Fire and Lies (34 page)

S
ongs and screams filled the silence until Kallan was certain the voices she heard were no longer echoes. She screamed long. Kallan waited for her to stop, to breathe, to give voice to her plea, but all she did was scream a single, unending breath.

Kallan tried to see past the shadows, to see where the screams and music were coming from. She narrowed her eyes, unable to see beyond the tall, black figure among the darkness. She waited, hoping the swirling clouds would soon dissipate. She could barely make out the tall, wide back of a man. Sudden sticky warmth forced her to look down at the blood that dripped from her arms, and she was suddenly aware of the dagger in her hand.

She tried to move, but the blood pooled at her feet from a stream of red, holding her to the ground. The urge to throw up was strong as she followed the stream to her side, only a few arm lengths beside her. The screaming grew louder and the song grew clearer until she could make out the words.

“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,

O’er the hill and through the dalr,

Where the Fae King’s halls are gold,

Where they sing their songs of old.”

Snapping her head away from the blood, Kallan opened her mouth, peering through the shadow to call to the man for help. She knew she had said something, but the shrill sound and the song drowned out her voice.

Kallan tried to raise her arm, but failed to move, weighed down by the dagger she clasped. The black cloud wafted and ebbed like fog rolling in. She looked back to the trail of blood and tried to see through the darkness where the trail would end. She willed her leg to move, but her foot would not obey. She squinted in hopes of sharpening her sight.

There was something there in the dark at the end of the blood trail.

The darkness swirled and Kallan dared a glance to the man standing in the shadow. He refused to turn, to see what she now saw too clearly from behind. She opened her mouth to call out, to warn him, but no sound came. She wondered why she had to warn him.

Helplessly, Kallan watched as the new shadow raised its sword and thrust the blade through the man, into his back, and out again. Then the shadow was gone, leaving behind a stream of black blood that flowed. Red streaked the black floor and ran, like a stream, toward her and Kallan opened her mouth to join the screaming, but a song came instead.

“Through the wind the spriggans play,

O’er the sea where they stay,

The queen of Fae, she sits there still,

Tending the earth beneath her hill.”

Kallan’s empty arm was suddenly heavy. Shaking, she looked down to a bloodied silver sword in her hand. She jerked to drop the sword and failed. The screaming and song were growing louder. The sword and dagger pulled her down, and now she fought to stay up as the screaming persisted…as she lost herself in the music.

“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,

O’er the hill and through the dalr,

Where the mystical Fae King’s throng,

Fills the earth with ancient song.”

Kallan tried to thrash, to free herself from the blood that thickened around her boots. Black blood mingled with red. She couldn’t stop trembling there in the dark and the sword and the dagger pulled painfully on her arms.

“Through the wind the spriggans play,

O’er the sea where they stay.”

Kallan watched helplessly, peering up as the man fell onto his back and his dead, hollow eyes stared up at her. Dread pierced her chest like a sickle of ice and she forced her face from the lifeless gaze of her father, back to the blood that trailed off into the fog

“The Faerie queen, she sits there still,

Tending the earth beneath her hill.”

And all at once the song and the screaming stopped. The black cloud cleared and, at last, Kallan saw the naked body dumped in a heap on the ground as her long, golden hair flowed with the river of blood and her perfect, pale skin smeared with red.

Her lifeless, silver eyes stared out between the fingers of a perfect, red handprint, the scream and the song still frozen on her face, and a single slit from her breasts to her navel stretched the length of her belly, where the blood flowed from her and across the floor to the tip of Kallan’s dagger.

The screaming started again and Kallan snapped open her eyes to the black of night and the chill that came with the breeze. Strands of her hair were glued to her brow with beads of sweat.

Rolling onto her side, Kallan vomited and, almost immediately, realized the last scream had been her own.

Within minutes, her body settled and the hollow, massive chasm flooded back and she remembered. The bottomless empty eyes, the silver hair streaked with blood. Kallan sobbed. She closed her eyes for only a moment, but the images flooded back, too vividly to keep her eyes shut. She threw them open again, gasping and desperate for the dizziness to pass with the nausea.

“Easy,” Rune shushed, pulling her onto her back.

Kallan stared wide-eyed at the small fire he had going. Her hands violently shook as she willed her nausea to settle.

“It’s just a dream,” Rune said gently, still holding her.

Streams of hot tears fell from her eyes as she searched the open night sky. Kallan clasped her head, desperate for the images to stop.

“I dreamed—” Kallan gulped down a sudden rise of bile. Her lip trembled. “So much, I don’t want to remember,” she whispered. The hole inside of her only seemed to expand. “I saw my father in the dark among the shadows…and a girl…bleeding out from the knife in my hand…the knife.”

Kallan gave a sudden jerk of her palms as she remembered the weight of the weapons. Desperate to ensure they were gone, she pulled madly at her fingers. Memories of the black pools of blood surrounding her feet flooded back, and she curled herself up and rolled to her side. Tucking her knees against the bottomless chasm inside, Kallan hugged herself against the empty cold that penetrated her. She clutched her arms so tightly she bruised them.

“Kallan.” Rune pulled at her to sit up.

“Please,” Kallan begged, aching to stop moving and die. “Let me be.”

Forcing her up from the ground, Rune pulled her into him as he rested his chin onto the top of her head and sighed.

An unnatural cold permeated her core, leaving her unusually colder than the first of the winter winds should have allowed. Silently, Kallan shuddered beneath her sobs.

“Never, never,” Rune whispered as he rocked.

“The pictures don’t stop,” she said. “They invade my mind. Too many pictures…” She pressed her brow. “I can’t see them all.”

She was silent for a moment as she remembered the dream all over again.

“She screamed in the dark,” Kallan whispered, terrified to close her eyes. “And I killed her… Long, golden hair…white, white skin…and there was blood—so much blood.”

Rune rocked.

“She looked at me, but saw nothing with her silver eyes…through the palm printed in blood on her face.”

Rune instantly stilled mid-rock.

“So many faces,” Kallan breathed. “So many voices…and a song. There are too many…and they are screaming…and I can’t hear the words.”

Rune became rigid as he stared out into the darkness, his mind whirling faster than the deluge of pictures in Kallan’s head. Then he continued rocking, saying nothing.

“I can’t hear the words,” Kallan muttered.

T
hick clouds covered the skies that muted the first of the sunlight and promised more rain by the day’s end. It was barely after sunrise when a light sprinkle began. Kallan and Rune emerged from Swann Dalr and rode through the maze of rivers and trees, into the plains that preceded the Klarelfr.

The plains stretched on to the river. Over the stone bridge, they rode through the vacant streets of Gunir and on to the empty courtyard. There, Rune called out into the silence.

“Brother!”

Inside the barracks, still clutching his flagon and fatigued by the two-day evacuation, Bergen lifted his head from the table.

“Bergen! Brother!”

Despite his stiff back, sore from sleeping hunched over the table, Bergen leapt from his chair with renewed vigor, banging his knee on the table. He winced then bellowed.

“Roald!” Bergen rubbed his leg and shuffled away from the table.

“Geirolf! Thorold! They’re here!”

Before Roald could awaken, Bergen had taken up his sword, abandoned his flagon, and limped into the courtyard to greet them along with the wave of warriors Rune’s voice had alerted.

“Any news!” Bergen barked, pushing his way through the sudden crowd that seemed to be growing. “What’s the word?”

Gently, Rune pulled Kallan from Astrid and lowered her to the ground beside him as Bergen added a slap to Rune’s back in time to catch a glimpse of Kallan’s face. Weakened to the brink of tears, Kallan quickly lowered her gaze to the courtyard stone and collected Astrid’s reins, but not before Bergen caught a glimpse of gold in Kallan’s eye.

Instantly stifling his merriment, Bergen watched as Kallan quietly slunk off to the nearly restored stables with Astrid in tow.

“Torunn!” Rune called out after searching the faces for the key-keeper.

With her hair pinned tightly to the back of her head, Torunn scurried from the keep in a flourish of skirts and tightly-bound nerves. She stopped dead in her tracks at Rune’s voice just as he shifted an eye to Kallan. Her stiff nod confirmed her understanding and she accepted her orders and turned, making her way toward the Dokkalfr.

Rune had barely passed his reins to a nearby stable hand when Bergen managed the question.

“What happened?”

* * *

“How did the evacuations go?” Rune asked with a sigh as he pulled off his tunic and threw it to the floor of his chambers.

“The women boarded the ships with the children and set sail up the Klarelfr to the Northern Keep only yesterday,” Bergen answered, stopping in the middle of the room. “They should be well out of harm’s way.”

“What’s left?” Rune asked, pulling on a fresh tunic.

“We’ve moved everyone else into the keep and have nearly finished emptying the storage houses. Provisions have been counted.”

Rune idly nodded and poured himself a drink, taking a long, leisurely sip until Bergen gave an impatient grumble.

“Well?” Bergen growled. “Is there news?”

Rune lowered the drink from his lips and stared through the window at the gray sky. The rains had started to pick up again.

“Gudrun’s dead.”

Bergen dropped his jaw and jerked as if Rune had poured ice down his back.

“How?” Bergen mumbled once he found his voice.

Rune stared into his drink. After a long silence, he just shook his head, unable to explain who he saw or what he saw.

A fresh breeze blew through the window.

“Be ready to leave by morning,” Rune said and threw back his head, polishing off the mead before pouring himself another.

He gave a sigh after gulping down half the flagon.

“We will ride out to meet the Dokkalfar across the Klarelfr where the plains meet,” Rune said, still lost in idle thought.

“Where’s Daggon?”

The question dropped Rune’s shoulders and left him brooding as he emptied another flagon. This time, he took the flagon and didn’t answer as he trudged into the sitting room where Torunn had the fire roaring and a platter of food waiting.

Rune dropped himself into a chair across from the fire and threw back his head for another round.

“Where is Daggon, Rune?” Bergen asked, coming to stand beside his brother. His brow darkened with worry.

Rune pulled the flagon from his lips and heavily shook his head.

“We don’t know.”

Bergen pulled up a chair beside him.

“What happened?” Bergen asked.

Rune shook his head, unable to explain about the Fendinn or the woman or Aaric. He knew no words to explain how much Seidr had filled that tent. 

“There was a woman,” Rune began. “She and Kallan tried to kill each other. Aaric touched Kallan,” he said, trying to fit words to what he saw. “I don’t know how to explain it.” Rune thought for a moment. “Kallan changed.”

“What woman?” Bergen said.

“I don’t… I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before in my life. She had more Seidr than Gudrun, though.”

Bergen’s face fell white, then green with sick as Rune continued.

“Kallan looked as if…” Rune balanced the bottle on his knee, ignoring Bergen. “She saw something…and Aaric…” Rune shook his head. “He looked like he had seen the dead rise up from Valhalla.”

“Where is Aaric now?”

“The other side of Swann Dalr,” Rune said, returning the flagon to his mouth. “He was holding back that woman when he let us go.”

Bergen jerked his head.

“He let you go?”

Rune stared at Bergen over the flagon as he threw back his head for another drink.

“If Aaric wants her dead so badly, then why would he let her go?” Bergen asked. “Especially when he had someone right there who would do the job for him?”

“I don’t know,” Rune replied, shrugging as he stared into the flames.

The fire crackled as another breeze, stronger this time, passed through the window.

“The woman threw Gudrun’s head at her,” Rune said, keeping his eyes on the flames.

“Who is this woman, Rune?”

Rune shook his head.

“I don’t know. Aaric could have killed us at any time,” Rune said.

“But he didn’t,” Bergen said.

“No.” Rune shook his head. “He didn’t. He seemed more interested with keeping Kallan away from that woman than anything else.”

Bergen paused still reviewing the information.

“This woman, Rune,” Bergen said. “What did she look like?”

“Really, Bergen? Now?” Rune sighed and Bergen stood, pushing his hand through his hair.

“That’s not all,” Rune said. “After Aaric touched her, Kallan’s been seeing things…things she shouldn’t know.”

Bergen furrowed his brow.

“Bergen,” Rune said. “Kallan saw Swann.”

The blood drained from Bergen’s face, leaving his face stark white at the memory.

“Did she see—”

“I didn’t ask,” Rune said before Bergen could finish the question. “Kallan described her to me, exactly as we found her centuries ago. She was singing that damn song of yours in her sleep. Kallan woke up screaming. She doesn’t know what she saw, but the description she gave…” Rune shook his head. “The print of blood on her face…”

Rune lost his voice, unable to continue.

Bergen gulped down a helping of vomit as they mulled over what little information Rune had.

“She’s in no state to fight,” Rune said. “She was having issues just recognizing her men there. Joren’s report was right. They didn’t recognize her. Bergen.”

Bergen looked from the fire.

“They didn’t
know
her. They looked at her like she was a stranger.”

Rune brought the flagon to his mouth, sighed, and shoved himself out of the chair.

“Tomorrow we rise to battle. Tomorrow we meet him. Have the men ready by dawn.”

“What of Kallan?” Bergen asked.

As Rune pulled open the corridor door, he called back over his shoulder.

“Kallan stays.”

* * *

“What did you do to her?” Torunn snapped at Rune moments later as she closed Kallan’s chamber door behind her.

“How is she?” Rune asked.

Torunn’s shoulders dropped.

“She’s hungry, but won’t eat. She’s exhausted, but won’t sleep. She cries, but won’t speak. She just stares out the window in her bower. Occasionally, sleep forces her to nod off, but then she shivers awake and digs at her eyes. She seems afraid to close them.”

Rune exhaled and nodded.

“What is wrong, Rune?” Torunn asked.

Rune raised his eyes to meet hers and forced the words out for a second time. This time it was slightly easier, but sharper.

“Gudrun is dead.”

“Oh…” Torunn's hand flew to her quivering mouth and tears glossed the old woman’s eyes. Rune watched helpless as the center of his castle’s strength crippled beneath the news. Devoid of words to comfort Torunn, he gently patted her back and relieved her of her duties.

He didn’t look back as she hurried down the steps like her feet couldn’t beat the flood of tears that would come.

Rune drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“There’s going to be a lot of crying around here the next few days,” he muttered and pushed open the doors of Kallan’s quarters.

The sitting room was empty. Rune gazed at the rain that streaked the blues and greens of the solar glass windows and shuffled his way to the bedroom door Torunn had left open. Staring blankly out the window with tear-glazed eyes, Kallan sat with her arms tightly wrapped around herself.

Torunn had bathed and dressed her, and had the sense to slip her into a plain chemise and dressing gown. A single bare toe peeked out from beneath the hem. An untouched cup of steamed herbs waited on the small table beside her.

Rune’s chair scraped the stone as he pulled it around and seated himself across from Kallan. Casually, Kallan tilted her head to better see him and caught a line of gold encircling the vibrant blue of each eye. In a constant stream of falling tears, Kallan sat rigid and silent.

“Kallan.”

The rain splattered the keep, the courtyard, the stone window frame and Kallan stared and watched the rains as if the skies cried with her.

“I saw the water falling high from the face of the mountain. But Lorlenalin was gone. The mountainside was bare.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming. “I saw my father, but I didn’t know him…and I didn’t care.”

Rune sat quietly as he watched a fresh tear slip down Kallan’s face and she lowered her eyes to her fingers.

“What’s happening to me, Rune?”

Rune shook his head and gently replied, “I don’t know.”

“Where is Daggon?” She raised her face to Rune’s as another tear spilled down her cheek.

“I don’t know.”

Without an answer, Kallan looked back to the window and sighed as her tears continued to fall.

“Kallan.”

The courtyard seemed quieter. A dog barked.

“I can’t save them,” she whispered. “Not father, not Daggon… Not the children. Or Kovit.”

Kallan’s voiced cracked and she studied her hands again.

Rune resisted the urge to ask who Kovit was.

“Not Gudrun,” Kallan muttered.

“Your people need you, Kallan.”

“I’ve lost my people,” she said, raising her eyes to Rune’s. “My city…”

She heaved a deep sigh that left her exhaustion visible.

“Kallan, you must sleep.”

She shook her head and looked back to the window.

“I can’t,” she said. “The images…too many pictures… It won’t stop. When I close my eyes, I see the girl, the blood… So much blood. I couldn’t save her either.”

Slipping his hand into Kallan’s, Rune pulled Kallan to her feet with him. He could feel the burden bearing down on her.

“Come,” he said.

Too weary to battle Rune any longer, Kallan followed him to the bed. There, he passed her the cup of steamed herbs Torunn had left out for her. He distinctly smelled valerian root and something strangely aromatic rise out of the cup.