Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (10 page)

Rolf scanned the
skyline. The Skaggs jutted in the distance, mighty jagged giants.

"Smoke," said Rolf
as he pointed a finger out to the vestr where a spiral of white lazily reached
toward the clouds.

"Perhaps we'll have
a warm bed after all."

The guilt of Rolf’s
presence distressed Erik and in the same breath that he wished him home and
safe, he was thankful his brother stood by his side—especially after Hallad’s
betrayal.

In the days after
leaving Hallad, Erik’s anger won over and he found himself exploding at Rolf
for minor offenses, especially when he discovered Hallad had gifted his brother
with a small silver coffer for supplies. Erik refused to use the coin, though,
doubling back to Birka and forcing Rolf to trade his sculptures for bedrolls
and provisions. Rolf soured at the suggestion until he discovered how much his
artwork purchased. He had earned his bragging rights and was not shy about
reminding Erik of his skill—comparing his ability to the mythic dwarves—making Erik
wish they’d done without.

Once out of Birka's
valley, Rolf had blurted, "Guess who I saw at the docks!"

They'd played this game
on the way to the priestess's Temple, but no one had acknowledged him. Erik
felt obligated by his brother's faithfulness to finally indulge his brother.

"Thyre!" Rolf
had exclaimed. "The godhi's wife!" He had said again, waiting for
recognition to spark.

"Was she alone?"

"She made a deal
with a rough at the port. Saw her trading a velvet pouch. I'd bet the godhi's
wife had a pound of silver. Probably spent her husband’s entire year’s profits
on jewels and charms."

Erik had struggled with
the desire to turn tail and tell Hallad, but in the end the drive toward Emma
won out. Now they traveled toward the foothills of the Skaggs.

"Brother."
Erik looked at Rolf sideways. "Have you ever heard of a magic that could
see into the realm of the gods?"

"I have at least
ten lays on the subject alone." Rolf swept back his mantle, but Erik
raised his hand to stop him from launching into a tale.

"What have you
heard?"

Rolf frowned. "Why?"

"Forget it."

Erik jabbed the black
with the back of his boots, quickening his steed’s pace.

Kicking Idunn into sync,
Rolf trotted up next to Erik, a perplexed frown creasing his lips.

"The tales speak of
a place called Upsalla. Priests hold the ability to see into the land of the
gods, to see across nations. Some say even to see into the hearts of men."

Erik listened, focusing
on the column of smoke rising before them.

"Do you think it's
true?"

"True? By a scald’s
own words, I'd stake my life on it." Rolf paused, fingering his sparse
beard. "But that's not the whole of Upsalla. Upsalla is ruled by a priest.
The priest claims a man’s soul through blood sacrifice in exchange for the
power to see into dreams and other worlds. They hang their sacrifices upon a
tree before the bloodletting. It is said to be a gruesome scene."

The sun sunk over the Skaggs
and a crisp evening breeze kept the horses at a quick trot.

"Is it like
seidr-craft?"

"By the gods, nei! It's
not women's magic, though I've heard of tales of valkyries who can touch dreams
and shift shapes and such, I doubt it is the same. Why do you ask?"

"Nei reason,"
Erik assured him.

But Rolf’s statements
confirmed Erik’s belief—his visions of Emma were real. Though the thought of
possessing such a power sent a rivulet of revulsion throughout his body, the
knowledge also provided hope.

A shabby longhouse
appeared in the distance. The family of such a meager dwelling would have
little to share, but Erik’s stomach fouled at the idea of one more night of
Rolf’s burnt meals. Eating his shoe leather after a hundred league march held
more appeal.

"Our host’s table
will be modest tonight, brother. We’ll have to lend a strong arm for our
accommodations."

Rolf frowned, lifting
his long hands from his reins, examining them.

"You want these
hands to do menial labor?" He raised his brow, acting as if Erik had asked
him to clean the privy.

"It won’t kill you."

"You think not?"
Rolf stretched his arms, palms forward, toward Erik. "These are the hands
of an artist!"

The sides of Erik’s lips
puckered until he burst into laughter.

"You think that is
a jest?" Rolf tilted his nose to the breeze. "You didn’t think it was
so humorous when my carvings bought our bedrolls."

"Well then,
brother." Erik squeezed out words between his guffaws. "Or Master
Craftsman E
xtraordinaire
," he
said, with a mocking sweep of his arm. "What would you have us do for our
dinner?"

"As any man. Buy
it."

Erik’s brows shot up in
warning.

"What would you
have me do with all this silver?"

"I told you once. I
will not use
his
coin!"

A pregnant silence
swelled between them. The horses quickened their gait at the scent of burning
wood. Two weathered longhouses with straw-thatched roofs sat in a clearing. Over
a dozen head of cattle and sheep roamed beyond the structures, bowing their
heads to the yellow grass beneath. A hungry dog barked at their arrival,
positioned in the middle of their path.

"I will sing for my
supper." Rolf cleared his throat, testing his voice with a resonant, "La,
la, la!"

Erik chuckled again, and
then conceded. "They wouldn’t get much entertainment in these parts. You
may even do."

"I will at that."
Rolf sang low in his throat. "I love to go swimmin’ with bow-legged women,
and swim between their—"

"Rolf!" Erik
yelled.

"What?"

"Stick to the
classic lays!"

"Why?" He
asked, still humming his bawdy tune.

"Because, I don’t
want to be chased into the foothills before nightfall!" Erik arched his
brows again.

Rolf gave in, letting
his melody disappear into the air.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I’ll stick to the
lays."

"The lays,"
Erik confirmed.

Two figures appeared out
of the longhouse: a middle-aged woman cloaked in stiff woolens, and a man bent
from years of hard labor.

"Ho there
strangers." The man raised his hand in greetings. "Where do you
travel?"

"We are headed for
the Skagg foothills, but require a goodly rest and warm ale, perhaps even a
night’s rest before we move on," replied Erik.

The man grimaced. The
woman clung to his side.

"Headed to the
foothills, you say?" The man hesitated.

"Ja," Erik
replied, shifting in his saddle.

The man’s face clouded
with apprehension. A scowl crossed over the woman as she glanced at the Skaggs
a league in the distance.

"Of course you’re
most welcome to the bounty of our table."

The man gestured them
inward.

Dismounting, Erik tossed
the reins over the head of the black, patting her across her withers. Rolf
grinned, hopping off his mare. Idunn snorted, tossing her head in the air,
eager for a rub down.

"One of my
daughters will tend to your beasts." The man’s frown released and he threw
his hands up. "I have nine. Nine daughters."

Rolf whispered, "Oh,
I love to go swimmin’ with bow-legged women."

"Rolf," Erik warned.

"I know, I know. Stick
to the lays."

"Where abouts in
the foothills are yah headed?" The farmer furrowed his forehead. His
knuckles protruded from his tight grip on his spoon as he dipped into the runny
porridge.

Rolf worked his jaw
uselessly for a moment, eyeing one of the farmer's robust daughters as she
passed the table with a mead horn, filling each man's glass to the brim.

"Vestr then nordr."
Erik sopped up his own soup with crusted bread, sandwiching the mush in order
to plop the salty concoction into his mouth without dribbling.

"Ever traveled
those parts before?"

The old man clanked his
spoon in the bowl, motioning for more from another daughter, who, exhibiting a
high and full bosom, flounced around the table with a kettle. Rolf ogled her
too.

"Nei," replied
Erik. "Never been so far from home before."

The farmer bent over the
table, leaning toward the young men.

"If you don't mind
me saying, and I be one to keep to myself and knows how to keep me mouth
closed, but best yah boys pack up your bags and head on back to your papa."
The man continued, "Not that I'm tellin' yah what to do, but—"

"Hummel!" The
farmer’s plump wife rounded on her husband. "That wouldn't be proper talk
for our guests." She bowed her head, as if excusing herself in court.
"I beg your pardon, my husband's never been off the farm and isn't
accustomed to strangers, though I assure you our home is just as hospitable as
the fine city you young men must be from." She smiled, offering up a
missing tooth. "And my daughters all have proper manners. Ginna, come
here!"

A young girl crossed the
room, her eyes light as a summer sky with hair of spun honey. Ginna flashed a
shy smile at Rolf while her mother adjusted her maiden's frock, pulling the
girl tight to her side.

"This is a fine a
girl as any in the city, don't you think?"

Ginna muttered under her
breath to her mother.

The farmer’s wife
scolded her, "Nonsense. Straighten up and smile."

Rolf rose his tin cup in
the air. "Cheers to Ginna!"

"Here, here." The
father clanked his cup against Rolf’s.

Erik fixed a cautionary
stare on his little brother—but Rolf didn’t even notice; his attention was
preoccupied with the prettiest of the nine daughters.

Erik returned his
thoughts to the farmer. "What do you mean we should go on home?"

"Hummel!" The
goodwife scowled, batting at her husband with the strings of her white apron.

"Nei, woman. They
should know." The farmer frowned, the creases in his haggard face
collapsing into canyons. His wife glowered at his rebuke and fiddled with the
hem of Ginna's frock.

"Go on," Erik
prodded.

"The foothills. They
be nei place for any folk."

The goodwife took to
plating Ginna's long hair as Rolf continued to admire the young woman from
across the table. The goodwife grinned in response, once again baring her
missing tooth.

"Are the foothills
dangerous?" Erik leaned forward, urging the farmer on.

The farmer whispered, "It
be the Spirit Hills."

"The Spirit Hills?"

"Ja." He
lowered his voice another notch, switching his eyes sideways. "There be a
saying that Nei man returns from the Spirit Hills. If you have nei business
there, then it be best to go home. The Skaggs are not for strangers."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Maybe not,
brother," Rolf interrupted though his gaze remained on Ginna. "There
are stories about the Skaggs. One of which—"

"Enough stories."
Erik swiveled his head toward Hummel. "What facts do you have? What proof?
I have business there and do not intend to turn around."

"Ho, boy. Yah do be
a guest in my home," Hummel warned.

"I mean nei
offense. But speak to me of what you know. Not what you hear." Erik
lowered his hands on the table, loosening his fists. Emma's face flashed. His
voice quieted to a plea. "It's important to me."

The farmer continued, "It
be a dark place, the mountains. Filled with the spirits of the dark ones. The
little ones. They stole one of our own, they did. A long time back. Was my
brother's child. And the shadow-things ran off with him in the night. Just as
well, I suppose. The babe be not right—"

"Hummel!" The
goodwife swatted at her husband’s back.

"He do have a right
to know."

"Do not bring shame
upon our house," she said as she lifted her hands, covering Ginna's ears as
if she were a child. Ginna’s already pink cheeks reddened at her mother’s
protection. "I won't have it. Not in front of the girls."

The farmer lowered his
head, giving way to his wife then turned back to Erik.

"Be about your
business quick like a jack rabbit. Turn your back to nei one. Be out before
dark. That's when the shadow-spawn do their bidding." His cough caught in
his throat, causing his wife to pound on his back, motioning for one of his
full-breasted daughters to pour more mead.

Hummel drank in gulps,
between gasps. He cleared his throat, clapping his hands.

"Enough. I done
spoke enough." Hummel directed his speech toward Rolf. "Now, my
daughters never have the pleasure of a scald's performance. We be obliged to a
story."