earlier, but . . . I was detained.”

Emma complied, gathering a fresh nightdress from the closet. At first Emma thought the custom strange—the luxury of an entire room for dresses, shoes and jewelry—but now the convenience seemed rather reasonable.

How could Emma tell Erik she would be happier without him? The thought hung inside her like a dangling rope. Lothar could not be right. The lord lied—terrible, awful, painful deceits. They churned inside her like a knife in her belly, but Bera would know the truth.

The older woman’s shoulders slumped as she walked, leading Emma through the expanse of hallways in the castle of Holyfell. The stone-carved walls glowed, lighting their way through the maze of endless corridors. The jumble of hallways confused her and Emma would have found herself lost had Bera not chaperoned her wherever she went. At some point, she realized the runes must act like road signs and she resolved to study them whenever she was allowed to leave her room.

Bera kept her pace two steps in front of Emma as if she didn’t want to face her. Instinctively Emma knew something troubled the woman. Unlike Lothar, Bera’s emotions brimmed at the top like an animal’s with no intent to deceive. Emma would not have pushed an issue in such delicate circumstances, but tonight she required the truth about the dreams. If Erik appeared to her tonight, she needed to have made a decision. The thought of him in danger because of her sickened her, sending sharp pains into her stomach.

They entered the bathing room, a large, rounded chamber with huge stone tubs carved in to the floors. Out of the stone grew massive serpent heads, rising up as if ready to strike. The tall walls met a transparent ceiling, made from an unfathomable material. Stars glistened through, adding subtle lighting to the shining walls.

Emma removed her shoes, warmth searing her soles from the heated floor. Bera hummed a series of melodies while running her palms across runes set inside the doorway. The doors closed, as water spat from the serpents’ mouths, flowing into one of the circular baths. Emma sat on the edge of the stone floor, waiting for the warm water—warm!—to rise to her feet.

Bera settled herself behind Emma, untied the lace holding closed the back of her dress and helped her slip the gown up over her head.

“Bera?” Emma spoke so quietly she almost could not hear herself. The word hung in the air, mixing with the sound of running water. She turned to meet the old woman’s eyes but Bera averted her gaze.

Emma sighed, lifted her hand and placed her palm upon Bera’s hand. Bera lifted her head, looking at Emma, questioning.
 

“I know there is something wrong with you this evening.”

Bera twitched.

“But I won’t pressure you to speak of it, only if you need a friend.” Emma smiled.
 

Bera returned an uncomfortable grimace.

“But I also need a friend tonight. I have to ask you about the dreams.”

Bera’s face whitened. “Shush child!”

“You told me not to talk about them, but Lothar—“

“You didn’t tell him, did you? Say you didn’t, child.”

“Nei. Your advice stayed in my heart. I did not tell him.” Emma bit her lip. “But I think he knows.”

“Oh.” Bera’s voice sounded hollow.

The water level reached her shins. Emma removed the rest of her undergarments. She slipped onto a ledge in the pool, the water wrapping around her like Erik’s arms holding her tight and safe.

“I need to know why they are bad, Bera. Are they dangerous?”

Bera filled the bath with sweet smelling oils from an urn. The familiar scent of linnea flowers filtered through the room. The woman’s features tightened as she ignored Emma’s question.

“Bera, please tell me.”

“Child, I cannot speak any more than I have. Please understand.”
 

The older woman drew a sponge from a cabinet and scrubbed at Emma’s back.

“Please Bera, you must.” Emma’s voice sounded against the walls, startling her with its force. She dropped to a whisper. “Someone is in danger. Please.”

Bera closed her eyes against Emma’s words, her face contorting as her features stretched tighter.
 

“He . . . “ the words stuck in the air, “he frightens me.”

“Lothar?”

“Hush.” Bera glanced sideways as if she thought someone hid amongst the stone walls to listen to them. Then she nodded.

“He frightens me, too,” Emma admitted. “He has asked me to do something unbearable. That is why I must know about the dreams.”

“I don’t care much for myself, but for my boy. If he knew that I told . . . “ Her voice fell away as if tumbling from a cliff.

“He saved him, why would he harm him?” Emma drew her arms around her middle to calm her tremors; even the heat of the water was unable to keep her chills at bay.

“I have heard things that are better left unsaid.”

Emma nodded.

“He even . . . “ Again the older woman’s voice trailed off.

“Even what?”
 

Bera shook her head, her eyes like dams trying to hold back a mighty river.
 

“I do not know what I say.”

Emma nodded, letting the woman escape from the words.
 

“Is there something evil in the dreams?”

“The Palace says anyone who shadowwalks is subject to the call of the Shadow. Shadowwalking is different from regular dreaming. You see things in other places, people who actually exist. You glimpse into their worlds.” Her voice deadened. “Like when you see your love, it is real.” Bera took a breath. “Then the Shadow comes. You cannot hide from it. It seeks you, hounds you, until you give in. Those with the Mother’s touch can be strong enough to resist, but those who cannot feel her sink into the Shadow.”

“Could someone get hurt? Or killed in the shadowwalk?”

Bera’s thick gaze met Emma’s. “Ja, child. Or worse.”

The confirmation was all she needed. Emma knew what must be done.

Chapter XXXIII

“O
UR
GUESTS
HAVE
A
GRAND
need. A legendary quest is at hand. We have gathered as a village to decide the best way to offer our help to these travelers who have become our friends and brothers.” Elder Eitri spoke to the crowd assembled deep within the bowels of the Skaggs. His words lingered in the cavern, echoing off the moist walls and ceiling of miniature stalactites—so delicate they resembled winter’s first icicles on the godhi’s longhouse back in Steadsby.

The Elder sat in the center of a long table, surrounded by other impossibly old dwarves. Villagers crowded on wooden stools in front of the table. The cavern of the meeting hall stretched into blackness; the entrance to the fabled gold mines of the dwarves stood several paces away.

Erik fingered the key beneath his shirt.
 

This is stupid.
 

He wondered how long he’d have to stay here, listening to this quest nonsense. It was bad enough he had to listen to Rolf’s far-fetched stories, but now an entire village indulged in the absurdity.

Rolf perched himself on the edge of his seat, eyeing the dripping rocks and bolted doors, an unbreakable smile spreading from ear to ear.

Erik squeezed his fist around the key. At least he hadn’t heard the voice again—the one who promised him Emma. He wondered if it would be so bad to hear it again, and to see her, touch her, smell her once more. He shook his head.
 

Tricks. Lies,
he told himself.
 

But his mind convoluted, mixing images and thoughts. He couldn’t keep them straight. And here he sat listening to a bunch of half-wits and dwarves deciding how he would travel. By Thor’s thunder, he would not have allowed such nonsense moons ago. He cursed himself for letting his spine soften. His hand rested upon the clandestine key as the smooth metal soothed the skin beneath it.

The assembled villagers nodded and mumbled agreement as Elder Eitri continued, “We help those in need. Service has always been the dwarves’ destiny and these young men have a great need.” He paused, searching the crowd with his good eye; his other eye was a mass of sagging wrinkles, like a knot in an aged oak.

Someone hollered out from the crowd, “Elder, what is the need?”

Others nodded. The same question rolled off their tongues.

“Before I tell you, I want you to realize there is great danger in this quest. It is not to be undertaken without serious consideration.”

The villagers mumbled consent.

“Our new brother, Erik, has lost his betrothed to the Shadow.”

Erik’s eyes darted at the word betrothed. If anyone had spoken those words in Steadsby, Thyre would have had Erik tried by the Hall for his improper proposal. Elder Eitri possessed more layers than Erik thought.

A short roar of outrage passed through the crowd.

“It is the council’s belief the girl is alive, but being held in another realm. One a few of you have heard the stories about. One called Alvenheim.”

The old man knew more than he ever let on. Erik jumped from his seat.
 

“Where is this Alvenheim?” he demanded, the old fire burning his belly.
 

Elder Eitri’s one eye narrowed, catching a mirthful light, causing Erik to realize the Elder aimed the words to rile his attention. He settled himself back down, scowling.

“We know little of this place. I have ventured there once in my physical form, many, many moons ago, when my younger bones could carry me.”

“Alvenheim,” whispered Rolf. “The realm of the elves.”
 

Rolf’s eyes danced in the dim cavern. Fire blazed from wrought iron sconces, smoke escaping through metal vents in the walls.

“Not quite right, lad.” Elder’s wrinkles weighed down his smile.

“But the lays say—”

Others nodded in agreement, but the old man cut him off, shaking a bony finger.

“Truth for one man is lies for another. You’re brother knows this, but he also needs to learn to see past his anger so the truth may be revealed.”

The villagers hushed, some nodding, others staring in confusion. Rolf’s face twisted, his brows creasing over his amber eyes. He glanced at Erik.
 

One man’s truth! Who is he to tell me what I must learn?
Erik’s heart thumped. He tightened his fist around Emma’s key.

“Then what is Alvenheim? Aren’t there elves?” Rolf’s passion for a new story never let his curiosity rest.

“We exist,” the Elder said. “But we are not the dwarves you speak of in your lays, or tales or fireside stories.”

Rolf nodded, the mass of his auburn hair catching the light of the fire. “So the elves exist, but not like we think?”

“I believe you will discover your answer soon. Then you may carry back your own stories and we will know for sure.” The old man spread his arms wide. “But for tonight, our problem is getting there. This place exists, but not as we believe. The council and I have decided the best we can do is to offer these young men a guide.” Elder Eitri bowed to his left and right, including the dwarves seated at the high table. “Someone to help them travel to Alvenheim.”

The crowd mumbled and nodded again.

“We do not require a guide!” interrupted Erik. “You don’t even know how to get there!”

“Erik, please.” Rolf’s torn look struck Erik. Swan’s warning
you must find another way
surfaced, but he shoved it away.

“Brother, we’ve wandered for days.”

“We haven’t wandered.” Erik’s hands shook. “I know where we are going.”

“Ja,” said the Elder, “But do you know how to get there?”
 

Erik gazed at the Elder. He knew much, this gnarled old goat.

“What could it hurt, brother?” Rolf coaxed.

Erik’s breath constricted within his throat.
Learn to see past the anger.
That’s what the old goat said. Anger. How long had it fueled him? Long before Emma, even though he told himself this was about her.

“It will not hurt. But I won’t tolerate anyone who slows my pace or gets in my way. Is that understood?” Erik didn’t know who he asked, yet the question weighed the entire room. Rolf’s relief spread a smile over his face.

“Good.” The Elder’s voice steadied the onlookers. “So, the one who guides the journey will require two things.” He paused, waiting for the crowd, but they fell silent like frightened cattle—Erik the wolf in the bush. Elder Eitri waited even longer.

Finally, a rough-faced dwarf stood. “Gaut should go, he is the strongest. It will take great strength for such a journey.”

Some nodded at this suggestion, yet another stood. “Ostman is the best tracker and huntsman. They will need such a man.”

Yet another dwarf called from the back of the cavern, “Intelligence. That is what they need. Ingvar’s mind is quicker than a rabbit.”

“Lut reads the stars. He can guide them by night skies. Plus he has the courage of a mountain cat.”

Elder Eitri’s hand rose and the suggestions halted.
 

“The first thing the man chosen for the journey must have is knowledge of magic.”

“Ah.” The crowd paused, reflecting.

A woman spoke. “Elder Eitri should go. He is the Sage of our village. He says he has been to this place once before. He knows the way.”

The villagers agreed, but Elder Eitri cut in.

“I am afraid my old bones have seen better days. Nei, this quest is meant for a younger man. Andvarri will go.”