Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (12 page)

"Shush child."

The woman fidgeted,
glancing down to examine the tiles in the floor, holding the cup further out
toward Emma.

Emma acquiesced. She
took the cup in her hand, placing the glass against her lips. The servant bowed
her head, unable or unwilling to watch. Erik swiped his hand at the goblet, but
it only passed through as if he didn't exist.

Emma hesitated. "Do
you think you could give me a moment to fix myself before we go?"

The servant raised her
lids, searching Emma’s face, and then nodded.

"Do not be long."

A tight smile stretched
Emma's lips. The servant hurried from the room with the tray. She hummed and
the door closed behind her. Erik wondered how the heavy stone door worked, but
couldn’t figure out a logical explanation. Emma sprung to the window, whistling
through her teeth. In answer to her call, the falcon circled once before
landing.

"Hello, my spotted
friend."

The bird cocked his head
back and forth. Emma sat the goblet on the ledge and cooed. To Erik's surprise,
the falcon responded by clutching the goblet in its beak. The creature flapped,
heaving his wings under the extra weight, then flew off toward the tree line.

Images spiraled in
Erik’s head as he tried to figure how Emma commanded the creature. He thought
of Emma on the Green cuddling a barn cat, a swallow perched upon her knee as
they lounged at Frey’s Festival, Avarr’s fiery gelding bending to Emma’s touch
and how she tamed the swan girl. He wondered at his love with new curiosity.

Before long, Emma’s
feathered friend sailed back. Emma stretched out her arm as the bird landed,
catching his talons in the material of her dress. She removed the empty goblet
from the falcon’s beak and cooed to him, smiling.

Nuzzling her lips into
his feathers, she whispered, "Thank you."

She dismissed him with a
click of her tongue and straightened the blue velvet of the gown clinging to
her curves.

Emma headed toward the
door and rapped upon the stone. A low hum answered her; the massive door swung
open. The corridor stretched before them and Erik strained to follow. When he
attempted to use his legs and arms to propel himself his progress slowed. So he
thought himself forward and discovered he floated along like a twig in a
stream.

Emma trailed behind the
servant, the length of her dress spilling over the tiles. The intricate
scrollwork formed archways every ten paces, a decorous display of leaves,
branches, flowers and wildlife, crafted by a meticulous hand. Erik wished his
little brother could view the mastery of artwork. Even the deftest carvings in
all of Birka looked like child's play in comparison.

The boundless hall rambled
onward and, although windowless, shone as bright as a summer day. The carved
ceiling glowed, emanating light from runes. Liveried servants passed, some
humming in a low voice. They were dressed in the same manner as the woman who
escorted Emma and all bore the same insignia on their sleeves—a tree digging
into the earth, a bubbling spring at the ground’s depths. All were taller and
fairer than anyone he had ever seen, even the plump escort. They reminded him
of Lothar. And Swan.

At length they reached a
double door, decorated with the crest of the tree. Humming again, the servant
passed her hand over a symbol on the doors. They opened as mysteriously as the
one in Emma's room. Erik thought he needed to learn the trick, but laughed at
himself, realizing it didn't matter one wit if he could open doors or not in
his present state.

A sumptuous outlay of
carved stone furniture, expensive drapery and velveteen cushions crowded the
massive room in front of them. Such a chamber would empty the coffers of the
entire Steadsby countryside ten times over.
What a vain indulgence,
Erik
thought, formulating an even worse opinion of Lord Lothar as he pictured
peasants starving for the extravagance.

Lothar swiveled around
like a drop of wax falling from a candlestick.

"There you are
love."

Emma's face burned as
hot as Erik figured his own sizzled. She scowled, her gentle face creasing in
anger. Erik would not have thought such an unpleasant state possible from Emma,
if he hadn't witnessed it himself.

"Oh, come now,
don't pout," said Lothar.

Emma reached up and
touched the side of her bruised face, letting her fingers rest there for a
moment.

"I have apologized
for my tiny indiscretion already. You do believe I didn’t mean it, don’t you
love?"

Two wolves wandered from
the shadows of the room, strutting to Lothar's side like trained soldiers. The
silver whimpered at Emma until Lothar glared at the beast. Then the wolf
cowered at Lothar’s side like the yellow-eyed black. The creatures reminded
Erik of the wolves that had stalked Hallad in the Great Wood so many moons
ago—the night he and Hallad had sworn the oath of blood brothers—and a shiver
ran the length of his spine.

"Put a smile on
that pretty little face and come see what I've brought you."

Emma refused to budge.

Ignoring her rebuke,
Lothar glided toward her producing a velveteen bag as he approached. The bag
wriggled like a hundred worms squirmed inside. He offered her the wiggling
mass.

Emma skeptically grasped
the bag then opened the drawstrings. A bit of her old sparkle shone through,
despite the bulging welt across her cheek, as she viewed the contents.

A masked face popped
out, nose sniffing the air.

Emma’s laughter filled
the room—the first happiness, Erik noted, since the night she had disappeared into
the Shadow. The weasel-like critter climbed up her arm, making its way across
the smooth fabric of her dress, sniffing at her neck and ears; then it licked
her earlobe with enthusiasm.

Lothar watched her,
pleased.

"How long have you
been able to speak with animals?"

"I don't know what
you mean," Emma replied.

"Come, now, don't
play coy. You spoke with the wolves and now with the polecat. I can teach you
to excel in your skill."

"I don't need any
more of your lessons," Emma replied.

He crossed the room,
slippers swishing on the floor. He stroked the bruise on her face with a
pointed finger.

"I am truly sorry
for that, my love. Please forgive me."

"I am not your
love," Emma shot back.

Lothar bent his finger,
tracing the outline of the mark with his nail.

"Your mother has
betrothed us, Emma. It would be better if you loved me, would it not? I will be
a kind and generous husband."

Emma's eyes welled.

"She’ll never
consent to be your wife! And when I get to you, I will rip your head from your
neck with my own hands for the injustice you’ve caused her!" yelled Erik.

Lothar stopped, looking
sideways in the air. Erik drilled into him as much as an invisible specter
could, and for a moment, Lothar's eyes came to rest on him. Erik flinched.

Can he see me?

With a smile, the lord
crossed the room and filled two chalices with the elderberry wine. He held out
a glass to Emma.

"Come love, drink
with me. Since the polecat pleased you, I will have more presents for you in
the future."

"You can't make me
forget," Emma whispered.

"Perhaps,"
Lothar replied. "Perhaps not."

He lifted his glass and
drank, waiting for her to do the same. She conceded and emptied a mouthful from
the cup. His waxy smile stretched wide.

"Very good. You may
go."

Emma forced a curtsey,
looking as if she would rather throw up on his shoes. The polecat worked his
way around her neck and snuggled in the back of her long hair, making a nest and
feasting on her earlobes.

With a clap of Lothar’s
hands, the servant woman returned, humming as the door opened, leading Emma
back through the corridors. Erik hesitated before he followed her, watching
Lothar leer at Emma’s backside as she left the room. Had he been in Steadsby,
he'd have taken the man’s life by law for the insult.

Erik concentrated and
found himself by Emma's window as she arrived in her room. The servant scuttled
out the door, humming as the heavy stone closed behind her. Emma ran to the
window and spat the scarlet liquid from her mouth.

Sighing, Erik allowed
himself a smile of relief. Could the liquid really make her forget? He didn't
know, but thanked the gods that she had the sense to avoid the vile drink.

Emma crawled into bed
and huddled beneath the feathery blankets, the black-masked polecat's long body
wrapped around her neck, his whiskers twitching at her cheeks. Tears streamed
from her wide gray eyes. Her new fuzzy friend lapped up the waterfall with
compassion. Erik watched, unable to speak to her, to hold her, to comfort her.
She brushed the sable fur of the critter, cooing as she had with the falcon, and
sobbed into the empty air.

"Erik, why haven’t
you come for me?"

"Stand still,"
the head drengmaer commanded, as she untied the knot of Hallad’s blindfold.

"Leave the binding
sister. I like him sightless," said Olrun, the larger of the two Headwomen.

Hallad tired of their
nonsense. They had kept him blindfolded and stumbling for hours as they
traveled and he itched to be free of the bonds, to seek out the clan’s head
priestess and make a plan of action that would enable him to stand up to his
responsibilities—not only for Swan, but for his little sister Emma. Regardless
of his new understanding about their half-blood relationship, Emma still wore
at his heart.

Activity clamored around
Hallad—feet shuffling, clanking noises, the bustling sounds of a small village.
Incense burned in his nostrils, the same pungent smell from the Temple outside
Birka. It mixed with the aroma of the deep forest—the heady scent of pine, moss
and earth.

The cloth dropped away
from Hallad’s face and he squinted to regain his focus. Swan stood next to him
like an exotic bird, her limbs light as feathers, yet strong enough to defy
gravity. Her hair added to the effect, an avalanche of white ice.

The only comfort as they
traveled was in her presence as she glided along next to him, knowing she would
battle these wild women with him if it came to that. Yet his confidence in her
devotion didn’t quench his guilt over Erik, Emma and his father. Hallad
registered a flicker of sadness in Swan’s eyes as thoughts of his broken
loyalties crossed his mind, but she turned away to survey their surroundings.

An expanse of towering
trees surrounded them. Elm, birch and evergreens, gnarled together, their
immense branches hung like a rooftop over the entire Sacred Groves of Freyja. Beneath
their mighty blanket several longhouses gathered in a circle, curving at an
angle to accommodate the trees’ massive trunks. The buildings acted as a gate
to the inner grove. With the oppressive IronWood as first defense and the
longhouses as second, the inner circle would be nearly impenetrable. Hallad
wondered if the outrageous tales of IronWood and valkyries could have been
spread by the women themselves as a third line of defense.

Women, hundreds of them,
hustled in and out of the grove. Some dressed as drengmaers, others in typical
women's garb, reflecting different Scandian areas in their design. A few
dressed in solid black. Those women moved with more purpose than the rest, as
if their concentration couldn't be broken, even by a sword.

Hallad had assumed the
woman of the cult would all be like Rota and Olrun, hardened warriors, the valkyries
of local legends. Instead their variety shocked him. They must have congregated
here from every part of Scandia.

Women halted, taking
notice as the group with their guards neared the circle of longhouses. Girls
carrying barrels and vegetables nearly dropped their bundles to stare. The
drengmaers, dressed in a variety of animal skins, leathers and equipped with
bows, swords and even weighty axes that only a man should possess the strength
to heft, gathered in distinct groups. Their dress reflected different animal
types: lions, wolves, beaver and bear, distinguishing the divisions of the
drengmaer clans. The warriors stopped in a perfect line, each woman partnering
with another, back to back. Some sneered. Others gawked as if they had never
seen a man. Swan closed in next to Hallad, arm to arm.

A black-robed girl
greeted Rota in their clan-speak. Rota nodded. She signaled to Ase. Ase bowed
her head in compliance to the girl, who turned and headed through the center
door of the longhouses. Ase and Gisla followed without a word, but when Hallad
attempted to trail them, Rota intervened.

"This way,"
she grunted, her crop of short hair bobbing like a thrusting dagger as she
strutted toward a group of women in skirts and aprons.

Rota led Hallad and Swan
through a longhouse a hundred paces away from the one Ase and Gisla had
disappeared through. As Hallad expected, weaponry stocked the inside of the
hall, acting as a pass-way to an inner sanctuary. The walls, thickened with
triple-widths of clay, led them to an opposite door. They exited to a circle of
houses built around a massive yarrow tree, older and wider than any other
Hallad had ever seen, seeming as if it had grown since the creation.