Authors: Angela Chrysler
Dolor and Shadow (3 page)
“Gudrun and I are both with her.”
“Gudrun isn’t.” Fand tipped her head ever so slightly. The black strand of hair fell back to her face. “Where is Gudrun, Aaric?”
“I don’t know.”
He felt her eyes scrape over him.
“You’re telling the truth,” she said. He could hear her smile fall. “You really don’t know.”
The space between them eased as he felt Fand back away.
“That child is better off dead than alive to me,” Fand said over her shoulder. “If Danann even suspects there was a child—”
“You will not kill Kira’s daughter,” Aaric said, meeting Fand’s narrow eyes.
“She would never have you.”
Fand turned and walked to the edge of the balcony. The wind whipped her black hair about.
“Where are you going?” Aaric called.
“If the mood suits her, Danann can track me,” Fand answered, staring out over the sea. “If I stay too long, it will raise questions. Once Danann withdraws her troops from Svartálfaheim, she will begin looking for you. And Gudrun. Once that happens, if I go near that child, Danann will find her.”
“You will not kill Kira’s daughter.”
“You can have your precious princess,” Fand said and released a chuckle. “But the moment Danann finds her, the moment that child knows…I’m coming for her.”
Aaric paid no mind as Fand took the shape of a raven. With feathers as black as her hair, she flew into the night, leaving Aaric alone with his princess.
Gunir
Ten years later…
Swann pushed open the heavy oak door of Rune’s chambers. The hinges whined and her silver eyes peered through the crack. The sitting room was empty.
Braver than she had been a moment ago, the girl threw open the door, slipped into her brother’s bower, and quietly closed the door behind her with her back pushed flat against the oak.
The hem of her silk chemise caressed her bare toes. Her golden locks framed her slender face before falling to her knees. A soft smile pulled her lips and, as she pushed herself off the door, she brought her hands to her front, clasping a small box filled with her newest treasure.
Skipping lightly, she crossed the Eastern rug that spanned the length of the grand sitting room. Dyed with reds and gold, the rug filled the sitting room with regal warmth and caressed the tips of her toes as she made her way to the dresser to rummage through her brother’s things.
Rich wood decorated every corner and ornamented the wardrobe, the tables, and the mantle. The desk, the chairs, even the wooden framework surrounding the doors and each of the four windows was ornamented with the craft of the Ljosalfar woodcutters. Few could claim their equal.
Humming a ditty, Swann arrived at her brother’s desk and riffled, combed, and turned over each artifact.
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,” she sang as she inspected a broken piece of thick, green glass that had come from the Desert Markets. “O’er the hill and through the dalr.”
Swann moved on to the center window and welcomed the earliest of morning light. A recurve bow and quiver resting in a chair didn’t interest her. Nor did the collection of sharpened swords splayed out on a corner table.
With a deep breath, she leaned out the window. Ignoring the courtyard below, she looked to Lake Wanern where the longboats creaked in port. Swann widened her smile at the sunlight and morning breeze as she turned her gaze to the east, beyond the city’s end and across the river to the Alfheim Wood.
A groan from the bedchamber pulled her from the window, and Swann grinned with rejuvenated excitement. Pushing off the window’s sill, she ran to the bedroom as if ready to burst from the news she was eager to tell.
* * *
Encumbered with sleep, Rune lay buried beneath a mountain of blankets, furs, and pillows.
“Rune,” Swann said in singsong.
He knew her voice, but couldn’t move to answer. A weight in the dreaming was holding him still.
“Wake up,” she said.
But Rune didn’t wake. Instead, the voice penetrated his dream and became part of it.
“Rune,” she said as she climbed his body like the steps of Jotunheim and sang, her voice as crisp as fresh fallen snow on ice:
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,
O’er the hill and through the dalr,
Where sleep’s joy spins my dreams.
There the moonlight finds its beam.”
Clutching her small box, Swann slipped on Rune’s hip and caught herself before breaking off into the second verse.
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,
O’er the hill and through the dalr,
Where the rolling brook doth play,
O’er the hill and far away.”
Without hesitation, Swann projected her voice into the morning air that blew in with the breeze through Rune’s chamber window. As Swann climbed and chanted, her locks spilled over the blankets like sunlight. Swann succeeded in perching herself atop Rune and shoved her face so close, the tip of her nose grazed his.
“Rune,” she shouted, pulling Rune from his dream.
With a howl, Rune pushed a pillow into his sister’s face, sending her falling onto her back with the pillow, her box, and her golden tresses. Undaunted, Swann jumped up and slapped the pillow back on Rune, who had pulled his blankets over his head. Before he could groan, Swann broke off into another verse.
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,
O’er the hill and through the dalr,
Where the ancient scrolls doth lay.
Think of their secrets far away.
“Ruuuuuuuuune,” Swann said, relinquishing the pillow.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaat?” The furs on Rune’s head muffled his voice.
Swann grinned.
“Great! You’re awake.”
Another groan.
With a hop, Swann said, “Rune, come. You must see. You must see. I’ve found one!”
Swann squealed as she bounced on her knees beside him.
“Found what?” Rune asked, refusing to budge from beneath the blankets.
“A Fae’s mound,” Swann cried and sang:
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,
O’er the hills and through the dalr.
Faerie song will lead you there,
To their sunlit halls so fair.
“Just like what Mother said,” Swann exclaimed the moment her song was done. “And ‘glowing as if sunlight flowed from the earth,’ just like the ones she saw in Eire’s Land.”
Huffing, Rune threw back his blankets. His blue-tinted silver eyes squinted in the light.
“You found a Faerie mound?” he asked, arching a single brow in doubt.
Swann nodded vigorously.
“Swann.” Rune slapped the furs. His lack of enthusiasm did nothing to deter her spirits. “I suppose I’ll have to go see.”
“Get up,” Swann said, throwing her hands into the air and leaping down from the bed. Her hair followed like golden rain.
“Not right away, Swann.” Rune swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I have lessons all morning with Geirolf. And if I skip them again, he’ll have my hide. Not to mention the Hel I’ll get from Father.”
Swann dropped her arms and slouched with the box still tucked away in her hand.
“But the holiday,” Swann said over a puffed bottom lip. “It’s Austramonath.”
“Not for another few days. The Dokkalfar haven’t even arrived yet,” Rune scolded and watched as his sister curled her bottom lip out further. “I’ll be around later.”
Swann didn’t move.
Rune groaned, throwing himself onto his bed and staring at the ceiling.
“When would you like me to be there?” he asked.
“Now,” Swann said, making a full recovery from her sulking.
“Swann,” Rune said, and she was on the bed again, holding her face upside down over his with a wide-eyed grin that never waned.
Rune batted at one of her locks.
“Go on ahead,” Rune said. “Do whatever it is you do in that valley of yours, and I’ll meet up with you before the sun is high.”
Her joviality fell again, but she did her best to hide her disappointment.
“That’s what Bergen said.” Swann sat back on her legs and did her best to not look too upset.
Rune crunched his brow. “Bergen’s back?”
With a grin, Swann nodded.
“When did he get back?”
“Just,” she sang, thrilled to know something her brother didn’t. “Look what he brought me back from Râ-Kedet,” she said and shoved her precious box into his face.
Rune sat up, turned himself around, and flipped up the latch. The hinges creaked. Inside, nestled in red Eastern silk, an egg gleamed in the light.
Vibrant, yellow circles capped each end where lines like sunbursts spilled into a black base coat. The rays met the peaks of deep, blood red mountains that encircled the egg. Their bases stopped where a wide strip of black enveloped the egg’s center. There, within the strip of black, a red circle drew Rune’s attention.
“It’s a worm,” Rune said as he made out an image of a snake, twisted into a signet until it had formed a circle. Two black slits, like eyes, peered from in between the snake’s body. A single yellow eye dotted its head and its tail and Rune turned the egg upside down.
“With two heads,” Rune said, seeing the dotted tail was indeed another head. He turned the fragile jewel over to find a second signet snake that mirrored the first. “Where did he get this?”
Swann bounced as if she would burst. “Bergen said it was a gift.”
Rune turned the egg over again, clearly unable to tear his eyes away.
“Did he now?”
“He said, ‘it was a gift from the queen, who ruled the lands below the White Sea’.” Swann repeated Bergen’s words verbatim with an air of mysticism as she stared at the ceiling in thought then leaned over Rune’s shoulder and added in a normal voice. “He said it came from a Sklavinian ship.”
“Sklavinian,” Rune said. He knew the name too well.
“Bergen gave you this?” Rune peered up at Swann. “All the more reason why you should heed Bergen’s request and go play in the valley.” Rune grinned and Swann sighed, taking back her egg with an eye roll that became a head roll. Carefully, she returned it to its silk and latched the lid like a treasured secret.
“You’re older,” Swann said. “I was hoping you would override Bergen’s instructions.”
Rune smiled. “Older by moments.”
“Enough to be heir.”
“Perhaps,” Rune said. “Besides, no one really tells Bergen what to do. Not even Father.”
“Before the sun is high?” she asked, looking up from her box.
Rune nodded.
“Promise,” Swann said, “and you’ll bring Bergen too.”
“I do and I will,” Rune said.
“
Hala,
” Swann announced and slid off the bed. As she ran from the room, she sang:
“Sing and skip o’er Faerie mounds,
O’er the hill and through the dalr,
Where the mystical spriggans play,
O’er the hill and far away.”
Forced to pull his body from bed, Rune stumbled into his garderobe and began to ready himself for the day.
A gift from the queen, who ruled the lands below the White Sea.
Austramonath was no excuse to skip lessons today, but Bergen’s return from Râ-Kedet was. If he hurried, there was time enough to hunt a bear and slip a little something into Bergen’s bed.
At the end of a barren road, a dilapidated stable stood as private as one could hope. Moss and turf more than an arm’s length in height buried the sagging roof. The sound of the city had long since vanished. Here, beside a fisher’s daughter, Bergen lay, his broad shoulders made wide from hours spent wielding a sword. Thoughts of a pair of deep black eyes, an intoxicating laugh, and the glow of copper skin had followed him all the way back to Gunir from Râ-Kedet.
A pain pulled at his chest and he shifted his head to the maid asleep beside him. Her back glistened white beneath a ray of sunlight. Strands of yellow hair flowed down her bare shoulders to spill over onto the furs.
For a moment, he imagined her hair black, and he shook his head to forget.
Her Nordic skin had never seen the unforgiving sun of Râ-Kedet. Had she lived in the desert lands, she almost would have the same glow as Zab—
Bergen pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t lay there much longer. Another time and he would have thought of little else. Another time, and he wouldn’t have permitted the maid rest. Today, he was a fool for trying.
Taking great care to not disturb Helga, or Hilda, Bergen shifted himself from beneath the blankets and pulled on his trousers. His black, shoulder length hair fell forward, blocking the girl from view. For that, he was grateful.
Coming here, trying to forget—
For two years, he had done little else.
Bergen took up his tunic and pulled it over his head.
“Hey, Bergen.”
The girl groaned.
Taking up his bag, Bergen turned for the door before his brother could—
“Bergen!”
Bergen stumbled out of the stables, dropped his bag at his feet, and gazed at Rune, who stood as tall as he.
“Ssssssh!” Bergen hissed, buckling his belt. His menacing silver-blue eyes, so like his brother’s, caught the sun’s light, making him appear more threatening than usual.
Rune grinned. “Not back half a day and already you lure one of your mistresses-in-waiting to your shack.”
Rune slapped his hand down on his brother’s back, hugged him briefly, and released him.
Bergen abandoned his feigned irritation for a wide grin and returned a slap to Rune’s shoulder.
“She was there on the docks when my ship came in,” Bergen said. “Now, dear brother, what would move you to disturb my lovemaking?”
Rune rested his backside against the little that remained of a weathered fence. “Another maiden has beckoned us to call,” Rune said.
A twinge of relief pricked Bergen’s chest, welcoming any delay from returning home where solitude waited to torment him.
“Swann,” Bergen said, doing his best to appear annoyed. He looked back to the stables. Without word or protest, he took up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“What about—?” Rune nodded at the stables as he pushed himself up from the fence.
Bergen glanced back at the doorway then shrugged. “She’ll forgive me,” he said and joined Rune down the dirt path toward the stone bridge that would carry them from Gunir into the forest to the valley.
“What news?” Rune asked, once the stables were well out of sight.
Bergen stared off to the end of the road that twisted behind a grove of birch trees as he sank back into memories of the last five years.
How to begin
, he mused.
Words would barely begin to describe the beauty of Râ-Kedet with her white sands turned gold in the sun. The alabaster palaces surrounded by the sea of sand-brick buildings, bristling with bustling markets that thrived on the trade ships coming in to port on the White Sea. Statues carved from limestone and ebony alabaster and great white pillars adorned every hall. Papyrus and palm gardens burst with life along the shores of the city and within the gardens of the Serapeum.
Everything was there, anything could be found in those markets, from Sliders and pet desert spiders to Eastern silks and fine curved blades from the Mountains of Khwopring. The ports overflowed with the latest innovations and astounding theories from the Deserts.
‘The city of gold,’
Bergen had often called it. “Hm,” he grunted.
Rune creased his brow and shifted a suspicious eye to Bergen. “Gone five winters and all you have to show for it is a grunt.”
“Not much to say,” Bergen said, batting at a low hanging branch still dripping wet with cool, morning dew. “Glad to be out of the desert heat.”
Bergen felt Rune scrutinize his cold demeanor before changing the subject as if deciding on a different approach.
“How was the Academia?” Rune asked, stepping over a root in his path.
“Burned,” Bergen said. “Three years ago.”
Rune tripped over his own feet.
“Burned three years ago and you’re only getting home now?” Rune asked. “What kept you?”
Bergen thought for a while before answering. “Obligations.”
Bergen felt the hesitation as a knot formed in his throat. So much for keeping his secrets.
“Obligations,” Rune said. His tone confirmed he doubted Bergen’s half-truths. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a ‘queen from the lands below the White Sea,’ would it?”
Bergen stopped dead on the trail. His lips tightened with the snarl he suppressed. At once, his thoughts drifted to a pair of black eyes and skin as gold as the sun. He was unaware that he had clenched his fists.
Zabbai.
A bird chirped, breaking the silence.
“Where did you get the egg, Bergen?” Rune asked.
The corner of Bergen’s mouth curled and he resumed walking. “Didn’t Swann tell you?” he asked with a hint of humor that told Rune he was in for a runaround that would delay the topic as long as a fortnight if he let it.
Rune shrugged. “No matter. I’m sure Mother would love to hear that you could have been back nearly three winters ago if a certain lady hadn’t detained you.”
“You’re a whelp.”
Rune grinned. “I am.”
Bergen inhaled the cold, sharp air of the Nordic winds that blew in off Lake Wanern. He released a long, quiet breath. “The Academia wasn’t just an academia. It was a shrine. There were days it felt like it damn near made up the entire city of Râ-Kedet. It had its own community that answered to its own laws. There were streets filled with dorms, gardens, markets, lecture halls, theaters, a museum—”
Rune arched his brow. “Museum?”
“The Muse’s Hall. It was the wing dedicated to the study of metric speech.”
“Music,” Rune said.
Bergen nodded. “Among other areas of interest. And a library, the largest this side of the Silk Roads.”
They followed their path toward the stone bridge that carried them over the river Klarelfr.
“The library is what kept me,” Bergen said.
Rune didn’t answer.
“Since its construction, the Academia has grown as the center of education in Râ-Kedet,” Bergen continued. “With the Muses and the extended teachings of Pl—”
“You’re losing your audience, dear brother,” Rune interjected. “I already skipped my lessons for the day.”
“The scholars collected everything that came into port,” Bergen said. “And everything that came into port was added to their growing Serapeum. Anything that could be used for study was taken. Every artifact was confiscated and housed in the museum, every written word taken and copied in the library. When my ship pulled into port five years ago, so were my manuscripts.”
Rune gave Bergen a solemn look.
“They took everything,” Bergen said. “Even letters. They gave us coin for our troubles, and the writings were eventually returned to us, but…” He shook his head. “…they would only return the copies the scriveners made. They kept the originals to be added to their library.”
“Your notes even?” Rune asked.
“Gone,” Bergen said, unable to meet Rune’s eyes. “All of them.”
“Naturally, you wanted them back.”
“Well, yeah,” Bergen scoffed. “So, I did what I do.”
“You caused a commotion,” Rune said.
“—which drew the attention of the woman who ran the place.” Bergen beamed.
“You didn’t,” Rune said with a feigned look of surprise.
“You’re mocking me.”
“I’m sorry,” Rune said as Bergen watched a pair of male sparrows land in the road, locked at the beaks. Wings flailed, throwing up a small puff of dirt, and by the time they were airborne again, their mood had subsided.
“So what happened?” Rune asked.
Bergen shrugged. “I found the school, enrolled, and traced my manuscripts back to the library where I got a job as a scrivener.”
“And the woman who ran the place?”
Bergen pretended to be interested in the trees ahead while he collected the courage to speak. “Turned out to be the queen of Râ-Kedet.” The knot in his throat returned.
“And the egg?”
Bergen shrugged. “Didn’t get to lay her.” His jaw tightened.
“The
egg
, Bergen,” Rune said.
“As common in Râ-Kedet as the Sliders for sale at market.”
“Bergen.”
Bergen sighed.
“The woman, who took my manuscripts—”
“—the queen—”
“—had found the egg on a Sklavinian ship.” Bergen shoved a branch out of his way.
“How did
you
get the egg?”
Bergen knew that flux in Rune’s tone and was suddenly aware of how much he had missed it. Rune wasn’t going to buy any story he manufactured, but he was going to try.
“She gave it to me.”
“Just like that?” Implausibility dripped from his tone.
“Right after the hunting and drinking,” Bergen said, smiling through his lie.
Rune raised a doubtful brow at Bergen.
“The Queen of Râ-Kedet went hunting and drinking,” Rune said, “with you.”
Bergen nodded.
At least that part of it was true.
“She did,” he said, still grinning.
Rune threw Bergen a look that told him he knew better, but Bergen held his gaze on the path ahead.
“Sklavinian artifacts are notorious for curses,” Rune said.
An old memory surfaced and Bergen failed to suppress a grin.
“I’ve had my share of experiences with the Sklavinian,” Bergen said. “And the artifacts release the curse only on those who steal from them. Besides…” Bergen waved his hand. “I’ve carried that thing now for three years and nothing’s happened to me.”
“How did you get the egg, Bergen?”
Bergen took a long moment, recalling the breeze that blew in from the sea that night. The desert moonlight had filled Zabbai’s chambers. Her cheeks glowed with a red that poured down her bronze neck, flushed from too much wine. Her eyes, like black pools, pulled him in too easily, even for him. Her lips…There wasn’t a day he didn’t regret not kissing those lips.
Bergen fisted his hand and did his best to ignore the tightness in his chest. If he had known then that his two years with Zabbai were at an end—
“She gave it to me in exchange for a promise.”
“Before or after you bedded her?” Rune asked.
Bergen flashed Rune a somber look, drawing Rune’s eye. “I didn’t bed her. Not this one.” Bergen returned his attention to the road. “No one did.”
Rune took an extra-long step over a bare root.
“Râ-Kedet has always…attracted…a lot of attention ever since trade was established centuries ago,” Bergen continued. “War is always on the horizon there with the rising Western threat that the Gutar brought with them across Danu’s River.”
“The Gutar?” Rune asked. “They were there?”
Bergen nodded. A shadow had fallen over his face.
“They destroyed the Great Temple not three winters before my arrival.”
Rune stopped and grabbed Bergen’s arm, nearly pulling him to the ground. His face had fallen white. “The Great Temple?”
Bergen nodded. “Destroyed.”