EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (93 page)

The figure of the raven-marked goddess flickered, threatening to expire. Her speech tinged with impatience. “I must see her now.”

“As you command.” Ase and Serpent Mother spoke at the same time, each scrambling to their feet, heading in Hallad’s direction.
 

Hallad rounded on his heels, lurching back through the tunnel, then realized if he continued they would spot him running away. So he turned as they came through the curtain, the wavering figure floating behind them.

Serpent Mother’s eyes rested upon him first. He backed up down the tunnel and reached Swan’s chamber. When he turned, Rota and Olrun blocked him. Rota looked as if she wanted to wrestle him or put a snake down his trousers—he didn’t know which would be worse.

“This is him,” Ravenna stated.
 

The goddess’ eyes flicked about him, but never quite on him. The candlelight cast a sheen on the frame of black hair pulled tight on top of her head, causing mahogany highlights to materialize against the sea of blackness.
 

Serpent Mother nodded in reply.
 

“My time shortens. The girl.”

After they all scowled at Hallad, they turned toward Swan’s sleeping body. Ravenna examined the girl, her gaze flickering around Swan’s figure.
 

“She has gone far into the walk. I will discuss this predicament with the Council of Norns. Do not take any action until I return.”

“What will happen to her?” asked Hallad.

All eyes rounded on him.
 

Ravenna cocked her head, focusing on the space around his crown and shoulders, the black raven on her cheek darkening as she began to fade.
 

“Her body will die within two of nine moons if she does not return to it. Her soul will wander with no vessel to return to. Our lands will be lost. You, too, will most likely die. And the Shadow will succeed in destroying Mother Nerthus.”
 

Her words sliced through him, her anger apparent as if he caused the situation. The other women accused Hallad with their glares, as if they blamed him as well. Hallad’s insides twitched at the rebuke, knowing they had a valid point.

Ravenna added, “Know this. You must not be separated from her, now or ever. Do you understand?”

Hallad nodded. He understood the gravity of her words—even now, pain rived through him at their separation. If he lost her to the realm of the gods, he did not think he could suffer her passing.

“Stay here and I will come for you both.”

“Where will you take us?” asked Hallad.

“Glitner. In Alvenheim she will be nearer to the Mother, the one you call Goddess. She’ll have a better chance for survival with the Mother’s connection so near.”

“How will you take them back?” Serpent Mother asked. “I thought you could nei longer transport us.”

Ravenna nodded. “Gateways can only be opened by those strong in the Shadow, but most of those with his touch have turned to his service. Never-the-less, the Council of Norns will meet and we will find a way.”

“But you do not know for sure,” said Hallad.

“Nothing is ever sure.” Ravenna’s image flickered in and out. “But for the time being, her best chance resides with me and the Council of Norns. So you must wait.”

Wait
, thought Hallad.
I’ve had enough of waiting.

As Ravenna’s body dissipated, she added, “May the strength of the Guardian be with you.” Then she winked out, the blackness of the raven on her cheek Hallad’s last remaining sight.

Chapter XXX

S
ERPENT
M
OTHER
’
S
GAZE
SETTLED
ON
Hallad. He tightened his jaw against her stare.
 

“I can make it through to Alvenheim,” he stated.
 

All eyes darted, looking at Hallad as though he stood naked in a briar bush. Olrun’s mouth dropped open. Serpent Mother leveled her eyes to his.
 

“Those who spy have nei honor. They cannot be trusted.” Serpent Mother flipped her silvered hair back over her shoulder, dismissing him without further due, turning her attention to the drengmaers. “I will deal with you two later.”

The sal drengmaers cowed, shoulders shrinking. Either woman could have Serpent Mother on the floor in moments, begging for her life, but the High Priestess’ demeanor radiated with such power none dared to defy her. Her scrutiny caused Hallad’s pulse to quicken.
 

“I can get through to this place she calls Glitner. I can take Swan there.”
 

Even as the words left his mouth, he prayed it would be so. Ravenna had said she would speak to the Council of Norns. If Norns were the fabled keepers of man’s fate, why couldn’t they weave their threads and force the situation to their ends? Something did not ring with truth and Hallad questioned the woman’s goddess-like status.

None of the women acknowledged him.

“Who is Ravenna anyway?” asked Hallad.

Serpent Mother swirled on the balls of her feet, her smooth face emotionless.
 

“She is the First Walker of the Norns.”

“I have never heard of a walker before.”

“It is quite possible there are many things you have not heard of.”

“True.” Hallad expected her to treat him as if he were nothing more than a child to be schooled. “But doesn’t it seem strange to you? If she holds the power of fate, why can she not mend the threads that hold my sister and wake her?”

Serpent Mother’s voice grew softer the longer she stared at him.
 

“Ravenna sought us out many seasons ago, when I was young, when your mother was young, before your birth. We were chosen by her as our women have had a long relationship with their realm. She explained to us their ways are not as we have imagined them. They do not tell us how or why. They do not need to. Man makes their own stories and histories to his own liking. Perhaps we would not like the truth. Perhaps knowing the gods we worship are as helpless as we are would frighten our people, and render them hopeless.”

Hallad turned her words over in his mind. For the first time, he considered a world without gods and goddesses, but other mortals in far off realms, who only abused the power that comes with being thought of as a supernatural being.
But if her words spoke true, and the powers of the gods he had learned of from childhood did not exist, then Swan’s danger increased tenfold. If Hallad could prevent her death, he would need to depend on his own mindfulness and quick action. He stretched his hands into his trousers, pulling out the golden medallion the ward had given him and held the piece up for all to see.
 

“This will show me the way.”

Their eyes lit upon the yellow circle like children watching honey-bread rise.

“Where . . .” Ase’s voice disappeared, unable to complete a sentence.

“The man who killed Thyre called me Guardian, warned me of Conspirators waiting for me to cross and gave me this medallion.” He neglected to tell them of the man kissing his hem, afraid his face would flush if he uttered the words.

Ase’s eyes darted, taking in every angle, every detail of the medallion. The gold piece had settled into a flat surface on one side. The runes on the other side had been replaced with the symbol of the Guardian Tree with a raven pecking its roots—the same raven blackening Ravenna’s white cheek.

Serpent Mother reached a smooth hand out as if to grab the medal, but Hallad snatched his hand back. The medallion was his only bargaining chip and he meant to use it well. He’d had enough of relying on other people’s choices. Today, he would stand on his own. If he failed, and he prayed to the gods he would not—if the gods even existed—he would be assured he had tried as hard as he could.

“The face changes when I concentrate. Runes appear, like a riddle.” Hallad knew he could not manage a demonstration, since it had only happened once, but his gut told him the medallion would reveal his path.

Serpent Mother said, “We will study it. You will wait as Ravenna commands.”

“Nei. This is meant to show me the way through.”

“It could be a trap,” warned the High Priestess. “You do not know who that man was. He could be on their side.”

“On whose side?” asked Hallad. “Do we even know who we are up against? Has your Goddess told you that?”

“Watch your tongue boy!” Even though her voice thundered, her features remained emotionless.

Those features sparked familiarity. Hallad recalled that Serpent Mother had called herself Isla’s sister, his aunt. His heart thrummed, realizing how much she resembled an older version of Swan. He remembered the moment he and his twin had met Serpent Mother on the dais, how the High Priestess examined Swan, and the void inside her—a similar hollowness that tarnished his own father’s memory. Isla must have been a mighty woman to have left so many with such deep memories and deep hurt. Hallad gestured toward his kin.
 

“You are my mother’s sister.” It was not a question, but a statement, delivered in a tender boy’s voice—a voice he thought he had left back in Steadsby, back with his father.

Serpent Mother blinked. Her face remained smooth as silver, like a numbness washed throughout her being.
 

“You will stay as Ravenna commands, as I command.” She turned, her skirts whisking the ground as she walked away, a cloud of black in the candle-lit glow.

“I will not!” The steady rise of Hallad’s voice gave way. “I will not wait any longer!”

Ase’s lips twitched into a smile. Rota scowled, deepening the crags in her face. Olrun looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or attack him. But Serpent Mother’s face remained placid.

“I waited for help with my sister, Emma, and now she is in mortal danger. I waited on my father’s order and now he is dead. You will not have me wait and watch Swan die too!” Hallad’s arms bulged with his veins, as his fingernails ground into his palms. “I will not watch her die!”

The air thickened. No one spoke. The candles flicked, turning time, and the anger slowly boiled out of Hallad. He realized that must be what Erik felt like—tongue raging, his emotions spilling. His father had warned of passion as a weakness; but it boiled up out of him, demanding he take action and felt like a dam had broken inside him, with all the waters of the Syrra rushing forward.

Still, no one spoke. He thought he could stand before them for eternity without an answer.
 

Finally, Hallad added, “Good, then. We are agreed.”

Hallad paced and packed all night long. Ase warned him to rest before his journey, but sleep reminded him of Swan. He hovered over her, her shallow breath wavering, as if a death mask waited for its moment to capture her.

The drengmaers had moved his sister from the sanctuary to an adjoining room in the Hall of the Hearth. Women attended her without pause, checking her status and wiping her brow with a foul smelling herbal mixture. The women of the Hearth allowed Hallad to come in and out to check on his sister; he did so the remainder of the night, while the women helped him to pack, darned his clothes and prepared food.

“This is too much,” Hallad insisted as the piles of supplies heaped.
 

But the women refused to stop gifting him with dried meats, breads, cheeses, furs, clothing, bedding, flint, pots, cutlery and every imaginable travel convenience. When he offered them silver for their efforts, they called Hearth Mother. His insult struck across the woman’s face, rivaling the indignation of any fine born Mistress of the Hall, so Hallad conceded to the gifts.

Hallad continued to pack until the morning broke through, bird song burgeoning from the canopy of trees. He thought the creatures should be silent, in reverence for his troubles, then scoffed at his arrogance for the self-centered belief; as if the world should cease while his problems festered.

Even without sleep, his muscles jumped beneath his skin, ready for action. He felt alive—he had taken control, going when he wanted to go, doing what he thought was right. Hallad slipped his fingers into the new trousers the women had tailored for him and ran his fingertips over the slick metal of the medallion’s design. Without looking, the design sprung into his mind—the mighty ash of the Guardian Tree—almost identical to the signet his father had given to him, except this one bore a raven gnawing the roots of the tree. In comparison the craftsmanship of his father’s pin seemed crude. Until now, Hallad thought his own signet the finest in Scandia. He realized how much he didn’t know—how much he had to learn. The weight of his ignorance wore on him, drowning him as if he whirled in a pool of stupidity, waiting for some tidbit of knowledge to seep through to him. All the lessons his father had taught to him had become painful reminders that knowledge and experience were two separate masters and he must learn from them both if he intended to
make it right
.

Hallad’s gear sprawled in the corner of the Hall of the Hearth as he bent to examine his belongings one last time. The door thumped behind him. He swiveled. Rota, shadowed by Olrun, strutted toward him. They wore determination on their faces like war paint. The sight of their lips set in tight lines bunched the nerves in the back of his neck. He had known them long enough to know they were up to something.